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xavviquz · 3 months

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♥︎ you were a fool to think he were any different than the rumors spoken. - sukuna x fem!reader ♥︎ PT.3 (last part)

➡︎ pt.1 , pt.2 //

warnings // !MDNI! mentions of abuse, bruises, hitting, degrading, objectifying, nicknames (slut, whore, useless, brat, ect.), one-sided love, yelling, tying up, masochist, not proofread, dark fanfic

notes // hii so this is the last part of this series! i genuinely did enjoy writing this for you guys and i hope you like it! wc: 889

synopsis: as much as sukuna hates you, he loves the pleasure you bring him.

a monster is what he is, you thought. he didnt know love, he didnt know fear, he didnt know anything of the human emotion, or what makes anuthing human for that matter.

as he surprised you with a knife at hand, your eyes darted towards sukuna, gritting your teeth as your hands shook, the sharp tip of the knife pointed towards sukuna. your body shook as he stood unsurprised, disappointed even. though some part loved him, your whole body and soul said other wise. your heart sunk to the bottom of your stomach as the sharp object in your hand kept flying at sukuna.

he looked unbothered and unphased, gripping on your wrist so so tightly to the point you felt as if it were to snap off.

in the early stages of humans, this is what you were. bare naked and vicious, thats what he built you to be. he reduced you down to what this whole world was centuries ago.

as the womans muffled screams and cries broke you from your sudden trance of immense pain, you noticed you had just dropped tnhe knife from your hands due to his sheer strength. you clenched your teeth, turning around your whole arm just for that knife. it would be your last chance before you killed him. your last chance of seeing the light of day and you had to take that to your advantage. you just didnt know that this world was consumed with evil and cursed spirits.

as you twisted your arm and now had the grasp of the knife in your hands, you quickly aimed for his feet, anything with the most pain and the most veins.

your vision almost went black, splotches of black and white filled your vision as you tried to realize what had happened. your eyes were double visioned, trying to look up at the figure walking towards you. as you realized what had happened, your head was bleeding, gushing out whatever it could and all that it could.

you held your heads wound, sukuna laughing historically at your attempt to scar him. he kicked the blade towards you, holding your shoulders as he shook you like a bag of bones. “c’mon dont tell me thats all you got. get up.” he said, practically slappinng your face back and forth, too exhilarated by the sudden change in mind.

you let out a shriek, grabbing the blade once more. this time, he stayed still. he let you stabbed him and you knew it by the way he was smiling. by the way that devilish grin was plastered on his face, known to do something so unbelievable, so evil, so mad, so insane.

his rough claw-like hand gripped your chin, blood seeping his clothes as his side got slashed. sukuna was making a mockery of your attempt to kill him and you known that all too well.

as tears had filled your eyes, your head throbbing as the womans whines had stopped from the sudden bang, you felt helpless and worthless, like there was no meaning and nothing for you here.

your eyes followed his tall figure, grasping at the womans waist just before his hand went straight through her. her body was now stained with a dark but bright red, it filled the room with such a metal like smell. sukuna’s hands was probably already stained with blood and the deaths of many. but why did this one make you the angriest? she didnt deserve that and you knew it. sure she was a bit frustrating, but you knew deep down, if that was you, getting fucked so so gently by him.. you would’ve acted the same way.

the womans cries and groans grew silent, the rope that kept her body dangling was now cut. your eyes were struggling keeping you awake. tears streamed down your face, your expression unchanged. sukuna smiled, cooing at your defeated face filled him with pleasure. he lifted you into his arms, his second pair of eyes looking at you while his first pair looked forward, heading to some sort of bathroom. it wasn’t the brightest, still dirty, but better than that hell you saw each passing day.

your head was still bleeding, your cells working its best to close it, but to no avail. there was a pounding in your head along witht he sudden sound of running water and him leaving you there. he left the room in such a quiet manner.

maybe this is what he brought you here for. to die silently though that was the total opposite of his purpose. he was supposed to clean you up to do the same that he had done to that woman and the woman before.

the tub filled just enough for you to sink down into your worries, small bubbles of hair had left your mouth as a smile was plastered onto your lips. you thought about your times living, every moment that you’d like to remember. the shapes of the clouds, the weather of the sky, the stars burning bright to guide you when you couldnt find your way. your eyes shut, a final air bubble rised to the surface as you were knocked unconscious.

what you hated the most, is the fact you cursed eachother. and now, it made it impossible to leave.

a/n: please consider reblogging, liking, and leaving recommendations ♡ ! @frogzxch

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savegalkissy · 1 year

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Imagine the gangs devastation if they realize that the Lupin they were calling a monster was the real one all along

He’s the real Lupin- or Arsene, as he’s been insisting ever since Zeni found him- and there’s no doubt about it. From his eyes, from his mannerisms, from his crooked grin, no matter how hard it was to get one out of him now a days.

Yes, he saw the footage. Multiple deaths, multiple unavoidable, undeniable deaths. Arsene came back each time. Because of course he would, he’s Lupin! Zenigata has seen him come back from impossible odds, and he didn’t always understand how before. Now, it all made sense.

Except not to his friends, apparently. They’d picked the phony, who had trapped Arsene in some fucked up science experiment, and pretended to be him. Even now, in the giant safe of a bank, they were picking it clean with ‘Lupin’, while the true one snuck in. Zenigata watched on cameras, with ICPO forces- not in the know of his collaborator- on stand by. To everyone else, it looked like he was waiting for the gang to arrive, unknowing they were already inside.

The cameras didn’t have audio. He just had to watch the grainy screen through his phone, when he could, waiting for the signal. It was a deal they made- Zenigata would help Arsene take down ‘Lupin’. Arsene wouldn’t put up too much of a fight and be arrested. When they made the deal, days into Arsene recovering from his ordeal in captivity, Zenigata hadn’t been sure if he was in his right mind (or even the real Lupin). But then, that determined fire in his eye came, and he knew then, there was no turning his back.

He switched to the safes entrance. The impostor was still breaking the code, something the real Lupin could probably have down already. They got it open- sounding the alarm, and ran in to start grabbing cash. Arsene popped out then, from the floor, and pushed the vault door closed behind them. Then, with true expertise, he locked it and changed the code with hack. It pinged to Zeni’s phone, and set off the alarm.

It was time to go in.

Zenigata’s men took the vault’s entrance by storm. They tried to open it a few times, but Zenigata waited as they agreed, pretending to contact someone for the code. If all went well, they should have the Lupin gang and impostor knocked out on the other side, with the true Lupin faking unconsciousness. It was… not how Zeni ever expected to catch him, but it was better than nothing, right?

Except, thats not what was on the other side of the door.

The first thing he noticed was a red splotch, trailing from a collapsed man in a teal suit. The next thing he noticed was Jigen, staring horrified before him. Goemon wasn’t much better. Zenigata felt his heart stutter, but calmed himself. That wasn’t Arsene on the ground. If it was, that meant he’d get back up. But then… who was it? Who was this fake?

He got closer, and immediately regretted it. He didn’t expect to recognize the face. But he had expected there to be a face. Not… that. He lowered the brim of his hat and turned his face away. “What happened here?” He asked, as if he didn’t already know.

Jigen balked, as if he just realized Zenigata was even there. “You… fuck. It went dark when we entered, then next thing we know, Goemon’s sword is gone, and the lights go on to… Lupin, and…” Arsene.

“Did he say anything? Where did he go?”

“He said… something. About thievin’ and cycles and shit. That he didn’t bother with the treasure, cause then he’d have to worry about it being stolen, and steal in’ it back, like his grandfather did. But.. that he never thought they oughta steal his face from him. So he… stole it back…”

“We have made a terrible misjudgment.” Goemon spoke up, finally. Zenigata noticed, there was no sword in his hands. Both men seemed shaken. And Zenigata suspected, it was not just cause of the vicious act.. but the realization of the only person capable of making a plan like this.

#my asks #lupin iii #impostor au

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sssrha · 3 years

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transcription of slides under the cut:

[SLIDE 1] the vibes ao3’s top 9 mdzs ships give me (a really stupid thing i made on a lazy saturday)

[SLIDE 2] wangxian: the wholesome canon relationship (with a hint of spice)

ok maybe calling the union between a demonic cultivator and a secret sex fiend “wholesome” isnt exactly accurate…but that’s where the “hint of spice” comes in

other than that tho? i remember seeing a meme somewhere about wangxian and sangcheng and wangxian was described as “domestic gays with a house and a white picket fence and two kids” and honestly? yes

not that they cant be freaky. id say their particular brand of freakiness is vaguely surrealist suburban horror. make of that what you will

[SLIDE 3] xicheng: either its “pair the spares” or just about trauma

their dynamic is 500% “karen/enabling husband” but like in a good way

objectively the best-dressed couple you will ever meet. like seriously why are you even trying? theyve got you beat

jc would own a flower shop and punch you in the face for saying a single bad thing about his flowers. lxc would own a tattoo parlor and hand you a lollipop and tell you how proud he is of you for not crying while he gave you a tattoo

they dont strike me as a “every evening we relax and watch the sunset” type of relationship B U T every other week they go stargazing with a detailed map of the night sky

[SLIDE 4] xiyao: either a) the angst of betraying/being betrayed or b) the angst of killing/being killed

high society gays. they would both unironically wear tuxedos to a mcdonalds. lxc would see it as a fun couples thing and jgy would do it to assert his dominance

i swear they would be among the smiliest of the major couples. only one of them would give you a happy smile

dont mess with them. no like dont mess with any of the couples but so far jgy is the first one who would make your life living hell and keep you around long enough to suffer the consequences

[SLIDE 5] sangcheng: being simultaneously over- and underestimated

i saw a meme about sangcheng and wangxian where sangcheng was described as something along the lines of “wine aunt and vodka uncle” and honestly? yes

they’re both human disasters. nhs would have various splotches of color on his clothes and you cant tell if it was intentional or if theyre actually stains. jc is very neat and organized but will have a mental breakdown at the slightest inconvenience

sometimes they just sit down across from each other and. cry. its how they bond

idk why it popped into my head but they’re both ace Because I Said So

[SLIDE 6] xuexiao: cute domesticity but also murder

i refuse to believe that xy is anything but unhinged in every universe. whether or not thats a good thing is up to you

xy could and would murder you in your sleep and not feel bad about it until xxc told him off. even then he might still decide it was worth it

xxc doesnt exactly know about The Murder Stuff(TM) but he knows some shit is off but he trusts xy enough to not comment on it

they would meet and hook up in a bar and mutually decide that they may as well stay together for the rest of their lives the next morning

[SLIDE 7] xuanli: the token straights (but also? theyre really cute???)

i did not expect them to be as cute as they were but here i am

anyway jyl has jzxuan wrapped around her little finger and shes just too nice to use that to her advantage

if jyl asked jzxuan for some chocolate jzxuan would just buy her the entire hershey company and forget to give her an actual chocolate bar and jyl is too sweet to actually say anything about it

they would definitely have like 20 children. theyd fucking love being parents. the moment having another child became dangerous theyd start adopting left and right. theyre rich they can afford it and their hearts are big enough for all their kids so why would they not?

[SLIDE 8] songxiao: childhood friends to lovers AND perfect power couple

i know they have more nuance than this but i cant help but think of them as The Perfect Couple(TM)

not shipping-wise!! i mean like. theyre both law-abiding citizens. their house looks like a model house. theyre dressed super neat and handsomely. they both know cpr and first aid and one of them is a lawyer and the other is an award winning writer. idk who is who but yk.

they are who people call to deal with problems instead of the police and they delight in that fact. that is what i mean by them being The Perfect Couple(TM)

[SLIDE 9] chengxian: disasters through and through

uhh i am going to be spending the entirety of this slide ignoring the fact that i personally consider them siblings

they would live in a dingy studio apartment in the heart of a city and theyd both never be home

theyre both super fucking rich but theyd never have any money on hand so dont be surprised if they just starve out on the street one day because theyre just that stupid

they collectively have the self esteem of rotting cabbage but theyre keeping themselves and each other alive purely out of spite and sheer force of will

[SLIDES 10] nielan: childhood friends to lovers AND himbo power couple

psst heres a secret: neither of them are actually himbos

H O W E V E R they both 500% pretend they are. they intentionally act as stupid as possible just for the fun of it

the best part is when they stop acting stupid when something important happens. crouching-moron-hidden-badass at its finest

also the older brother energy is overflowing. it does not matter who you are or how old you are. if you meet them then youre going to walk away with two new big brothers

[SLIDES 11] the end (unless i gather the willpower to make a part 2)

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mxchellesworld · 3 years

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punk rock princess

spencer reid x reader

synopsis; where spencer’s working on the final paper for his third phd meanwhile you take on the task of making sure he takes a break.

warnings; smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, sub!spence if you squint, nipple piercings;),

a/n; i’m not saying this is my fantasy but .. this is my fantasy,, inspired by this song, y’all know the drill. you don't have to listen while reading but i always love to set the vibe. lastly y/n doesn't have any mentioned features or looks besides piercings/tattoos,, the rest is all up to you:)

pls send in feedback!

***

A shiver crawled down your spine from the first squirt of dye hitting your scalp. The bubblegum pink shade being a change from the firey red which inhabited your head a mere 24 hours prior.

The process was muscle memory at this point. Brushing out your hair then parting and sectioning it off. However that was the only methodical part. The fun was in slapping on the dye, not a single worry about staining your hands or neck.

The sounds of heavy drums and bass guitar bounced off the walls in the bathroom of the small apartment. Even though the door was shut it wasn't enough to stop the sound from flowing into the living room where your boyfriend was working.

Spencer sat at the dining table, flipping through copious amounts of folders and books. His third thesis in the process of being written. The computer screen in front of him looking back with a mocking glow. Since apparently things had to be digital now.

Your feet padding on the wooden floor made him look up from the pages. Humming to the music as you walked into your bedroom. Then back out a few seconds later holding a towel and robe.

A small smile tugged across his face. Ever since you had moved in together he loved to watch your day to day actions. The way you played your music concerningly loud, your skincare routine which included cleaning your facial piercings. What fascinated him the most was that in the 13 months you’d been together he’d seen you dye your hair 7 times.

Not including any touch ups.

He stood from his place at the table, making his way to the bathroom. Two quick rasps on the door to check if you were decent. The action made you giggle.

“Come in!” you called, “I don’t know why you knock weirdo you’ve seen me naked plenty of times.”

A blush spread across his cheeks from both your words and your state of undress. His eyes tried to focus on the splotches of color on the counter, keeping the blood flowing to the head on his shoulders.

But it was hard when the sheer bralette you had on did very little to hide the metal bars in each of your breasts.

“Spence?” you said snapping a fingers in front of him.

He cleared his throat, eyes snapping to your face which held a smirk.

“Are uh those n-new?” he questioned, hand going to scratch the nape of his neck.

The usual silver balls at the end of the bars were now tiny jewell hearts. The color was a little hard to tell due to the material of your bra but from the change in your hair he could almost bet money they were also pink.

With swift hands you unclipped your bra and threw it on the closed toilet seat before turning to face him.

“Got them when I bought the dye yesterday,” you said pushing your boobs up with your hands, “You like?”

Spencer’s eyes were as big as saucers, frantically nodding, “Y-yeah they look nice.”

You dropped your hands to your hips, tugging off the shorts you had on. The wide brown eyes before you couldn’t get any bigger, trailing down your frame stopping to admire the bar in your belly button along with the ink which littered your ribs.

He watched as you got to your knees, turning on the bath faucet. You dipped your head under the water, a stream of pink filling the tub.

The slope of your spine bent over was a sight he'd seen more than enough times. He could pinpoint the beauty marks on your left shoulder, the small sun he sketched which ended up permanently on the back of your neck. But if he let his gaze drift a little further south he could see how deliciously the dark lace looked barley covering up your most intimate parts.

A smack to his calf got his attention.

“Earth to Spencer! Can you hand me the shampoo,” you asked which came out sounding a bit muffled.

He quickly scurried to the tub and reached over to grab the bottle, squeezing a bit of gel onto your open palm.

"I'm gonna go work on my thesis some more," Spencer said slowly shutting the door behind him.

Making his way back to the living room, he pulled a few files and sat down on the couch. Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and red pen between his teeth and he stared in concentration.

They were the same words he had read over and over again. The lack of sleep causing a dull ache in his skull.

"You need to take a break love," you said walking over and sitting next to Spencer on the couch.

"I did take one," he argued back flipping through the file.

"Gawking at me before I shower for 2 minutes isn't a break," you said with a giggle, the warmth flooding back to his cheeks, "Cmon 25 minutes at least without a file in your hand. "

When he didn't respond you took matters into your own hands. Ripping the file from his grasp, earning a grumble of disapproval before you straddled his hips. Your arms circled his neck and your hands went straight to the back of his scalp, fingertips running in soothing motions.

"Isn't this so much better baby," you asked whispering in his ear.

He nodded quickly, staying silent as he let his actions speak louder. His large palms went right to your plush hips. Bucking up as he led you to grind yourself on his lap.

Letting his hands explore the material of your satin rope he could feel the lack of undergarments on your frame. Spencer dared to let his hands dip under the black fabric and take each one of your cheeks in the palm of your hand with a gentle squeeze.

You could feel his cock stiffening under you. If you looked down you'd probably be able to see a wet spot on his sweats, most likely a mix of your arousals.

Leaning forward you let your lips attack his neck, placing sloppy kisses sure to leave marks. The process of licking and biting making Spencer hold onto you tighter, almost as if he had his very own vampire to mark him up.

Trailing up to his ear you bit on the lobe before whispering, "Tell me what you need baby."

Lust filled brown orbs met your own as you each continued your steady grind.

"Please fuck me," he pleaded.

If only he knew how wrapped around his finger you were. As pretty as he sounded begging you'd give him anything.

You pulled the metal frames off his face, tossing them to the other side of the couch. He had complained one too many times about foggy glasses during sex. No matter how cute you thought he looked.

Your hands slid down his torso and reached to pull down his sweats. His precum soaked length was heavy in your hands. Pretty pink tip leaky and throbbing already. The first few pumps had whiny moans slipping from his lips, red from biting so hard.

"Unwrap me baby, it's all for you," you said tilting your head down, motioning to the strings holding your robe together.

Quickly he let his slender fingers go to the ends, a swift tug and it was like opening a gift on Christmas. Leaning forward he let his lips wrap around one of your nipples. A strangled moan leaving your mouth from the stimulation.

With a raise of your hips you lined his cock with your opening before sliding down. You both sighed at the same time, the feeling of him stretching you out and your warm walls hugging his length was just too good.

Slowly you rocked your hips testing the waters, soft gasps and curses left your lips. You could feel very vein and inch stuffed inside you.

Spencer on the other hand was having an out of body experience, there wasn't an inch of your skin which was left untouched. Unkissed. After you were settled he raised his hips meeting you halfway with each thrust.

"You're doing so well baby," you cooed down at him, "You love when I ride you hm? Best fucking seat in the house."

His eyes shut closed in pleasure as your pace quickened, "Love it so much. So so pretty," he mumbled out.

His arms pulled you close again. Chest to chest as you continued your movements. Your lips met in a lazy kiss, panting in each others mouths when you ran out of air.

You could feel him pulsating inside you. The iron grip he had on your hips as he helped drive you up and down on his cock was sure to feel sore the next day. His shoulders were sure to have corresponding crescent marks from your nails digging in.

"Touch me Spence m'so close love," you said breathlessly.

One of his hands fell down to the space where you both connected. Skilled fingers rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves in quick circular motions.

Loud moans escaped your lips. Your head fell back to the familiar junction of his neck and shoulder, biting the skin in order to stifle your noises of pleasure.

"Y/n I can't hold it any longer, please cum with me," he whimpered out.

Nodding your head you grabbed onto the back of his neck, "Right behind you baby. Let go for me, I got you."

With a few more upward thrusts you felt him pull you down onto his cock, warmth spreading in your tummy. The feeling of his seed filling you up and his euphoric groans sent you over the edge.

You both rode out your orgasms, swiveling hips and satisfactory sighs of release leaving your lips.

After a few minutes of content silence listening to the music still flowing through the hall you moved to get up, the sticky mess between your thighs less than comfortable.

Warm arms kept you in place, denying your movement.

"Spence I gotta clean up," you said trying to push yourself off his chest.

"If I remember correctly you said at least 25 minutes and from my calculations I have 3 minutes and 38 seconds left of cuddle time," the lanky man under you said matter of factly.

You rolled your eyes, sighing but resting your head back on his shoulder, "If I get a UTI thats 3 minutes and 38 seconds of me playing screamo in your ear at full volume."

With one last squeeze he kissed the side of your head, the scent of ammonia only sightly bothering him, "Worth it."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #chellewrites

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maybe-its-micheal · 3 years

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Like an Orange Spark...

/rp /dsmp

Ghostbur watched as Dream, Tommy, and Techno talked. He was sure he had just known what they were discussing, but now the context seemed to slip through his fingers... he was used to the feeling, though, and shrugged it off. He tried for a few minutes to pay attention, but kept forgetting what everyone was talking about, amd decided to do something else. He turned his back to them, and let his eyes wonder across the snowy landscape.

It was really was a lovely day, the leaves of the spruce trees swayed slightly in the chill breeze, leaving shadows dancing on the ground. A few small bushes peaked up over the snow, dotted with red berries, and the sun sat in the center of the cloudless sky. Ghostbur heard a slight rustle from a near by bush, and spotted a hint of blue from behind it.

"Listen, Techno, you owe me. Im calling in that fav-"

"Friend!" Ghostbur yelled, interrupting whatever it was Dream was on about.

Techno's expression, a mix between anger and concern, shifted to pity as he looked over at the ghost. It was odd seeing the man who he'd once fought alongside like this... he was a capable leader, and a dangerous enemy. But that was in another life...

Tommy was tense, and flinched as Dream snapped his head around to glare at Ghostbur. He grumbled something under his breath before turning back to Technoblade. "Look. I dont want to make this a big thing-" Techno put a hand up to interrupt as he gave Dream a serious look. He turned to Ghostbur, handing him a lead.

"Hey, Ghostbur. Me and Tommy need to talk to Dream, but I saw a patch of blue flowers on the other side of the village. How about you take Friend and see if you can find them?" He asked.

"Ok!" He responded excitedly. Blue was his favorite, he was always looking for more. "You guys have fun!"

He tied the lead to Friend and ran his grey fingers through the soft wool. He turned to go, hearing a few hushed sentences as he walked off.

"He shouldn't have to watch something like this," Technoblade whispered.

Dream scoffed. "Not like he'd remember anyway. But now that he's gone, I want Tommy to..."

And the voices trailed off. Wilbur decided to fill the quiet by talking to friend- that always cheered him up! "Today I've been spending lots of time with Technoblade!" he told the sheep. "We brewed a whole bunch of invisibility potions together, it was lovely. You know, I think they may be his favorite kind of potion, he kept going on about how much he wanted to share them with Tommy." He gave a slight chuckle, then stopped walking. He turned around to look back at the group. "Technoblade seems to really like Tommy. I cant imagine why..." he said with a jokey smile, eyes fixed on Tommy. He was a bit hunched over, still looking at the ground. Every so often he looked up, nervously glancing to Dream with big, glossy eyes, and then looking back down. Ghostbur frowned. "Maybe that was a bit mean to say. I was only joking," he clarified to Friend. "Tommy isn't all bad."

Ghostbur turned back around and kept walking. On his way to the village he got to thinking about Tommy... he could be really annoying, there's no denying that, but he also had a lot of good qualities. He remembered when they were first making L'manburg together; those were good times. Tommy had been very brave, then, and determined too. No matter how grim a situation looked he never seemed to be afraid of Dream, he just kept going. Maybe he was just a naive child, but in the end... the details were fuzzy, but Ghostbur was sure that in the end it was Tommy who did something to secure the future of their nation.

In the quiet he couldn't help but overhear some of the conversation taking place back over the hill. Their voices were getting louder, maybe they were all excited about something. A smile dawned on Ghostbur's face- maybe they'd sent him away because they're planning a surprise party! He stopped walking again, and did his best to listen.

"I am not handing him over to-" Techno's voice yelled.

"... control over... give it to me! Him. Give him to me!" Dream responded.

"You've done enough dam..."

"... never should have trusted..."

"I dont want to kill you."

It was hard to keep track of who was saying what, but it didn't sound much like party planning. Ghostbur went back to walking- he could see the wooden roofs of buildings in the distance, which meant he was getting close to the village.

In all the yelling he wondered why he couldn't hear Tommy's voice. Maybe he just hadn't listened hard enough- that was probably it. Being quiet is quite unlike Tommy, Wilbur thought.

"Come on, Techno... favor... my..."

"I dont want... can't betray him agai..."

"...Im sorry."

"Theseus."

Theseus... he wasn't sure why, but that name lit something up in the back of his mind. It was only there for a moment, like a flickering spark. A memory. Phil had told him and Techno about Theseus when they were kids... it was a bedtime story, he thought. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and shut his eyes, trying to focus on it, and see if he could get the spark to come back. Friend looked at him with a tilted head and bah'ed, as if to ask why they stopped walking.

"... can make a deal..."

"Hand him over... want..."

"I'll never fall for..."

"He's just a kid, Dream. He..."

Wilbur could see the spark in his mind- a little glowing dot of orange bouncing around in an infinite void of grey and blue darkness. Then, all at once, the spark lit up, erupting into a flame that filled his entire mind. Ghostbur jumped backwards with surprise, falling into the snow.

His mind took him back to another time; another life, when he was another person. The war was still going on, the first one with Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy. Eret had already betrayed them.

In his mind, he saw Wilbur- himself- no, Wilbur- standing on the banks of a lake back in Dream SMP territory. An oak path stretched over the water like a bridge, and Dream stood to one side, Tommy on the other. They both held a bow and a few arrows.

Fundy and Tubbo were there with him, and so were George and Sapnap. Everyone was deadly silent, except for Wilbur. He was counting, loud and clear, his voice echoing over the scene.

"...in it for me..."

"...give you... ever want..."

"Fine, its a deal."

"...I'm sorry, Tommy..."

"... Theseus... cliff... the person he took refuge f..."

"...faster."

"... seen it coming."

The talk was drowning out the memory... the firelight was flickering, and peices of the scene were covered with grey darkness and splotches of blue again. Ghostbur was desperate to hold on, he held his head in his hands and pushed his eyes shut tight. "No no no no no," he muttered to himself, hoping for it to stay just a few moments longer. Through the fading light he heard his past self reach the number 10 amd stop counting... Tommy and Dream turned around to face eachother.

"Please, Techno, I dont want to go," Ghostbur heard from back in reality. Tommy's voice was breaking through his memory... it was all falling apart.

"Come on, Tommy. Take off the armor, don't make me do this the hard way," Dream replied.

"I dont want to, Techno. Hes going to kill me, please!"

"I'm not going to kill you if you cooperate. Hurry up," Dream barked.

The memory was almost gone. There was no more Fundy, or Sapnap, or oak path. It was only water as a heap of bubbles disturbed the surface. When they cleared Ghostbur could see Tommy struggling in the water. He was about to reach the air again, but then-

An arrow plunged itself through Tommy's heart, killing him instantly, and it all came flooding back.

He was snapped back to present day, and running back to the three. Friend was left behind in the snow. Dream shot Tommy. That was the memory, how Tommy lost his second life. Dream shot him. "You BASTARD!' He shouted at the top of his lungs as he sprinted back the way he came. "You fucking BASTARD!"

Then the darkness started to come back... Ghostbur balled his hand into a fist. Dream let out a yell... and it all went grey.

Next thing he knew, he was seated with Technoblade in the house. He looked around. "Oooh! You're brewing! Are you making invisibility? Thats your favorite potion," he told the pig. Techno looked up.

"No, its... harming." He replied. "I thought- you know since you're undead it would work kind of like skeletons and zombies."

"Aww, it's for me? Thanks! But why would I need to heal?" He paused, feeling a bit cold. There was a draft- maybe a window was opened upstairs.

"Because-" Techno stopped and looked at the ghost. "Do you not remember?"

Ghostbur paused. "Hmmm... well I know Dream came to visit. And then... something about an arrow? No, that wasn't it... I guess I dont really remember. What happened?"

Technoblade sighed, and set the potion down. "Nothing big. Im just glad youre ok."

Ghostbur laughed, "well yeah! It's not like I could die again!" That draft was getting big- he looked down.

"Oh." He said. There was a massive hole in his yellow sweater, but the grey akin underneath was left unharmed. "How did..?"

"Dont worry about it. Phil is already working on making you a new one, too, by the way. It'll be blue."

Ghostbur gasped. "Oh my god!" He exclaimed with a smile, "thats my favorite color!"

Technoblade chuckled. "I know, Ghostbur. I know."

"I should tell Tommy," the ghost decided. "Where is he?"

Techno's face fell. "He... had to leave."

Ghostbur shrugged. "I don't remember that, when?"

"Just a few minutes ago... he went with Dream."

Ghostbur smiled pleasantly. "Thats nice, they really are such good friends."

"Yeah..." Technoblade replied. "Friends."

#wilbur soot #technoblade #tommy innit #tommyinnit #dream #dreamwastaken #dream was taken #mcyt #mcyt fanfic #mcyt fanfiction #dsmp #dream smp fanfic #dream smp #dsmp fanfic #dsmp techno

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bakugous-abs · 4 years

Text

Day 5 of Halloween 2020

~Brought to you today by Admin Bomb!

~~~

October First

Halloween. God, Bakugou couldn't tell if it was his favorite or least favorite time of the year.

No, he definitely wasn't one to wear a costume and go out trick or treating. That time was way past him and he couldn't remember why and how the hell he was able to trust getting candy from strangers. Frankly that whole aspect of Halloween seemed so hypocritical!

Every other time of the year we’re told to not take candy from strangers. Never ever once were we allowed to take candy from them. But on this specific day? Sure! Go right ahead. Infact, take candy from MULTIPLE strangers!! Nothing could go wrong with that.

The countless reports of needles being stuck in licorice and suckers already being sucked in told a different story.

And the fucking k i d s. They were so annoying. Screaming and running after each other. Throwing a fit when they didn't get the kind of candy they want or when their siblings got one extra piece. The snot and tears. It was so gross.

That part of Halloween, Bakugou said fuck off to.

However the scaring? And the terrified faces? That's something he could look forward to.

Seeing the look of horror Pikachu got when he prayed on one of his fears was so exciting. The heightened anxiety in the Yuuei hallways made for some easy targets to make scream and run away.

That, is why Bakugou liked Halloween.

“Yo Bakubro, we’re gonna head out and get our costumes. You wanna come with?” Kirishima barged into his room, flicking on the light.

“Fuck no.” Bakugou cursed. The sudden brightness was stinging his eyes, the red irises struggling to adjust to sudden change. “I already told you last week you dumbass, I don’t do trick or treating.”

Kirishima's shoulders visibly went limp, a pout occupying his lips. “Come on man, it’ll be fun. You even get to scare some little kids.”

“I can do that without the help of a costume. Now get out.”

He huffed. “If you say so, man. We’ll be back later! See ya.” And with that Bakugou's door shut with a click, the lights left on.

The blond cursed the redhead under his breath. Why was it so hard to shut off the light when they leave! He has it off every single time they open the door, so why not shut it off again when they leave!?

Bakugou got up to shut the light off, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed a letter on his neat floor. When did that get there? Did shitty-hair leave it there when he left?

It was a pretty white envelope with a splotch of red to the left of the center. As he got closer he read his name in very intricate cursive. Had it not been for the date in a nice fine print, and the fact that he didn't like anyone and fully expected no one to like him back, in the upper corner he would have assumed this was an old valentines letter.

He picked it up. What the fuck was this doing here? The handwriting was very obviously not Shittyhairs. His was too rough and sharp to ever resemble something like this.

“10-1-xxxx <3 Bakugou”

Hesitantly, he turned it around and found a wax seal on the back. A simple circle, nothing more.

The letter was ripped open, the wax seal completely forgotten. If the letter inside got ripped, that wasn’t his problem. Unfortunately, the letter went completely unscathed.

He took it out and unfolded it, careful to hold it horizontally in case this was a prank gift from one of the dunces that called him his friend, but there was no such thing. Infact, the letter seemed virtually empty except for right smack dab in the middle. A small word written in what seemed to be a font designed to replicate human writing.

“Hi”

Bakugou's eyebrows crinkled. That's it? He turned the paper over, flipped it back, then turned it over once more. Nothing.

“Such a waste of fucking paper.” He muttered, crushing the note within his palm and lit off his explosions, a caramel scent wafting through the air and black smoke trailing along with it.

He threw what was left of it into his trash, dusted it off his hands, and flicked the lights back off.

Whoever wrote that letter had a pretty terrible sense of humor

~~~~~

October Second

Bakugou woke up the next morning like usual. Stretch, pop his joints and spark a few explosions, then sit up and get ready for school. The letter from yesterday lingered in the back of his mind, still annoyed that someone thought something like that would even be considered funny.

How the hell just writes a tiny Hi on a whole sheet of paper. Its such a fucking waste! It was irritating him more than anything.

That's why when he got a second letter this morning, also slid underneath his door, he just threw it on his bed to be dealt with later. He didn’t need to get any more pissed off about something before going to school and getting pissed off even more. No, that can wait till after he got his homework done.

And it did wait. During the day he completely forgot about the existence of the letter. Going to classes, almost blowing Dekus face off in training, shouting at the group that seemed to be stuck to his thighs, going to more classes. Completely normal.

But when he got home and locked himself in his room to do homework and calm down, he saw the letter on his bed and immediately became pissed again.

He marched on over to it and picked it, opening it in the same fashion he did yesterday and again, the letter managed to come out unscathed.

He opened the paper, preparing to see another waste of paper. Unfortunately the universe was granting his wishes, but not to the extent he was thinking.

This time, there was a sentence, a sentence that made his heart stop for a second.

“You have lovely skin.”

What. The actual. Fuck.

Who the hell is this? Why are they talking about his skin? How do they know anything about his skin?

Subconsciously his eyes darted around him. Everything looked the exact same. He looked behind him, no one was there. But there was a nagging feeling in the middle of his back, like someone was staring there no matter where he turned.

Fuck this.

His eyes glided toward the balcony. The curtain were wide open. But they were facing the 1-B building. No one could be watching him…

The curtains were closed in a matter of seconds.

~~~~~

October Seventh

The letters kept coming. Every day they got creepier. Complimenting a feature about him and details this person would only know if they got close to him.

He was losing sleep. His eight hour nights shortening rapidly to only around four hours and it wasn't consecutive.

Yesterday he became so sick of it he grabbed the five letters he had received, first still burnt in his trash can, and stomped down to the lounge room, confronting them of the letters asking whoever it was that was sending them to step the fuck up.

No one had any idea what he was talking about.

He attacked all the girls first, not physically no, but yelling at them to confess who done it. No dude in their class would have this good of handwriting other than that belly button laser guy.

But he had no idea later, saying Bakugou was not exactly his type, which he got a yelling for as well.

Todays letter… wasnt any better than the last.

"This is almost as much fun as watching you sleep."

He held the latter in his hand, not noticing the grip slowly getting tighter and tighter, and suddenly the ends were crinkled and charred, the only thing left was a single word.

Fun.

~~~~~

October Fifteenth

Bakugou finally cracked and told the teachers about the letters. To say they overreacted was,,, actually just about right.

There were now teachers stationed on top of the buildings, around the perimeter, and on Bakugous floor.

He hated to admit it but having a few pro heroes there eased his edge a little. A felt safer. Safer than he had in the last two weeks.

But unfortunately, that wasnt enough.

For in the middle of the night, to his absolute horror, the rustling of paper was heard across his room.

His body went cold. Eyes wide as all hell. He used his feet to curl all his blanket away from the edges of his bed and under his legs and over his body.

'Please,' his mind pleaded. 'Please fucking tell me thats not another letter.'

And to his absolute horror, when he sat up, just a little bit… there, visible in the light shining under the crack of his door, was a letter, with the same red heart and perfect cursive handwriting that spelled out his name.

"Please dont scream, they'll hear you"

~~~~~

October Twenty-sixth

Its been a few days since hes gone out of his room. The pros thought hed feel safer in his room where they could keep an eye on him but in reality.

Bakugou didnt feel safe at all.

Everywhere he went his anxiety told him someone was there. With beady eyes that went unblinking just… staring at him. Like he was a slab of meat for a hungry starving lion.

But he wasnt allowed to complain, even though he did, and was expected to remain still.

He was expected to wait.

Wait.

And wait.

He didn't want to wait. He didn't want to be here anymore.

He was behind on his classes, but he couldn't focus long enough on the work to get it done anyway.

He had nothing else to distract him. Hes read through all his books, played all his games, watched all his movies. There was nothing else to do other than wait like a sitting duck.

So what the hell was he supposed to do?

And while he had his door shut, he finally broke down, tears streaming down his face and fear coursing through his veins as he knew, by the sound of paper sliding under his door, that he wasnt safe anywhere anymore.

"Dont struggle, I hate when they struggle"

~~~~~

October 31st. Halloween Night

Halloween...

Halloween. Bakugou hated Halloween.

He hated Halloween. He hated being scared. Scared all the time.

He couldnt handle the sound of paper anymore. Not the sound of it wrinkling, folding, unfolding, ripping, he hated paper.

All kinds of paper.

Wrappers, notebook, printer.

It was all terrible.

And now… he can't even handle unwrapping his own candy.

Bakugou hated Halloween.

And has another letter slid under his door, now in direct daylight, and got up and looked at it.

The cursive was now just scratches. The heart too dark to be artificial.

He opened it, slipping the paper out and reading the note. One word. Tiny in the middle of the paper, resembling the first ever note he got. One word.

'Bye…'

However, this time, when he turned the note over, he found something else. Another word- no, a sentence.

'Till next year… Bakugou Katsuki.'

And just like that, his body ran cold, and his vision went dark.

#boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero #boku no hero x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha blog #mha #mha blog #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #x reader insert #ask blog #bnha ask blog #mha ask

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dylanobrienisbatman · 5 years

Text

A mini drabble because my mind is still thinking about Steve finally getting to go back and have that dance with his best girl.

Peggy pulled on her red dress, the one she had worn to that bar so long ago, surrounded by Howling Commandos and soldiers of all sorts. She pushed her pressed curls behind her ears, and swiped on her red lipstick, staring at her reflection.

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance” The words rang in her ears.

“Alright.” She had responded, through her own tears, broken and lost. “A week next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it.” His voice had sounded a little scared, and she had tried to keep her own steady. To comfort him in this moment.

“Eight o’Clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late.” It had been a joke, almost, but she had meant it.

Come back to me, Steve. Please don’t do this. Please come back. That was what she had meant. The line had cut out, leaving her with nothing but her own tears, the static of a dead radio, and memories of him.

She had taken the photo of him, the him she had met first, the him who had stolen her heart, and had it framed. She looked at it now, by her mirror. The clock read 7:30pm.

She pulled on a coat, slipped on her heels, grabbing her purse and walking out the door.

She arrived at the club, and she knew her eyes were rimmed red, her mascara probably splotched all over her cheeks. It was 7:50 by the clock hanging above the bar, and she wanted it to stay there forever. Because in 10 minutes, she would have to finally...

She shook her head. Ten minutes, ten hours, ten days, weeks, months, years, decades... it didn’t matter. He was gone, and ten minutes wasn’t going to change it, just as much as ten minutes wasn’t going to make her more ready to accept it.

She was here to honour his memory. She was here because they had a date, and she would rather die than miss it. She was here because she loved him, because she had lost him. She was here because of Steve.

She ordered a drink at the bar, a glass of gin, and pulled up a chair in the corner, staring down at the coasters of the place.

A white bird, on blue sky. A swaddling cloth from its beak, holding a barrel of whiskey instead of a babe. She spun it with her fingernail. 7:54.

The band struck up a song, fast and fun, the dance floor was shaking beneath her feet at the sound of the big bands swing.

7:56.

She drained her glass and ordered another.

7:58.

She turned her body away from the door, unable to bear the image of him not walking through.

Steven Grant Rogers. Not a soldier, but a good man. She was glad she had met him then, when he was small and fragile, because knowing that version of him meant that knowing the new version of him even better. Because she knew him to his core.

8:01.

She let herself choke out a sob, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The band changed tune, cutting to something slower.

“I had the band play something slow.” His voice rang in her ears, and if not for the closeness of it, she’d swear she was just remembering his last words. “I’d hate to step on your toes.”

She turned, and there he was.

Tall, and broad, somehow older. He looked tired, he looked... out of place... He looked like Steve.

“Steve?” She whispered, knowing it was probably a dream, hoping she never woke.

“Hi Peggy.” He said, a sad smile across his face.

“I don’t- are you...” She wasn’t sure if she had ever been speechless before, but this...

“We had a date, didn’t we?” He asked, holding out his hand.

“Yes, we did.” She whispered, still shellshocked. How...

“Well then, why don’t you teach me how to dance?”

“How are you... Steve...” She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to speak again. She reached out, and took his hand. It was firm and warm, and he pulled her close into him, holding her gently.

“I couldn’t leave my best girl.” He whispered, and something about the way he felt in her arms, the way his voice sounded, the way he looked just the same but a little different... She knew he was real. He seemed to read her mind, or he knew she’d have questions. “I’ll explain it all later,” He whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, brushing her tears away softly with his thumbs, “but right now, I’d just like to dance with you, if thats alright.”

She nodded, and they stood still for a moment longer, foreheads pressed together, before she tilted her chin up and kissed him softly. He cupped her cheek in his palm, and the breathe he let out felt like decades of loss being swept away by a single moment. It felt like grief being released into the night air. It felt like somehow, peace was settling into his bones.

She’d ask about it all later. She’d make him tell her everything. She’d get the story and then some.

But for now...

In this moment....

The band was playing something slow...

Eight o’Clock, one week from Saturday....

Steve was here in her arms, and so....

They danced.

#avengers endgame spoilers #avengers endgame #endgame spoilers #steggy #steve rogers #peggy carter

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goonlalagoon · 7 years

Text

The Dread Pirate Red

@thats-the-moon-grey suggested something with Red and his family from @ink-splotch‘s Leagues and Legends trilogy. Spoilers for RtD under the cut

(Read on Ao3)

When Francis Roberts was growing up, the Academy and its Leagues fell into two categories in stories: the Rangers, who were good and brave and admirable, and everyone else, who decidedly were not. The Rangers were the exception in every story, but everywhere else the Dreads were clear - avoid the Leagues.

Francis idolised the Rangers from afar for years, favoured bedtime stories and wide eyed imaginings. He dreamt of meeting them, but his branch of the family rarely sailed that way so his quiet imaginings of single handedly holding off a kraken while Sarge dragged himself onto the deck and stared in awe at his seven year old saviour were, admittedly, highly unlikely.

That year he did fight a (small) kraken, but it wasn't alone. He was barely in the fight, really, just crouched obediently somewhere sheltered and out of the way while the crew did their job. Heart in his mouth, Francis watched his family plant their feet on the swaying deck and look a monster fiercely in the maw, and shuddered in mixed horror and determination. This was who he wanted to be - a weapon raised, feet planted, a world made safer by the work of his own two hands.

The Dreads taught all of theirs to fight, because on a ship you either all headed into danger or none of you did. Francis washed dishes with his sisters and brother, chased cousins over the deck, and attended drills and classes every day like clockwork. The deck shifted under his feet with the swell of the waves and he planted his feet, shifted his balance, and breathed with it.

He was seven, watching breathless as his family fought in concert, he was eight and balancing a sword as the deck rolled beneath his feet, twelve and helping teach a young cousin how to fall -

He was thirteen, watching his mothers face go still as she read the letter telling them her brother and his crew had been found guilty of being vigilantes. He was thirteen, watching her crumple in and in and in, while standing still and stern, lips pressed thin. He was thirteen and looking around his grieving siblings, his cousins, his crew, and he curled his hands tight in his jacket as fury bubbled in the back of his throat.

That was the year Francis first read a copy of the First Leagues constitution. It had been a year of bitter, cold rage, and he picked it up because he wanted to see how you could get the Rangers from this system - stuffy, pompous, condemning anyone who didn’t study under their rules no matter how many lives they saved. When he was done, he wanted to sail up to the Bureau and wave it in front of them, force them to read it, because didn't they see? Didn't they understand what they were supposed to be? Didn't they understand that they could be so much more?

Francis Uyeda walked through the Academy's hated gates when he was eighteen, because there was something here worth saving from itself. His mother's face had been stern and calm on the dockside, and when she kissed his forehead and wished him luck he could see her folding in and in on herself. One of the younger kids had been crying. One of his sisters had stubbornly refused to speak to him since he sent off the forms, and another had done the same once his acceptance had come back. His brother had made him promise to say hi to the Rangers.

He had lived most of his life on a ship, and now the ground lay still beneath his feet. He braced himself against it and stumbled when he adjusted his balance thoughtlessly for a shift that wasn't coming. The ground was still, stable, and he felt off balance for weeks. He had lived all of his life with a large family and a larger crew, privacy a rare and sought after thing, noise and company a constant background. The Dreads were loud, boisterous, never ending chatter and argument and six conversations at once on a slow day. The Academy was full of people, true, but for weeks he felt off centre and still, the world quiet around him and the strangeness of having only one other set of lungs to listen to in years night waking him in bemused panic.

Francis had always been on the quieter side, and as he grew responsibility had made him quieter still. He measured words, considered and judged situations, because there was too much in the balance here to risk hasty words, hasty action. He was in this for the long haul, and he could not be discovered.

He sat through classes with peers caught up in their own glory and curled his fists under the desk. He wanted to scream at them, he wanted to drag out his mother's best captain tone, his uncle's disappointed scolding - what do you think this is all for? Don't you see, don't you understand - you are supposed to be so much more than this. We are supposed to be so much more.

Leaf hovered around the edges of his attention for a few weeks before he approached to calmly suggest the kid actually learn to take a fall. He went a whole quiet offer without offering his name - Francis had met so few new people over the years who hadn't known who he was even if they hadn't met him in person, and the Dreads were cautious about sharing their names with folk outside of the fleet. Leaf dragged Jack along with him, and they glowered at each other, two weathered heroes who had come to Rivertown to earn their overdue badges. Jack didn't trust combat majors, jealousy and an earned wariness. Francis wasn't inclined to like anyone who dragged a kid into fight after fight without bothering to teach them how to walk back out. Leaf sighed at them both and reminded them he could make his own choices, thank you very much.

After Red told Jack about his hypothetical background he stared at the ceiling for three hours, second guessing himself. How did he know Jack could be trusted - could he be trusted? - was he certain no one else had heard? - how would his mother’s face twist if he was found out, if he was put on trial, if they convicted him of being a vigilante - because he was, wasn't he, when it came down to it. He might not be a legend in his own right, but he'd sailed with the Dreads, he'd helped go in search of dangers to take them out of innocent people's way - would she stay standing this time, when she got that letter? When some trustworthy friend send word that her older son wouldn't be coming back?

Jack was trustworthy. No one else heard. The letter was never penned. But he would wake in a sweat and breathe shallowly for weeks, panic crawling down his spine, and wonder. What if...?

The Leagues could be so much more, and here it was. Leaf was a healer who was slowly dragging it all into the light, the pettiness and the bullying, because what was the point in skulking away to sleep safe and letting these blows fall on someone else? Gloria was sharp and bright, her aim as precise as her essays, pretty, cheerful and ready to get her hands dirty. Clem was a standard, full of himself Combat spec until he piped up and made Red do a pleasantly surprised double take. And Jack Farris - Jack wanted to be so much more.

Jack and Francis formed a truce for the sake of a brave, reckless kid, and then a friendship when they both stepped back and really looked at each other. Red never asked what the jagged edges you could sometimes see in Jack were from - why sometimes, sat in the shadows with his back to a wall and his eyes on their small, fragile group he would crumple in and in on himself while his face stayed relaxed and cheerful. Red knew enough heroes to know you didn't save everyone, knew enough to know - his mother looked like that, when Red's brother sang a certain cheerful sea shanty, or Red used a particular turn of phrase, or she was basking in her family's warmth but feeling a phantom space. You couldn't save everyone, but you carried their ghosts on your heavy shoulders and wondered - what if...?

The stable loft club was where he felt balanced, steady on his feet on the unmoving ground. This was what he was supposed to do, who they were supposed to be. He channelled his uncles, aunts, older cousins and unrelated crew mates. (He didn't channel his mother, because he thought it might be a bit terrifying for anyone who'd never met her.)

Francis had always been quiet, a little solemn and reserved, but Red was often silent, preoccupied, and focussed to the point of paralysis. There was so much to do, a lifetime' work and then a lifetime's more. This was his life, this was his work, and he had to make it mean something. He had a job to do, he had a hundred plans and swallowed down arguments, and he felt himself bursting at the seams with it all.

Over training sessions and late nights, Academy benches at breakfast and Sally-Anne's lemonade, bits of himself he'd hidden away when he walked through the Academy gates started to shine again. He had forgotten - there was work to be done, but that didn't mean you couldn't laugh as well. He slipped out dry comments and Jack snickered, Leaf grinned, and Gloria smirked. For a moment he could have been crammed into one of the benches aboard their ship, surrounded by the warmth of his family.

He didn't write home and they didn’t write to him. Francis Uyeda had official records, and on them were no living relatives. He'd had some anonymous help with his application, via a friend of a friend (...who had some friends who had a cousin, who had a friend who knew Sez, who had a friend on the inside). If he was found out - well, the Bureau had a price in the head of anyone in the Dreads, so he wasn’t going to let them find out. Red wasn't going to lead the Bureau to his family for something so trifling as staying in touch. There were more important things, but he wrote out letters in his head when he couldn't sleep, and tried not to dwell on imagined replies.

His sisters nagged him in phantom writing to do more staff drills, and gave him (unasked for) advice for the stable loft crew’s next session, which he generally acted on. In his head, his youngest cousin worshipped Laney, and his eldest sister fondly adopted Gloria on sight. His younger brother sent him a gleeful, teasing letter filled with nothing but 'you liiiike him' when he told them in his mind about his finally admitted crush on Leaf. Red rolled over that night and firmly told himself that was a lucky escape, really, but his heart twisted rebelliously.

He was nineteen, calling his friends to battle and trying not to hyperventilate because Sarge - the Rangers’ Sarge! - knew his name. He was nineteen, rallying and marshaling with a year’s training and a lifetime of his family. He was nineteen, watching bodies be lowered into the ground, watching faces in the crowd crumpling in and in, his own stern and still, thinking - if only they'd known more, if only I'd been there, what if I'd taught them more, what if..?

The next year felt like so much progress. They weren't relegated to lofts and hidden corners, relying on Rupert's perfect insider knowledge - Red thought he knew who the friend of a friend of a friend had been, these days - to keep from punishments, hunted out by those who should above all others be helping them. They had grown into something more: these little baby Leagues, teamwork and flexibility suddenly a necessity, were the roots of what he had always thought of when he daydreamed about the Rangers in his faraway bunk. They were learning, growing, showing their faces to the city who barely knew they were there except for their polished walls and sheltered lives. Red poured over reports with Leaf, Gloria, and occasionally Clem, and took their notes to Rhodes to be scolded and corrected, ready to take advice and training back to their groups.

Red wasn't there when Heads got the news that his nephew wasn't coming back from he mountains, but he insisted on being the one to carry it to Sez, Sally, and Bart. Thorne had called the news in, of course, through all due process - the letter Heads was reading and rereading, locked in his study, was a precise, clinical report. Thorne had called it in, but Sally-Anne had no phone that the Academy kids knew, and Laney was worn beyond Elsewhere travel. The letters they had scrawled would reach Rivertown weeks from now, full of their determination to get him back and their grief, but there had been an announcement at the Academy once Heads had finished reading the report and washed the tears from his face. Red sent a polite note with Clem to say that he would not be attending class that afternoon and would of course ensure he caught up for the next class, and made his way into the city.

The Bureau would inform Heads, Miz Eliza, and any relevant officials that Rupert Willington Jons Hammersfeld the Seventh was missing, believed dead, in the course of service. They wouldn’t inform the owner of a fish shop. They wouldn’t inform a man who worked for the city underground. They wouldn't even know that there was a half-hag girl juggling on a street corner to not tell. Red pushed the cafe door open and thanked all the gods he knew that all three were there, and the tables otherwise empty, because he didn't want to have to say this twice - he didn't want to say it once but he choked it out because they had to know, they deserved to know, and that was more important than how little he wanted to do this.

Bart stared at his hands, resting on his precise, serviceable bowler. Sally-Anne's breath caught and she reached blindly for Sez, and Sez - she was crumpling, in and in and in, and Red wasn't sure how many more people he could bear to see break. Leaf bumped his shoulder in wordless support and fetched glasses of water, flipped the shop sign to 'closed', and started on the dishes for the sake of doing something.

When the Bureau started trying to close down their fieldwork, Leaf raged. He couldn't - wouldn't - hold his tongue for the powers that be. It drove Red to distraction, and made him smile fondly when no one was looking. There were more important things - this was a long haul, a lifetime's work - but Leaf was always in the moment. Leaf was blazing sunshine and fierce grins, taverns singing and dancing on tables, black eyes and spitfire shouting, and Red didn't really understand why he thought Red was good company, of all people.

Red held his tongue and accepted that the wind was blowing in the wrong direction for a bit, but Leaf was chucked out on his ear and had to be sneaked in for guest appearances at their unofficial (if frankly poorly hidden) extracurricular training sessions. Leaf set up a police force with Bart, trying to bring order and security to Rivertown, and Red wrote essays and taught Terence Farris to throw an opponent twice his size across a ring just like Gloria. Gloria was busy teaching someone how to shoot and wishing, loudly, that Laney was there to have a contest with.

Rupert came home. In the end, that was what it was about - a city finally demanding its own rights, students demanding they be who they could be just what they had always been, the Bureau's long grasp being questioned and defied - a boy coming home, and finding that it wasn't going to lose him again at any cost.

Red wrote home, for the first time in years, and Laney took the letter to a likely port. He didn't go with her, because if the Dreads came they had to come for the fight, not for him, because this wasn't supposed to be about him. It was about what was right, what was owed, what they all were and what they could be. This was a call for aid, not a homesick son crying out for his family. The letter was almost formal, in its way - one of the Dread’s coded requests for aid, a warning that they'd be toe to toe with the Bureau. In the postscript he had cracked and scrawled - I miss you all so much.

They didn't send a reply, just swarmed into Rivertown, noisy and boisterous, complaining about how the ground felt wrong, and Red disappeared into his mother's arms, his sisters pounding him on the back, the warmth and cheer he hadn't been letting himself miss. He danced around the edges of conversations, wry comments and dry humour slipped between the tangle of many voices at once. He had watched Leaf, for months and months - for years - dancing on tables and raising rabbles, and had drifted on the edges - Leaf was watching him now, across the room, smiling like sunshine and quiet, so quiet. Red disentangled himself from a cousin and grinned over at him, before turning to his mother.

"C'mon, come meet my crew." His mother's eyebrows shot up, but she threw an arm around his shoulder and let him lead her to the corner where Leaf was sitting, waiting for Weeds to drift in, Gloria to burst through the doors, Clem to bustle in with pages and pages of notes. Leaf was quiet, small - and he shouldn't be. It was Red's job to hover, calm and observing. Leaf should never look, just a little, like he wasn't sure where he fit.

Rivertown rose up, and the Dreads rose with it. Red didn't ask to be assigned to one of the groups with his siblings, his cousins, his old friends. He had his crew, and they'd been fighting together all year. He had trained them for this. They had each other's backs, and Red hit the ground. Weeds dragged him up and Jill got under his other arm, hauling him to safety and begging him to live long enough to get there.

When he woke there was a heavy weight on the side of his bed. Leaf should never be quiet, uncertain, but here he was - red eyed and ashy pale, crumpling in on himself, gasping for words that slipped away from his tongue. Red blinked, slow and puzzled, and tried to find the words caught at the back of his own throat. Leaf should never look like he wasn't sure he fit, here, like he wasn't the first person Red would want to see.

The next time Red woke, his mother was there. She burst into tears and threw relieved arms around him, careful not to jostle. It hurt anyway, but he clung back. When she got the letter telling her a beloved brother was dead, in the aftermath of battles, at funerals, she had gone still, stern, but dignity was for in the wake of loss. It was steel spines and determination not to bow because there was something here worth facing. But Francis wasn't dead, just injured, and this was about relief, about hope, and so she sobbed onto his shoulder.

(He was seven, curled behind a crate waiting seriously to be told it was okay to come out now, while the crew started to assess the kraken's damage. He was seven, his mother finding him at last and burying her face in his mop of hair, shuddering as she realised he was okay, he was okay, and she could let herself feel how scared she had been when she hadn't had to scold him out from underfoot in the aftermath)

The Dreads had answered the call for aid, and now some of them lay still and cold. Red gripped his own arms tight as people he'd played games with and learnt to wield a sword alongside were lowered into the ground. He hadn't asked them to come for him, because they would have, of course they would have, and this had never been about him. He had asked them to come for Rivertown, for fairness and what the Academy could be, because if they were going to risk everything it should be because they had decided it was worth it, and they had come. They hadn't come for him, he reminded himself, trying to drown out the voice in the back of his mind - if I hadn't asked, if I hadn't written, if I hadn't added that postscript...?

They buried their fallen crew, and descended in a boisterous crowd on Sally-Anne's to raise drinks and make increasingly embarrassing and inappropriate toasts, celebrating the lives that had been led. Red hobbled over to his usual table with Leaf's help and his mother's eagle-eyed supervision. Jack settled opposite, his back to the wall and one eye on the door, and grinned at him when Leaf challenged one of the Dreads to a dance contest. "Just like old times, huh?" Red laughed, eyes on the was Leaf was laughing, fierce and open, head thrown back. "Aww, you like him!" Jack snorted with laughter while Red rolled his eyes at his brother. "Francis has a cruussssh." He opened his mouth to make a snarky reply, but Leaf caught his eye and grinned, and he forgot what he'd been going to say.

They buried Clem a few days later, once his grandmother had travelled into Rivertown for the funeral. She leant on Gloria's plump shoulder, because Clem had written home every week and she'd been looking forward to meeting such a bright, brilliant young lady all year. They should have met her at graduation, pride filling her eyes rather than grief, but that hadn't been their choice to make. Clem had been a combat major, brash and cocky, until he had slowed down and decided he didn't have to be, actually, and turned out to be a decent fighter and excited academic, loyal and brave, and a patient teacher (though prone to going off in the kind of tangent that turned a wrestling class into a contest between pistols and throwing knives). He had been so much more than he'd set out to be when he first walked through those gates, forms trimmed in red.

Red's mother collared him in his cosy warehouse corner, after, when Leaf had rushed off to help Bart and Gloria had disappeared to sit with Clem's granny, holding her wiry hand tight and listening to the stories she had as though her life depended on it. Red was flicking through papers, planning schedules and classes for when he was improved enough to not risk the wrath of Rue.

"He was one of your crew." She was serious, sad, and quiet. Red nodded, slowly, a lump in his throat. His family was still the Dreads, but they weren't his crew anymore. He loved them - he trusted them and he missed them - but in a fight they weren't the ones he would lean on anymore. They weren't the ones he would turn to withought thought. They weren't the people he trusted instinctively to have his back. His mother smiled, sad and proud, and smoothed his hair from his forehead. "Come and visit us. Spend some time on the sea for a bit, let us all laugh until you get your sea legs back." He looked at his hands, at the piles of papers and plans around him. She shook her head and tilted his chin to meet her gaze. "Come and visit us, once things are on track. I'm a captain too, kiddo, and believe me - you need to give yourself time as well. Your boy Leaf has already said he'll hold the fort while you come enjoy some home cooking." She smiled wryly. "Spoken like a boy whose never had your cousin Algie's idea of cooking." Red nodded, hesitantly. There was a lifetimes work here - but that was the point, wasn't it? It was his lifetime, so he had to live it.

Weeks later, the deck shifted under his feet, and he stumbled, grumbled, and ignored his sisters laughing at him. Laney leaned on the railing, already looking faintly queasy. "Last chance for an immediate ticket back?" "Nah, you go make sure your rabble haven't blown anything up. And if you can? Get that terrible couch out of my house." "Even I'm not that good, Red. See you in port in a couple of weeks." She was gone in a glimmer of gold, and he braced himself against another ocean swell. The ground was moving and he was unsettled, off balance, but that would pass. An uncle was calling instructions to the younger crew members, running drills. A seagull was calling, high overhead. With Laney gone, he could almost have never have left home. He could have stayed here, one of the Dreads, the fierce protectors of the sea. It would have been a good life, but it wasn't his.

He was twenty, standing before a mixed class of all majors, teaching them to set their feet, to hold their balance, and to roll with it when they fell. Later he would argue with Heads, a little nervously, about schedules and with Grey, vehemently, to get him out of the library for five minutes. The Academy was on shaky ground while they figured out how to keep the good and repair the rest, but he felt they were off to a good start. Tessa Farris grinned from the front row, while her cousin lurked at the back and thought longingly of the books he couldn't read for the next hour because even sages should now how to duck. In the morning they would review reports of trouble in the city and agree which a few Academy students should lend a hand with, because there was no point teaching them to be heroes and then saying that the people on their doorstep weren't worth defending.

(He was thirteen, reading the First League’s constitution for the first time and knowing they could be so much more)

#Leagues and Legends #Beanstalk #Echoes of a Giantkiller #Remember the Dust #RtD Spoilers #Francis Uyeda #L&L fic #my writing #This ran away with me completely because I have a major soft spot for Red

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