#this has been haunting me (warnings info on ao3)

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

Steve hears Eddie’s voice in The Upside Down.

It starts when they reach the vine infested attic of the Creel House, after they’ve lured the bats into the woods with a trail of fire, made them drowsy and stupid before setting them all ablaze; like a fucked up fairy ring, Steve had thought, and it had felt like exactly the kind of thing Eddie would think, and Steve’s trying to hold onto the words so he can remember to tell Eddie later; he wants to tell him—

He’s halfway up the stairs, stepping over a vine when he hears it.

“Shit. Oh, shit,” Eddie breathes.

He sounds so close, like he’s whispering in Steve’s ear.

And then he’s gone, and Steve’s turning to see Nancy and Robin just a step behind him—they haven’t heard anything, he can tell, but they both freeze for a moment, like they can read the fear on his face, something’s wrong, something’s really wrong.

But they all keep going, one step then another, and Steve thinks of history class, of soldiers going over the top.

He prays. Please, please…

More stairs. The door to the attic. Steve opens it.

Eddie’s voice again, high pitched and frightened. “H-hey, listen, man, you don’t—”

The sound is cut off abruptly; Steve feels a touch to the back of his hand. Robin.

He hands her the lighter, but he can see her hesitate out the corner of his eye, are you okay?

He shakes his head once, no time, and he smells a rag soaked with fuel when the voice comes again, still so desperately afraid, but hardening at the edges, “Oh, Jesus Chr—stop!”

“Steve.” Nancy next to him, eyebrows drawn.

There’s a Molotov cocktail in his hand that he can’t remember lighting.

Steve throws it.

He doesn’t even look to see if his aim is true, because Eddie is back, and his voice still shakes but there’s steel in its core, and Steve knows that all too well, knows the exact place it comes from: thinks of standing his ground in ‘84, knowing deep in his bones that it was down to him, that he’d do anything so long as the kids—

“Get away from them. I’m not—I’m not fucking messing around here, get away—”

Robin throws a bottle of her own; the flames soar, and Steve hears a new voice, dark and commanding—one he’s heard across the basketball court, but never quite like this.

“And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone—”

Nancy aims the gun.

“—where the beast and the false prophet are—”

Fires.

“—and shall be tormented day and night—”

Again.

“—forever and ever.”

Nancy steps forward, takes aim once more.

And Steve hears another pair of footsteps, someone running; he turns towards the sound, towards the door, and for a moment it’s almost as if he can feel Eddie rush past him like a ghost—wants to reach out, to grab his hand, but the sensation slips away like smoke; he’s too far away, he’s too…

Nancy takes the final shot. Henry Creel’s body shifts from something monstrous to something that’s smaller and human, but no less terrible for it.

Steve doesn’t watch. Can’t rid the feeling that it all rings false.

He can’t hear Eddie anymore. Can’t hear anything apart from the frantic thud of his own heartbeat, but that’s good, that’s good, he can work with that—lets it drive him forward, lets pure instinct take over so he’s grabbing the axe without a thought, swinging so it hits the vines still tangled on the wall, dormant, dead.

They break easily. Steve keeps going; there’s the barest hint of resistance, but all it tells him is that he’s on the right path, and then something gives, parts…

“Nance,” Steve says.

She’s right by him; he feels her hand around his wrist. From the way she squeezes tightly, knows that she’s already understood.

“Okay,” she says, fragile, “okay, okay.” A shuddering breath. “Steve, I can’t just—I have to—”

“I know,” Steve says softly, because he feels it, too: the awful thought that it’s all over too quickly. Senses Nancy’s anxiety as if it was his own, the desperate need to check, to stand vigil. Then—and only then—will she declare it over to herself.

He holds her hand, squeezes back. Lets go.

There’s movement to the left of him. Robin, her hair in her eyes, and that’s gonna bug her eventually, so Steve fixes it for her, tries to smile, to make this easy.

“Five minutes, okay?” he says—thinks of the elevator in Starcourt, how she counted the seconds passing with freakish accuracy. “No more.”

She opens her mouth, but Steve keeps talking before she can. “Promise me.”

She goes to shake her head.

“Robin, please,” he says, voice breaking.

Years ago, his mom got a phone call about the fatal car crash his uncle had been in. She’d picked up somewhere in between the second ring and the third, and then she’d screamed, and Steve had overheard without understanding—had still felt the echo of her grief.

He’s never told anyone that. But he wonders if Robin can see something of it on his face—that he’s stuck: still in between rings, the split second before the scream—because she’s nodding suddenly, close to tears, but so serious.

“I—I promise, Steve.”

He slips through the Gate in the wall, leaves them both behind—all he has to soothe him is a gut feeling, as the heat of Nancy setting the vines alight fades away: that The Upside Down is just a graveyard now. That there’s no danger to be found—not anymore.

Not in there.

He steps into the attic, where the floorboards are bare. Looks around sharply—Lucas and Max, huddled in the corner, and he can’t tell, he can’t tell if—

As Steve runs to them, a soft click filters through. Max, rewinding her tape; she’s not even looking at her Walkman, like she’s not even aware that she’s doing it. The headphones lie around her neck.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve finds himself whispering, gets one hand on Max, the other on Lucas, “thank God, thank God.”

They shake under his touch. Steve wants to shield them from every horror in existence, wants to swear to them that it’s over now, that they don’t have to do it anymore, but he has to—

“Where’s Eddie?”

It’s not a surprise when Max’s eyes dart to the door. Steve’s stomach drops anyway.

Lucas speaks, voice ragged, “Jason, he…”

And as Steve looks at him, the kid’s thirteen again, eyes wide with fear in the face of Billy Hargrove. You’re dead, Sinclair.

Steve pushes back a hot swell of anger. Hugs Lucas roughly, then Max, murmurs, “Okay, it’s okay. Stay right here. Nancy and Robin are coming, I promise.”

“Steve,” Max whispers when he’s at the door.

He turns back.

But it’s like she’s run out of words, shivering in Lucas’s arms. Still rewinding the tape, but her fingers are slipping now.

Lucas speaks for her—eyes off to the side, like he’s seeing something more than a Gate in the wall. “He had a gun.”

Steve checks a couple rooms, floorboards creaking no matter how quiet he tries to be. His heart’s still racing. It leads him to the staircase.

And Eddie’s right there, just a few steps down.

There’s the faint screech of a car driving away.

Eddie looks up at him. He’s standing obliquely, clinging to the bannister. His eyes shine in the dark, and Steve can just barely make out the evidence of bruises and cuts all across his face.

“He’s gone,” Eddie says with such relief.

I’ll kill him, Steve thinks numbly.

”I, um. I had to run,” Eddie continues, almost like he’s defending himself. “He—he wouldn’t listen, man. The kids, I… I couldn’t let him—”

“They’re fine,” Steve says, talks right over Eddie’s answering sigh, “we should go back up. Check on them.”

A pause.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Sure. Think I—think I just need a second.”

“Okay.”

Eddie smiles. It’s the worst thing Steve has ever seen.

“Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, his throat tight. The word is ash on his tongue. “Yeah, it worked. It’s finished.”

“Good.” Eddie inhales. “And you’ll—you’ll tell my uncle, right? Tell him I didn’t kill Chrissy.”

“Tell him yourself,” Steve snaps.

But Eddie’s shaking his head. Steve can visibly see the adrenaline draining from him: his arms shaking as his grip on the bannister falters.

“Nah, man,” Eddie says, his voice thick and wet with tears.

“Stop fucking crying,” Steve says, instantly ashamed as the words slip out—fear rendering him sharp and mean; Eddie’s hand slips, and he turns, “Oh my God,” Steve says uselessly, “Oh my God, Eddie,” because it’s not a dawning horror really, more a realisation that they’ve both been putting off.

Maybe Steve has known all along.

He gets hold of Eddie before he can fall, mutters, “Here, I’ve got—Jesus, just lie down.”

“No, I don’t—” Eddie kicks out aimlessly, panicking, “I don’t wanna lie down, I don’t wanna lie down.”

Steve ignores him. Presses down on Eddie’s abdomen, hands already slick with blood.

Eddie is hyperventilating. He keeps saying it, “I don’t wanna lie down,” until it devolves into just, “Steve, Steve, I don’t want to,” until it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about lying down at all.

“You won’t,” Steve says, “you won’t, Eddie, just—push down, okay? You’ve got to—here, here, just push—”

Eddie’s hands are slack in his, and as Steve pushes against him, harder, harder, he cries out, breathing so shallow, so quick, too quick, “I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, “I’m sorry, Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

He thinks Eddie must be in too much pain to understand—his body still spasming, still weakly fighting against Steve’s pressure.

But then he feels Eddie’s hand move, loosely clasp around his wrist.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, still crying, but Steve can hear him smiling somehow, fuck, how can he even—?, “hey, S-Steve, it’s okay. Just—just want to go home.” He’s rambling, almost incoherent, “It’s not that far, it’s—take me home, please, please, can you take me home, just—”

“I will,” Steve lies. “We need to fix this first, okay? Eddie, are you listening? Then we can…”

He trails off at the sight of Eddie looking up at him, his eyes so big, so full of life, and Steve doesn’t understand the expression on his face, doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look like this; and he wants Eddie to explain it to him, just wants him to talk, wants to…

I want to tell him, Steve thinks nonsensically.

“Steve Harrington,” Eddie murmurs, like he’s savouring Steve’s name. “You’re so…”

But Steve will never find out what he is, the rest of the sentence lost to a pained gasp.

“Don’t talk,” Steve says. Hates how harsh he sounds. “Eddie, just. Stay.”

Eddie smiles through blood. “I think I could’ve loved you.”

Steve hears movement from way above, a door slamming open, Robin and Nancy’s voices filtering down, still too far away to understand.

He could keep talking. Keep talking to Eddie.

But he knows.

The front door opens. Erica tears through it, screaming Lucas’s name, and then she stops in her tracks.

Dustin nearly collides with her from behind. Pulls her back, face slack with horror.

Steve leans over Eddie, desperately trying to shield him from them.

Dustin’s eyes meet Steve’s, over bright with fear; Steve thinks of him freezing in the graveyard, his own panicked shout, call Nancy and Robin!

He doesn’t want it to be too late.

“Call an ambulance,” Steve says, and Dustin’s eyes widen. He doesn’t sound remotely like himself, Steve knows, but he can barely even… Can only say it again, voice breaking horribly, “Call an ambulance!”

Dustin tugs Erica back. They run.

Steve stays right where he is. Looks down, and keeps looking—doesn’t turn away, not for anything, not even when it’s obvious that Eddie’s eyes are fixed and glassy.

He will bear witness to this.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Tear Down My Reason [2]

Orderly!Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Summary: It's been five days since you fucked Blue in his office, and four days since you last saw him.

Part 1/Series Masterlist

A/N: Oh no, this was meant to be a one shot. What happened? (Can be read on it's own.)

So I've listed this as afab!reader, I am afab and gender fluid myself and I’m just exploring that a bit in my writing here. There is a part where Blue refers to the reader as a ‘girl’ and the reader asks him not to. (I'm writing this from the mindset that reader is non-binary & afab. Still tagging as f!reader because reader has that anatomy.)

Warnings: overuse of italics, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, there's some power dynamics in here, gonna say dubious concent because reader is a patient, Blue being fucking gross and wiping cum on his t-shirt, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 3354

________________________________

You knocked on the door, three quick raps of your knuckles. 

Nausea festered in your throat, burned along your limbs. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, trying to hide the faint tremors that threatened to take over.

It had been five days. Five days since you’d broken into Blue’s office. Four since Lilly returned. 

You’d done your very best to stay out of Blue’s way: shying away from any of his usual haunts, staying with the group so you weren’t on your own, anything you could think of to steer clear of him. 

But it seemed like he was avoiding you too. 

Other than the morning that Lilly came back, you hadn’t seen him. At first it was a weight lifted, but by the second day that weight had come crashing down with a force that pinned you to the earth. 

You wanted to see him. 

You needed to. 

It didn’t make any sense. 

You were about to knock again, sneaking one glance over your shoulder to make sure that there was no one else in the corridor to see you, when Blue answered. 

“Come in.” His voice was stern, reserved and you swallowed before you opened the door, quickly stepping in and closing it behind you. 

Your heart raced and you bit together your lips to try to calm your rapid breathing. This was stupid, foolish, you shouldn’t feel this way.

Blue was writing something, checking over some form at his desk. His reading glances balanced on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look up. 

“Yes?” 

“I, erm,” you started. 

Instantaneously Blue’s attention snapped to you, drawn away from the paperwork like a magnet, unable to deny himself. 

“I wanted to see you, I mean,” you looked down, frustration bubbling below your skin, you’d gone over this, rehearsed this, “if you’re not busy, I…”

Blue stood quickly, throwing his glasses in a drawer before rushing towards you in six short strides. He took hold of your face, gently caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Honey…” he whispered, searching your eyes for something. A small smile pulled at his lips, relief relaxing his tense muscles. He leaned forward and kissed you deeply, hungrily. 

The sudden force of his actions took you by surprise as he pushed you back against the door. Using your little gasp of shock to his advantage and slipping his tongue into your mouth. 

You kissed him back with equal intensity, sliding your hands up around his shoulders and to the back of his neck. Pulling him closer to your body and grinding against him. 

“Blue,” you murmured as he kissed down your neck and yanked your t-shirt lower so that he could suck a bruise below the collar. 

He hummed an answer back to you, savouring the taste of your skin. 

You shifted slightly to stop the door handle from digging into your hip, pressing your back further against the cool frosted glass of his office door. Your thigh just brushed against his already half hard cock and he whined loudly. The sound making your heart swell. 

“Been thinking about you everyday.” He muttered against your neck, one hand trailing down to your waist while the other pinched your right nipple. 

He bit your jugular, all teeth, as you let out a little gasp, arching into his touch. 

“Every night, just wanting you honey.” He kissed your jaw, your cheek as he pushed his left thigh between your legs that you quickly parted for him. A groan escaped his lips at your eagerness. 

“Why didn’t you?” You breathe between sighs of pleasure. 

“Why didn’t I what?” He kisses you again fervidly, licking into your mouth like he could dissolve into you. 

“Why didn’t you come see me?” You manage to get out between kisses. 

Blue smiles, keeping his forehead pressed against yours. “Why didn’t you come see me?” 

You groan a little in frustration and pull him back to you by his shirt, forcing his lips to yours again. You can feel the smug smile on his face quickly melt away, overcome with need. 

He pushes you further into the door, hoisting your right leg over his hip and grinding against you. Happy to swallow down every moan of pleasure that escapes you as he rubs his quickly hardening cock over your aching heat. 

His grip is bruising, his teeth nip at your bottom lip, but that’s all overridden by the way he purposely teases your clit with his length. Listening to every gasp and sigh that escapes you to perfectly pin down the right pressure and tempo to have you so close to falling apart at the seams within minutes. 

“Blue,” you gulp, whining in frustration as he pulls his hips back ever so slightly when you try to grind against him harder. “Please!”

“Need me so badly already, honey?” 

You nod as he continues his movements, eagerly rocking against you. A large smile plastering itself all over his face as his heart flutters rapidly in his chest. 

“Want to hear you say it.” 

You obey without thinking, so desperate to chase your high. “Need you so badly Blue, I-” 

He kisses you again, cutting off your words and rutting against you harder, delighted by the high pitched whine that escapes you. 

You start to tense, your thighs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his skin. You’re so close you can taste it, millimetres from the edge and just needing a little more, just a fraction, so you can-

He steps back, moving away from you and you can’t stop the sob from falling out of your mouth. Desperately, you try to cling onto him, to force him back against you. But he refuses. 

You look at him, frustration and need burning along your nerves in equal measure. 

He touches your cheek lightly. “Don’t look so betrayed honey, I’ll take care of you.” He kisses you lightly, a soft caress of his lips. “I promise.” Before he drops to his knees and lightly bites at the slither of skin not covered by your top or trousers. 

You breathe in sharply and he smiles up at you, watching your reaction eagerly as he slides his hands up your calves, your outer thighs, and then slowly dips his fingers under the waistband of your trousers. 

Your blood thunders in your ears as he waits quietly, staring up at you with an almost devout energy. 

“Blue,” you wiggled a little, needing something, anything, to ease the ache in your core. “Please.” 

He grinned and nodded, slowly pulling down your trousers and underwear to your knees. He quickly slipped off your shoes, holding onto your calves to keep you stabilised, and then yanked your trousers and underwear the rest of the way down and off. 

“Oh fuck,” he muttered, not waisting anymore time as he brushed his forefinger over your clit, circling it once before running it through your folds. The groan of pleasure that rumbled in his chest was obscene, almost enough to cover the sound of your wetness as he glided his finger against you. 

Without warning he dove against you, slinging your left thigh over his shoulder and pressing his tongue into your heat. 

You gasped, grabbing hold of his shoulder and short hair to steady yourself and moaning loudly as licked board, heavy stripes over your centre. 

His groan of pleasure echoed yours, his eyes rolling back into his head as you lightly pulled on his hair. The sensation blending with the taste of you left him dizzily high, so painfully hard that he had to reach down with his free hand and squeeze his balls just to take the edge off. 

“Blue,” you bit at your bottom lip, trying to muffle your sounds. What if someone walked by? What if-

He sucked your clit, flicking at the nub with the tip of his tongue and you nearly cracked the back of your head open with how hard you flung it against the glass. 

“Please Blue, pleasepleasepleaseplease,” you gasped, bucking up into his mouth as pleasure raced along your veins like lightning. So close, so close.

He didn’t stop, didn’t falter in his movements, grabbing hold of your backside and pushing you closer to him, trying to suffocate himself between your thighs. 

You cried out, holding onto him for dear life as you came loudly. Sobbing in pleasure as he continued to suck and lick at you, his sounds of delight harmonising with your own.

He kissed you softly as you came back to yourself, nuzzling into the soft muscle of your inner thigh. 

His eyes were blown wide with lust when he looked up at you, a dreamy glaze over his face as he smiled happily. 

Sweat started to cool on your skin, exhaustion sinking into your bones at how hard you’d cum. 

Blue pulled up the collar of his top and wiped your release from his mouth and chin before he gently took your leg off his shoulder and put your foot back onto the floor. 

You swayed a little under your own weight again and he quickly held onto your thighs to steady you as he stood up. His expression was syrupy, infatuated as he leaned in and kissed you deeply. His hard cock rubbing against you.

You poured yourself into the kiss, holding him close and breathing in deeply. 

He dipped his fingers under the helm of your t-shirt, tracing his fingers along your sides and smiling as you shivered. 

Without speaking he slowly took hold of your hands and guided you away from the door, further into the room. 

You followed him, moving as if you were under a spell. 

He stepped to the side and manoeuvred you so that the backs of your thighs pressed against the cool edge of his desk. 

So slowly he moved forward, caging you in and lightly trailing his lips over your neck, savouring every sweet sound you made. 

You lifted your arms when he tugged at your shirt, helping him to ease it over your head and throwing it to the side. Your bra following soon after. 

He kissed along your collarbone, pressing light touches along your thighs with his fingers. You watched him, enraptured as goosebumps broke out along your skin. 

Languidly, he kissed back up to your neck, brushing his lips against your ear. “Wait.” 

He leaned forward even more, pressing against you as he shoved the piles of paperwork off his desk and to the floor before going back to sucking at your neck. 

You whimpered his name, clutching onto him as he slowly laid you back down against his desk and situated himself between your legs. 

He kissed lower, taking each nipple into his mouth and sucking softly. Flicking the tip of his tongue over your skin just like he had over your clit. 

You squirmed underneath him, your breath hitching as he paused, kissed your sternum and then moved onto the other breast. Repeating the pattern over and over until tears began to build in the corners of your eyes. 

“Blue,” you whined, trying to buck up against him but he would only allow you to rut against him for a second before he moved back and pushed your hips, forcing you back down flat against the desk once more. 

“Yes honey?” He breathed between kisses, still sucking your breasts. “You need something?”

You cried out in frustration. “Please.”

“You know I love to hear you beg,” he sucked your hard nipple into his mouth again, releasing it with a hot, wet pop. “But you gotta help me out here, I don’t know what you want.” He teased, his voice light and unbelievably innocent. 

Exasperation boils just below your skin. For one moment you think about getting up and pushing him away. But in the same instant Blue licks a flat, broad stripe over your right nipple, moaning happily as he does so. He repeats the action, this time rolling his body against yours and rubbing his cock against your pussy. 

He groans, tracing his tongue over you again as he watches you screw up your eyes in pleasure. “You’re soaking into my work clothes honey.” He mutters, his eyes gleaming. “So fucking wet and needy for me, need to cum again, hmm? Need me to fuck you?” He teases, his voice low and desperate with his own desires. 

You nod, swallowing down a moan as he continues to grind against your core. 

“Need my dick so bad?” He slides his hand down to your folds, slipping the tips of his fingers into your heat. “Need it right here?”

“Fuck,” you grab hold of his forearm, trying to push him further inside and expecting him to pull away.

Instead he follows your movement, sinking in deeper and curling his fingers perfectly, brushing over your clit with his thumb.

You gasp, crying out softly and Blue breathes in, glee glittering in his eyes. 

“Oh, there we go. That’s better isn’t it?” He slowly glides his thick fingers out and back in, groaning quietly at how your slick coats him and starts to run down his hand. 

You nod, unable to form words and barely able to breathe as he keeps stretching you so perfectly. 

“That’s much better.” He whispers to himself. 

He watches you for a moment, the pleasure he’s pulling from you making you lightheaded, before he stands up straight, keeping his fingers deep within you and adding a third. 

You whine, your back arching off the desk as he sinks further, sending sparks of bliss along your spine. 

Blue pulls down his scrubs just enough to free his aching cock, finally taking himself in hand and pumping a few times as he gazes at you contort in pleasure. 

He swallows, it’s almost too much. His balls tighten as he presses up and strokes that wonderfully devastating spot inside of you. 

You cry out, so close again and gasping. 

Blue pulls his hand away from you suddenly, wrapping his wet fingers around his dick and smearing your slick all over his length and groaning. 

You barely have a moment to lament the loss before Blue’s grabbing hold of your ankles and placing them both on his right shoulder, forcing your legs together. He continues to circle your clit with his left thumb as he rubs the head of his cock through your sopping folds before pushing firmly in. 

The stretch is different at this angle, more intense as he keeps your legs together and presses his chest against the back of calves. 

You cry out, your back arching fully off the desk as he fills you. 

“Okay honey?” He groans softly as you clench around him at the pet name.

“Good!” You manage to stammer out, revelling in the sensation. Letting it build up and wash over you in waves. 

He turns his head and kisses your ankle as he bottoms out, breathing hard for a moment to compose himself, to not cum straight away. 

He pulses within you, pushing up against you so tightly in this position you can practically feel the beat of his heart. 

Slowly, he starts to move, easing in and out of you while watching your face with rapt attention.

It’s too good. 

You choke back a sob, clawing at the table underneath you to find something to cling onto as he pushes in so deep. 

It’s like you can see stars, your muscles tighten and shake. A string of expletives fall out of your mouth. 

Blue groans, watching your breasts bounce as he rocks into you, barely pulling out before he pushes back in, wanting to hit that spot as many times as he can now that he’s found it. 

Sweat beads on your forehead, the sound of your wetness echoes with every thrust. You grab onto the edge of the desk above your head so that you can arch up and meet his movements, his thumb is still circling your clit and driving you insane. 

“Blue,” you sob, your face screwed up in pleasure, your toes curling as he keeps thrusting perfectly. “Please, please don’t stop."

“Not gonna stop honey,” he groans through gritted teeth, pulling your legs tighter against his chest and rocking up into you, rolling on the balls of his feet. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you? Gotta cum all over me.”

You flinch involuntarily at that word - girl. Screwing up your face in distain. 

“Honey,” he slows instantly, “you okay? Did it hurt?” 

“Please don’t stop, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you move against him trying to get the angle right, desperate for him to keep going.

“I won’t honey, I won’t” he kisses your ankle and picks up the pace again, once more hitting deliriously deep. 

You gasp out, your eyes rolling back into your head. You’re so close. You can feel it building and building, the heat beginning to scratch along every nerve ending. 

Blue thrusts forward, changing the pressure ever so slightly as he plants his left foot firmly on the floor and it’s like you’ve died and gone to heaven.

You scream silently, even muscle tensing as you cum, your walls squeezing him so tightly, milking him for everything he’s got. 

“Fuck.” Blue gasps, barely managing another thrust before his own orgasm overtakes him as he pumps hot, thick cum deep inside you. 

He slowly lets go of his vice grip around your legs as he recovers, his hips bucking shallowly of their own volition. 

But he doesn’t pull out straight away, instead he carefully moves your legs down to either side of his hips so he can lean forward and kiss you softly. 

He smiles when you kiss him back, gently brushing the tears from your cheeks with his fingers. 

“You’re so pretty when you cum, you know that?” He muttered and you giggle. 

He pauses for a moment, a small frown furrowing his brow. “Did I hurt you?” 

You look up at him confused. “No?”

“Are you sure? Earlier I mean, you looked-”

“Oh,” you shake your head. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

“What was it then?” He bites his lip, sincere in his actions. 

You paused and swallow, looking away from him for a moment. 

“Honey,” he strokes your cheek. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

You close your eyes but speak. “You, you said ‘good girl’.”

You feel him nod against your chest. 

“I don’t, that’s not… I’m not… I…” you sigh. 

“Boy?” He asks, no judgement in his voice. 

You open your eyes, surprised at his seeming understanding, but shake your head. 

“Non-binary?” 

This time you nod and Blue gives you a small smile, taping his temple with his fingers. 

“Non-binary.” He repeats. “It won’t happen again hone- wait, is honey okay?” 

You giggle. “I like honey.” 

He grins broadly and nods, stroking your cheek and sighing happily. 

As he begins to soften he slowly pulls out, yanking his t-shirt off as he does so and uses it to clean the mess he made between your legs before he wipes himself down. 

You sit up, watching him as he tucks himself back into his trousers. “You gonna wash that?” You motion to his shirt.

He gives you a wicked grin. “Oh, no, I’m gonna wear it for the rest of the day.”

You laugh and playfully swat at him, he catches your wrists with ease, moving close again and you don’t struggle. 

He kisses you softly and lets go of you so you can run your hands over his chest and back. 

“Do I have to wait another four days to see you again?” There’s a playful tone to his voice, but there’s something in his eyes. A pain he’s trying to cover up. 

You shake your head. “You can see me whenever you like.” You whisper.

He kisses you again, slow and deep, just like how he fucked you. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“What if I want to see you all the time?” 

You nip at his bottom lip. “Then I guess you’ll see me all the time.” 

Blue chuckles and buries his face into your neck, hugging you tight.

____________________________________ 

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @solobagginses @romanarose @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[wannab-urs]

Hiii! Forgive me if you already have this info posted somewhere that I didn't find, but I have been in desperate need of some Comfort Joel Miller... 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 Because real life has been stressful enough and riddled with anxiety 😩 And while I'm ALL about smutty goodness, I could really use some Emotional Hurt/comfort (or physical/protective), depressy/anxy, supportive bby boi shit to read. I'm not sure the best way to go about finding those stories specifically... So I figured I'd ask if you or writers you know have fic recommendations in those categories?? If so, that would be amazing 🖤

Hellooooo. I adore getting fic rec requests. Most of these are gonna have smut in them because I am just a girl (gn), but a few don't. I included some alternative stuff that's a little outside what you asked for, but similar enough.

Disclaimer: I have not read every fic on this list

One shots:

Breathe Through It by @tommysversion

Summary: you have a panic attack. Joel helps.

This is the one I think will be perfect for your request

Illicit Affairs by @schnarfer

Summary:  A little angst-ridden affair with Joel Miller, as a treat?

From the author: "there is a butt load of angst and emotions? He's very supportive (of having an affair with him)"  

Heavy Rain by @lunitawrites

summary: It´s been raining for weeks when Joel finds you curled up on his couch.

recced by @janaispunk !

Walking Through Fire by @macfrog

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk.

recced by @janaispunk

Observations by @ezrasbirdie

summary: You're not like the other girls, but it'd be easier if you were. Joel Miller doesn't see it that way.

recced by @janaispunk

Series:

One Thing I'm Missing by @joelscruff

you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming

forever is the sweetest con by sistersadeyes (AO3)

Summary: your life, post-apocalypse, and the surly old survivor who darkens your door. Growing up with a doomsday prepper as a father hadn't been easy. But after the Outbreak, you can't help but feel a little grateful to the old man. You're almost sad he didn't make it long enough to see how right he'd been. You inherit the farm, the stockpile, and the bunker months before the Outbreak. And in the aftermath, you use it to prove that human kindness still exists, helping all those you can. Set 5 years after the Outbreak.

I cannot recommend this fic enough dawg

One Day at a Time by @sixhours

Summary: Joel becomes a dad. Again

Lots and lots of emotions, lots of growing together, very sweet, made me cry

A Heart For Eating by @motherofagony

Summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing.

Mind the warnings, but this one is excellent. Joel's savior complex is nothing to be scoffed at.

WILDCARD -- ever thought about Din and Joel together? Do you like really long series?? I've got the fic for you

Cosmic Oddities by fromthewhales (AO3)

Summary: Turning a clan of two into a clan of four and asking the very important, albeit unhinged question: What if space dad and apocalypse dad were Weird About Each Other?

It's long as hell and it's a weird pairing and it fills my heart with joy. Joel and Din both have some hurt and they both give some comfort. this whole fic just makes me feel soft. It's precious.

Some hurt/comfort one shots but it's Joel that needs comforting:

Father's Day by @proxima-writes

Summary: Father’s Day is hard for Joel Miller after losing his daughter.

Seven by @proxima-writes

Summary: Joel Miller has spent twenty years pushing the grief and guilt surrounding the death of his daughter, Sarah, to the darkest recesses of his brain in favor of survival. Living a more quiet life in Jackson means the ghosts of his past have returned to haunt him. He finds his solace in you, the town librarian.

help me hold on to you by @proxima-writes

Summary: Joel always tries his best to keep his mind from wandering to its darkest corners, but occasionally, the frayed threads holding him together with sloppy stitches start to unravel. Sometimes you need to give him something to hold onto.

[thewildwaffle]

Ghost Busters

A prompt from user Kelly on ao3

Edit: I didn't originally mean for this to get spooky, but it did. Maybe reconsider reading this at night if you get easily spooked

***

Desan looked over the calendar. Booked out for another two moors. Wow. She really thought clients would have started going elsewhere once they found out the wait was more than a decacycle or two. They must be getting desperate.

The comm lines rang again. It seemed like they rang more often than they were quiet lately. Desan eyed the calendar again before she picked up the call.

“Hello, AIM Inspections, Desan speaking, how many I help you today?”

“Hi, I was told you offer haunting inspections?” The voice on the other line sounded gruff and a little tired. “We’ve had a flarg of an attempt trying to hire lately and our crew’s numbers are starting to dwindle fast.”

Desan nodded, even though the caller obviously couldn’t see. Here we go with another one. “Yes, we offer supernatural analysis inspections. I must warn you now that we are booked out until mid-Corruse on the Burnti calendar.”

The caller sighed and hummed for a bit. “That’s not as soon as I’d like, but honestly, you’re the third place I’ve called and that’s the soonest I’ve heard. What do you need from me to get started?”

“Well,” Desan pulled up a form on her track tablet, “I’ve just got a few questions, get a bit of information, then I’ll send you a form fill and I’ll get you on the schedule. First off, to whom am I speaking, and may I ask what alerted you to the need for our services?”

“Riord Esh, operations manager for the Bantar outer fleet. And I'd say we were alerted the same way as most people, I’d wager,” the gruff voice drawled out. “Tried hiring some humans, but they claimed our ships were haunted. That's since spread around. No one wants to work on a ship where even humans are scared if you know what I mean."

"I do, yes that's been a pretty common problem we've been hearing."

"Have you been able to fix this? I mean for the ships you have done the inspections for?"

"Oh yes, we've got a 100% ghost-free guarantee. Now, if I can get a bit of info from you, I can go ahead and get you scheduled for mid-Corruse."

The rest of the call went smoothly. Before Desan hung up, she assured Riord Esh that, should another client cancel, they would be moved up in the queue, to which they were grateful.

And with that, another client on the long, long list.

Desan had helped out on some of the inspections, and with all the demand lately, would probably continue doing so. It was a bit of extra pay, so she certainly had no issue with the extra work. It also had the added benefit of being quite interesting.

For the vast majority of "haunted" ships, the supernatural inspections ran almost identically to normal ship inspections. It was funny how often "sudden cold spots" were just a simple draft, or feelings of paranoia or being watched turned out to be caused by a previously undetected gas leak. The initial inspectors would simply write up a report detailing fixes needed and boom. Suddenly the ship no longer has a hard time finding a crew to hire.

But there were exceptions. The kind of exceptions that really threw a rock into their otherwise simple business model.

Before this job, Desan did not consider herself to be superstitious in any way. She still adamantly claimed to not believe in ghosts and haunts and spookums. But even she had to second-guess her stance when some of her inspector coworkers came back from some of their more… problematic jobs.

There were things that just didn’t make sense. Unsettling things. Usually involving some unfortunate or tragic circumstance. They were the things that couldn’t be satisfyingly brushed off as hallucinations of over-worked or mourning brains.

One in the particular job still gave her shivers. She’d been asked to join an inspection tour on one of the largest ships their company has done to date. It was a new, fresh off the assembly line, Booletean Cruiser Class 6. The ship's sheer size meant more hands were needed for the inspection crew to get everything checked out. Even then it still took an entire day cycle just to get through everything. And what a day it was.

The ship, again, was new. It should have had no issues. However, upon checking some of the paperwork for its production, it turned out that only some of the parts were completely new.

There’d been a terrible crash a decacycle or two before. Another Booletean Cruiser Class 6 had crashed. The Bayjee Disaster. There were survivors, but far more lives were lost. It was a tragic accident, a perfect storm of circumstances mixed with just enough miscommunication that caused it all.

While sifting through the wreckage, it was discovered that some of the parts of the ship were still in good condition. After intense inspection and testing, they were eventually used in the construction of another Booletean Cruiser.

The very one Desan and her company had been hired to inspect.

They checked everywhere. There were no gas leaks to explain why crew members would feel paranoid or even panicked, insisting that they were not alone when no one else was there.

There was nothing wrong with the pipes in the boiler room, even though engineers insisted that they would hear unexplained banging and screeching metal near the end of their shifts. Always twenty mentiks before their shifts ended. It never mattered what time of the day cycle they were working, it was always twenty mentiks before the end of their shift.

From the investigation, it was widely claimed that the chain of events that led to the Bayjee crashing had taken about twenty mentiks to come to fruition.

But one of the worst aspects of the “haunted” ship was something Desan and her team hadn’t experienced with other ship inspections.

Several crew members, passengers, and even a few kloxan dignitaries had claimed that they had seen the Bayjee captain aboard their ship. They claimed they’d seen her face quite clearly. She never said anything, she never interacted with anyone, she’d just be there. And then she’d be gone like someone had flipped a switch and turned off some sort of ghostly projector.

There were official reports of these sightings, several in fact, most of which were made by otherwise level-headed individuals that would have nothing to gain by falsifying such reports.

They spent far longer on this inspection than they had on any other project. With other jobs starting to pile up in the meantime, a decision was ultimately made to remove the parts of the ship that were originally part of the Bayjee and replace them with identical parts fresh off the assembly line.

All reports of any “haunting” phenomena immediately stopped.

Desan decided to stick to her office post after that. She still claimed to be a skeptic of the claims of the supernatural, and in most cases, she was. Being so was now part of her line of work. But even she had to admit that in the vastness of space and within all the realms of possibility, there was much that was beyond her understanding.

The comm lines rang again, pulling her out of her musings. With a sigh, she stretched and eyed the very full calendar before answering the call. “Hello, AIM Inspections, Desan speaking, how many I help you today?”

[twwpress]

Weekly Press Briefing #46: May 7th to May 13th

Welcome back to the Weekly Press Briefing, where we bring you highlights from The West Wing fandom each week, including new fics, ongoing challenges, and more! This briefing covers all things posted from May 7 - May 13, 2023! Did we miss something? Let us know; you can find our contact info at the bottom of this briefing!

Challenges/Prompts:

The following is a roundup of open challenges/prompts. Do you have a challenge or event you’d like us to promote? Be sure to get in touch with us! Contact info is at the bottom of this briefing.

The Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda Josh/Donna prompt fest (hosted by @jessbakescakes and @thefinestmuffin) is open for claiming; fics reveal on June 24th. Details here. 

Photos/Videos:

Here’s what was posted from May 7 - May 13.

Amy Landecker posted photos in memory of her and Brad’s boxer, Otis, who sadly passed away this week: 1 | 2

Bradley Whitford also posted a photo of himself and Otis in memory of him. 

Dule Hill posted a video of himself and his wife Jazmyn promoting their new children’s book. 

Josh Malina posted photos of himself from a Bond Official interview. 

Marlee Matlin posted a photo of herself and her mother, who has passed away, in memory of her for Mother’s Day. 

Mary McCormack posted a photo of herself in her show Heels (the second season premieres on Stars on July 28).

Richard Schiff posted an elevator selfie with his wife Sheila, Ronan Diego de Oliviera, Eric Edmeades, and John Lee. 

Rob Lowe posted a selfie celebrating 33 years of sobriety. 

Donna Moss Daily: May 7 | May 8 | May 9 | May 10 | May 11 | May 12 | May 13

Daily Josh Lyman: May 7 | May 8 | May 9 | May 10 | May 11 | May 12 | May 13

No Context BWhit: May 7 | May 8 | May 9 | May 10 | May 11 | May 12 | May 13

This Week in Canon:

Welcome to This Week in Canon, where we revisit moments in The West Wing that occurred on these dates during the show’s run.

Season 1, Episode 21: Lies, Damn Lies and Statistics aired on May 10, 2000.

Season 2, Episode 21: 18th and Potomac aired on May 9, 2001.

Season 3, Episode 19: The Black Vera Wang aired on May 8, 2002.

Season 4, Episode 22: Commencement aired on May 7, 2003.

Season 5, Episode 21: Gaza aired on May 12, 2004.

Season 7, Episode 21: Institutional Memory aired on May 7, 2006.

Editors’ Choice:

In honor of Mother’s Day in the US and moms everywhere, this week we are recommending some of our favorite mom-centric fics! We’ve tried to balance angst and fluff, but sometimes moms are there for/go through some tough stuff, so as always please check warnings, tags, and descriptions before diving in. 

where you lead, i will follow by sam_writes_fics for JessBakesCakes  | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | A series of vignettes focusing on Mama Lyman over the years.

 Don't Spare Me From Anything (Your Burden is Mine) by JessBakesCakes for SilentScreamer | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | "When Rachel looks into his eyes, she sees eight-year-old Josh, awake from yet another nightmare after Joanie’s passing. She sees sixteen-year-old Josh, bags under his eyes after a fitful night’s rest. She sees twenty-four-year-old Josh, downing another cup of coffee and heading to the library to study, just to avoid the possibility of being confronted with the images that have been haunting him nearly his whole life."

Or, Mama Lyman helps her Trauma Boy navigate his mental health.

 Love, Mom by sloganeer | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn | Complete | [Ed. note: no description given on AO3, but this is a cute, Sam’s mom-centric drabble.]

 A Heart, Sketched in Blue Pen by BeatriceEagle | Rated T | Josh Lyman (No Pairings Listed) | Complete | Like his father and his sister before him, Josh Lyman can't help but break his mother's heart.

 Ain’t Nothing But a Family Thing by jeaniecregg | Rated G | C. J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler | Complete | Molly stumps CJ with an important question.

 Janus by Sangerin | Rated G | Abbey Bartlet/Jed Bartlet | Complete | Introspection caught up with her.

Fics:

Presenting your weekly roundup of fics posted in the tag for The West Wing on Archive of Our Own.

Josh/Donna

The Theory of Entropy by Jane_3yr3 | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

Cicatrix by spooky_spacegirl | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Domestic Days by spooky_spacegirl | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

Help Me Hold On To You by Shinyrosa | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress Stranded, Strung Together by TemperanceCain for JessBakesCakes | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Other Pairings/Gen Fic

Off the Record by  onekisstotakewithme for daylight_angel, miabicicletta, Luppiters, hondagirll | Rated T | Danny Concannon/C. J. Cregg | In Progress

yeah, me too by smallandblueandloud | Rated G | C. J. Cregg/Andrea Wyatt/Toby Ziegler | Complete

it started off with a kiss... now it ended up like this by imawkwardlysoc | Rated G | Sam Seaborn/Original Female Character | In Progress

Multiple Pairings

Tiny Fighters: NICU Stories by mlea7675 | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Helen Santos/Matt Santos, Original Male Character/Original Female Character | Complete

THE WEEKLY PRESS BRIEFING TEAM CAN BE REACHED VIA THE FOLLOWING METHODS:

Twitter: @TWWPress

Email: weeklypressbriefing@gmail.com

Feel free to let us know if we missed something, if you have an event you’d like us to promote, or if you have an item that you’d like included in the next briefing!

xx, What’s next?

[autisticcole]

Intro

Hello I am Kitty, he/they/voi, 22+, white, queer, neurodivergent (Autistic, etc)

Howdy! This is a side blog to @kitty-does-stuff for Dragon Age where I will be posting a variety of things, mainly writing (fic & meta) & art for the fandom! Be warned this blog is not spoiler free! When DAV comes out I will tag that game's spoilers as #DAV Spoilers but I am not doing that for pre-release material nor games & outside media that has came out before now.

Tags/Links

My Main ☆ Ko-Fi ☆ Ao3 ☆ My Meta ☆ My Fic ☆ My Art ☆ Of Jade & Catnip Tag

What Is “Of Jade & Catnip/OJ&C”?

It is a world state, specifically me & @wickedapostate 's canon world state which we write for, RP in & otherwise look through the lenses of when it comes to Dragon Age.

Our protagonists go like this:

Darrian Tabris, my city elf Zevren-mancer rogue, more details in OC section below 

Garrett Hawke, @wickedapostate's Hawke & one of the Hawkes of Of Jade & Catnip, check zir's page for more info.

Marian Hawke, purple mage Anders-mancer, she is Garrett's twin & a Hawke experiencing some of the stuff Garrett won't (like rewritten Rival paths), more details in OC section below

Zinnia Lavellan, @wickedapostate's Inky & main Inquisitor of Of Jade & Catnip, check zir's page for more info.

Yared ???, my Rook who is obviously a WIP but will be a Rook for Of Jade & Catnip & I plan to be a elven crow romancing Davrin.

Nazari, @wickedapostate's rook & the 2ndry rook, check zir's page for more info.

Though important note, the potential protagonists do still exist within the world, they are just off doing other stuff.

OCs

Wardens/HoF/Potential Wardens

Darrian Tabris, The Hero Of Ferelden

He is the Hero of Ferelden for me & @wickedapostate's main worldstate Of Jade & Catnip

A city elf archer (crossbow) rogue with (lore) specializations in Assassin, Duelist & Shadow.

Trans man, he/him, gay

He is a Zevran-mancer who did also have feelings for Alistair but never fessed up.

He chose most of the good outcomes, especially for those in lesser power like elves & mages but towards foes was merciless.

He softened both Alistair & Leliana & in turn they softened him a bit.

He made Alistair king, he didn't trust Anora, he wanted Alistair safe and… While he loved Alistair he also wanted him to know what it felt like to be thrown in a leadership role he didn't want.

He survived DAO by having Alistair perform the Dark Ritual.

The above two things are his own biggest personal regrets.

He is traveling the world with his love Zevran, hoping to one-day return to his friends with a cure to the calling in hand.

He has a child with Zevran, her name is Adaia Tabris II, she has a puppy mabari named “Woofsbane” and I am still working out details but she is roughly 10ish by DAV

Solona Amell, The Escaped Mage

A human mage who as a warden would have (in lore) specializatied in Arcane Warrior & Battlemage, as well as her true main specialization which is non-canon but a expansion on Ice magic.

Cis Woman, she/her, Bi

Amell as the warden would have tried to stay loyal to Chantry but ultimately does care deeply for others, still a lack of social skills meant a lot of blood like the werewolves, she would have been a Alistair-mancer but would lose him the Landsmeet when she couldn't bare to take Anora's father from her like how Amell had lost her own parents, ultimately she would have given up her life to defeat the Archdemon, leaving her friends & once-lover haunted by her short life.

But that is not the main world state, Amell is only a potential warden.

Within Of Jade & Catnip Duncan never came to The Circle, Amell was taken down into the dungeons to await judgment, everyone thought when the circle went to shit she died down there, there was enough blood for it.

But no, as templars died above Amell noticed the enchantments of her cell weaken, to the point she was able to use some of her magic, in a panic fueled state she was able to freeze the bars & break out, then slipped out and swimmed across the lake, she doesn't remember how she made it across the lake.

After this she disguised herself as a fleeing commoner & escaped to Kirkwall as a refugee, for awhile she just worked odd jobs until eventually she got a letter that pointed her to a interesting employer, the letter led her to The Black Emporium.

During the events of DA2 & DAI Amell works as someone who tracks down & brings back items for The Black Emporium to sell, meaning she's gotten to see much more of the world.

Between Trespasser & Veilguard Amell & Cullen have rencountered each other & at first things were tense as they highlighted the many flaws they had both yet to deal with (Amell's emotional walls & attempts to act “perfect”, Cullen not yet confronting the anti-mage stuff of the Chantry & that he partook in)

As they both self-improve by dealing with the other they form a earnest bound & eventually get together, Amell happy to have some security & a family of her own.

Fey Mahariel, The Guardian of the Forest

A Dalish Elven two-handed warrior, specialization not picked yet

Non-binary woman, she/they/he, Lesbian 

As a warden she would be a Morrigan-mancer

I haven't figured too much out about her, main worldstate or warden, she's a remake of a old PC of mine, so this has room to grow

As a warden she is tbh one of the least morally gray, she is a pretty kind person & leads with that & she has some natural leadership skills

Within the main world state Fey alone without Duncan wandered deeper & deeper into the forest looking for her clan, as she started to weaken & thought for sure she would die, the guardian of the forest aka the sprint responsible for the werewolves found her, and seeing the kind heart did the only thing she could to prevent Fey dying, which was turning her into a werewolf

Due to Fey's extreme level of willpower she kept her personality & intelligence, she stayed away while The Warden dealt with the werewolves & oddly she wasn't turned back to normal, that would have just killed her, but instead gained the ablity to transform between their wolf & elf forms.

I do think Fey did look for his clan & did eventually find out what became of her friend, but after that I have yet to decide their fate

Lucien Cousland, The Prideful Heir

A noble human, sword & shield warrior specialized in Reaver, Spirit Warrior & probably other stuff too

Cis Man, he/him, Bi

This is my stinky, no good, war criminal, chantry-boy, abusive cunt of a warden! Aka I made him for the Evil!Of Jade & Catnip worldstate & he works as an antagonistic force within the normal Of Jade & Catnip as well.

Something important to know is that Lucien was possessed at a young age by a spirit of wisdom (eventually becoming a demon of pride) that stayed around the Chantry inside his family's castle & was made up of primarily the wisdom of Chantry teachings, which for Lucien always give into Pride

As the Warden Lucien at the start is just an extremist Chantry-boy, he doesn't do things to be cruel but does do things like siding with the templars at the Tower, he is though within the realm of like Leliana thinking she can make him better & being with him. This changes disaticaly at the Temple Of Scard Ashes, Lucien is actually very interested in what the disciplines of Andraste have to say on the matter & ultimately sides with them & kills Leliana in the process, at this point he becomes fully self-serving, so while on the surface he would still say he is doing as Andraste would, but even he knows that isn't true, he just wants power, ultimately leading to him marrying Anora & becoming King

Within Of Jade & Catnip he reached that completely selfish thing a lot faster, pruly because he lost his dog named Buddy, who went on to be Darrian's Barkspawn, yeah uh Lucien is not really stable in the same way a rapid dog is.

It was by only the fact that he was poocessed that he was able to escape the massacre of the rest of the Couslands, he did try to head for Ostagar to warn his brother, but hearing the news of what became of the army he assumed that his brother had died & that it was highly likely if his survival became known a price would be put on his head, so he headed for Orles despite his distate for the country. 

This is around the time he & Wisdom really lost it, it being their collective morals as they killed & stole to survive & internalized how it was okay, because they… Well they convinced themselves that they mattered in some sort of faith-based way, and as they studied along the road Lucien started to piece together a new belief system, one cemented when he had to fight a dragon along the border between Ferelden & Orles

The idea was this, that he was meant to spread the Chant across the world, make the few non-believers left have to accept it, and the way to do it was to harness the power of dragons, so he became a reaver & he planned out a idea, to have a mage child & see if there was a way to combine blood magic & reaver abilities, use dragon blood as power for spells & the body, & have that person at Lucien's beck & call as he figured a child would have to be

This is when Winona enters the picture which is better explained below

Since then Lucien has been traveling all of Thedas looking for sources of power & ways to get training for Nell, his son who he kidnapped from the boy's mother & renamed after his own lost mother.

Funfact, Lucien is very loosely based off my very first Warden who was a human rogue, not evil but did name his dog “Buddy” & I wanted to explore a deconstruction of DA's habit of making human noble characters who are morally pure & otherwise the framework the games dialog is based on.

Winona Amell, The Orlesian

Warden-Commander (Might also play her as a Rook depending on the background of human mage gray wardens)

A human mage specialized in Blood Magic, & probably other things, she's meant to be a very scary foe in combat.

Cis Woman, she/her, demi-Aroace (Bi)

Tbh Winona is a more recent OC that I came up with by combining three implied characters, Solana Amell's sblings, the Orlesian Warden-Commander & the mother of Nell Cousland, a oc of mine & Lucien's son

Winona is a apostate mage, during the time of the blight she escaped a tower within Orles & started making her way to Ferelden to try to find Solana, in world states where the HoF dies (like Solona) this is the point where she is conscripted by the Grey Wardens & quickly starts moving up ranks due to her magical skill.

But within main Of Jade & Catnip she instead met Lucien Cousland, a fleeing Ferelden noble, who laid on the charm & bounded with her as he said like her he had lost his family & was deeply alone like her, they ended up together & Lucien got her pregnant.

Shortly after that Lucien disappeared, she had no idea where he went & had to rely on the kindness of a small town to survive during her pregnancy, unfortunately it gets worse.

When she finally gave birth she had a little baby boy, & she treasured him, as both the only other Amell she had gotten to hold in years & as a reminder of a man she thought understood her, unfortunately he had tricked her.

A few months after the birth Winona woke up in horror one night to find a empty crib & a open window, asking around town she to her horror was told a man matching Lucien's description had been seen with her baby boy.

Winona did try to go after him but was found out as a apostate but “luckily” was recruited for the Grey Wardens & has been rising in the ranks.

I do intend on Winona eventually finding her son, Nell around the time of DAV, as well as reuniting with her surviving siblings. Also getting bloody revenge on Lucien & being the death of him

Hawke & Hawke Family

Marian Hawke, Twin B

Marian is a purple mage, specialized in Blood Magic & IDK 🤷‍♂️ 

Non-binary, she/they, Pan

She is a Anders-Mancer

Marian is one of Hawke, within OJ&C there is sometimes two protagonists, they're there to show off stuff that would be missed with one protagonist, like rivalry/friendships, the other Hawke is Marian's twin brother Garrett Hawke, who belongs to @wickedapostate

Marian is very pro-mage & has a hard time getting along with lawful or anti-mage folk, so had (rewritten) rivalries with people like Fenris, Aveline & Sebastian.

Marian has a permanent injury to their leg which they got saving Craver from dying during the prolog

For most of the game Marian is trying to urge Garrett away from responsibility politics to mixed results.

After the Chantry blow-up Marian side agree with Anders but elected to spend time away, mainly because she was worried she would encourage him to do more things that would piss off The Chantry, during this time she stayed with Isabela

Within OJ&C we have the choice of who to leave in the fade be between the two Hawkes since otherwise it'd be Strode, the one left behind was Garrett who had to ask Inquisitor Zinnia to knock Marian out so she won't stop him.

After this & the mages being freed Marian sets to work in Kirkwall making fucking sure The Gallows would never be used for evil again, and joined the College of Magi

The College in Kirkwall acts as a school as well as living space & collective hall, Marian is one of the teachers & heads of it.

More details are to be explored in a fic about Robin Hawke but the important things are: Marian becomes possessed, Marian & Anders reunite & get back together, Marian adopts two students, Robin & Arthur

I have her on my rp blog & thusly she has a character bio! Here is a link

Robin Hawke, Dreamer Daughter 

A human mage, she is a dreamer! & in the worldstate where she is a rook she would be with the Veil Jumpers

Cis Woman, she/her, ???

She is intended to be the blue Hawke out of the OJ&C Hawkes

Robin was a orphan Apostate who was wandering the world before mages were freed, afterwards she went to Kirkwall hoping to be mentored by the Mage icon of Hawke

She is going to be the protagonist of a series of mid-length fics that cover the time between Trespasser & DAV and expand the world in reflection to the worldstate, specifically Robin will be getting schooled at the magi college of Kirkwall & going on adventures around Thedas with Arthur & one other friend

Given the fanfic thing I am not going to share more since I want it to naturally come up, just one important thing to know is that Robin is adopted alongside Arthur by Marian.

Arthur Hawke, Bloody Son

I may be handing him to @wickedapostate at some point for the stake of RP'ing & so he can have one of Marian's kids, if this happens go pester Jay about him!

…I honestly don't know his gender or orientation details, he/him

Arthur was a young imprisoned blood mage who was released shortly after Leliana was made Divine & was sent to the Kirkwall College as his mother had died in imprisonment

He is meant to be a red Hawke option

He is intended to be a supporting character in the fic series that is about Robin, during the events of it he is adopted alongside her by Marian

Inquisitors

Hemlock Adaar, The Haphazard Inquisitor 

She is a Vashoth Dual-Dagger Rogue, specialization not picked yet

Woman (haven't thought much about it) she/her, Lesbian

She is a Sera-mancer

Hemlock is not someone that ever aspired to be a leader, within the main canon of Of Jade & Catnip she luckily was stationed in Heaven during the conclave & worked for the Inquisition as one of the many mercenaries that joined & later went back to the mercenary lifestyle after the group was disbanded.

As an Inquisitor she is… Not the best for the job, but does try to help where she can, she conspiracts the Templars, messily manages to get Briala shadow control, keeps the gray wardens around. 

In general her leadership is highly influenced by Sera & Blackwall, always trying to protect the little guys but not understanding what is going on nessaily

I haven't figured out many details of what she's like as the Inquisitor 

Willow “Will” Lavellan, The Ruthless Inquisitor 

He is a elven anchor rogue,  specialization not picked yet

Trans Man, he/him, gay

He is a Adoribull-mancer, poly rights! 

He is Zinnia Lavellan's cousin, in main Of Jade & Catnip canon he simply stayed with the Clan instead of going to the Conclave & helped protect them during the war table quests.

As a Inquisitor Willow is rather ruthless towards his enemies & anything that could be a threat, he does side with the mages & have them join willingly, but as for most quests & judgements he can get cold, this is in large part due a mix of the large amount weighing on him & how he is worried humans will undermine him if they don't respect him, or fear him & he knows which one humans are more likely as a whole to feel about him.

Unfortunately as a Inquisitor he has a purely Watsonian view during Demands Of The Qun which causes him to be more scared of losing the aid of & possibly invoking the wrath of The Qunari, alongside the unknown of how many would die in the boat, now from a Doylist pov we understand how bad a plan this was since you don't have to deal with fallout nor get much help & the lives of the Qunari on that boat are not really brought up, but the Chargers are & ultimately for Inquisitor Willow he & Dorian lose The Iron Bull to this choice.

Here is the good news, Willow isn't the Inquisitor & instead Zinnia is within Of Jade & Catnip, The Iron Bull & his Chargers are okay! Also Dorian but there was no doubt about that.

As for what Willow is doing, he is a skilled hunter of the clan, and he is specifically outside of hunting animals the one the clan goes to if there is (a) human(s) that need to be fought off or otherwise dealt with

Willow was raised by his aunt & uncle alongside Zinnia & Aster due to the deaths of his parents, they were hunters and unfortunately were killed one day by humans after their & a human hunting parties ran into each other & got into a fight. This is also why Willow is a hunter, and why he has put his faith in the god of vengeance.

within Of Jade & Catnip if he has not met Dorian or Bull… Yet.

Era’Alen, The Child Inquisitor 

She is a non-canon city elf anchor rogue, specialization not picked yet

She very obviously doesn't romance anyone within the Inquisition, she met them all at 13.

She was a elven “servant ” (slave) working at the Conclave with her parents for a noble family, I currently do not know what became of her within the main Of Jade & Catnip worldstate, so the rest of the below only talks about her as a Inquisitor.

When Era’Alen was found she was not suspected in the same way, there was some question to if she was actually a child or if she was a demon in disguise but as it became clear she was a flesh & blood child suspicion died quickly.

Due to her being again, a child there was not as much expectation for her to defend herself but Era’Alen raised to the challenge & started to learn different ways of fighting as soon as she was able, settling on archery as she could stay safe in the backline but could still impact the fight.

As for her choices, she was at first easily swayed by whatever the people around her thought was best, which led to good things like the Chargers being saved but also bad things like Cullen's addiction getting worse, overtime she became more confident making choices alone & tended towards slow but steady progress to help the oppressed.

Given the above is it much surprise that she is closest with Vivienne? Vivienne saw this young girl from a disadvantaged background trying to play politics & decided to take the girl under her wing, Era’Alen deeply appreciated the guidance & help, and eventually returned that kindness by making Vivienne the Divine.

As for the Inquisition she keeps it together & with the purpose of defeating Solas no matter the cost.

Rooks

Yared ???, The Hopeful Revolutionary 

He is right now planned to be a elven duel dagger rogue Crow who will be romancing Davrin

Trans Man, he/him, ???

Much of his backstory is up in the air until I find out what the game intends, my main idea is that he is originally from Orles, his family was one of the many that died in the fires Celene ordered, and Yared was luckily(?) Found by a crow who had taken a job in Orles

Yared is a romantic optimist who earnestly believes with kindness he & others might be able to make a better world & that is the perspective he is coming from.

He is going to be one of two Rooks for Of Jade & Catnip alongside @wickedapostate 's Nazari, the two are besties.

He is inspired by the Hadestown version of Orpheus & due to this is a musician, even though I doubt there will be a way to reflect that in-game (if Bard had been a specialization option or faction I would have picked it)

Neve-mancer (Name & everything WIP), The Femmes Fatale

I just know I want to play a Femme Fatale Lord of Fortune to romance Neve since Neve is a detective, that's all I really have right now

Credits

My co-writer for the Of Jade & Catnip worldstate is @wickedapostate

Used piccrews: Thedas Elf Maker, ElenaA's Windswept Oc Maker, Tiefling Maker

[sequinsmile-x]

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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[gwen-ever]

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.

[shrunkyclunksbang]

(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.”

[hahahax30]

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.

[funkzpiel]

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.”

[likelightningafterthethunder]

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

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--

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

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: image.png

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: 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: 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

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

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.

[innittowinit]

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?”

[city-writes]

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."

[starlightinhumanform]

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.

If you want to join my Sanders Sides fic taglist just send me an ask or reply to this post :p 

[anistarrose]

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!