#virthiefictober
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Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 6
Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: - || Scorched. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”
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It would have been better if he didn’t catch me in time.
Of course, he felt stupid afterwards for the thought. Of course, it was better Stan caught him. Even in the moment of when Stan had been fast enough to catch him before he floated far away, and strong enough to pull him back out of the pull of the portal too, he’d felt beyond relieved.
His rough reunion with the ground, and safety, was enough to pull his mind back out of the panic it had set into when he’d initially started floating backwards. Now the two of them were slowly getting up from the ground, catching their breath from the dangerous experience that was gone just as suddenly as it had arrived. Really, it had been their own fault, fighting in the control room, but he had missed the portal activating and he could only guess Stan had as well. At the very least, even if he noticed it turning on, he didn’t think it was dangerous until Ford was floating midair.
Regardless, the only reason Ford had that thought now was because of the current awkward situation, set between the situation that had scared both of them and the argument that hadn’t been resolved.
He could just as easily thank Stan as he could jump back into the bickering from before as if nothing had happened. Stan calling him the selfish one, blaming him for what happened to his life, ‘some brother you turned out to be...’
“What the Hell was that?!” Stan said, before gesturing back to where the dormant portal was now sitting, perfectly quiet.
“That’s-!” Ford snapped at him without thinking, but stopped as he could now see the glowing red outline scorched into Stan’s back, burnt completely through the hoodie and shirt he was wearing.
Stan had his other hand going over to hold onto his shoulder above the injury, and now he crossly looked back at him. “What?” He said, quickly getting upset. “No, come on, what is it, huh?”
“Your back, it’s-”
Stan cut him off dryly. “Yeah, I’m aware. Your point?”
Ford simmered, but did his best to let the tone agitate him. Ford had been the one to accidentally burn him, he wasn’t going to very well yell at Stan for his attitude on the no doubt intense burn.
“What were you going to say, cause I know that wasn’t it.” Stan’s voice jabbed through the air, on the brink of returning to yelling again. “Come on, I wanna know. I wanna hear it, Ford.”
It was frustrating and Ford just wanted to yell it at him. Get it through his head why hiding the research was so important, why he’d needed Stan’s help, why-
Why this was all on the edge of disaster and on top of everything else the last thing he needed was another fight.
“What? Now, you’re going to clam up?” Stan scoffed derisively.
“That...” Ford started, quick to interrupt before Stan could say something that would no doubt have launched his last bit of patience into space, renewing the fight. He avoided looking at Stan to concentrate on his own words. “That’s why I wrote you for help.”
“Ford, you know that’s not what I meant.”
He glanced back at him, “It’s an inter-dimensional gateway. I- I thought I told you that.”
Stan visibly slouched. “Why’d that happen, Ford? I meant why’d that happen.”
“Oh, right.” Ford looked around briefly for the journal and went to pick it up as he explained, hiding it into his coat pocket for safe keeping. He didn’t know what to do about it right now, but he didn’t want Stan to immediately take it back only to resume trying to burn it again. “Well, we must have knocked enough controls around to activate it again. When it’s on, gravity reverses in close proximity to the portal.” He nodded to the caution line. “Anything past that gets caught in its pull.”
Stan glanced back to the portal. “... So you really would have got shot out into the middle of space.”
“Well, into a different dimension, but close enough.”His brother hadn’t quite pulled his gaze off of the portal yet, and Ford continued hoping he wouldn’t ask anything else about the destination. “That has to be a third degree burn on your shoulder.”
Stan’s shoulder stiffened slightly, as if mentioning it was enough to make it hurt more. “Yeah, what about it?”
Ford sighed. “Stanley, I’m sorry. Just... please let me patch it before the debris from down here can cause an infection or worse.”
“Wait. What do you mean ‘worse?’” He questioned, finally looking back at him again.
“Well, there is a lot of radioactive materials down here.”
“Jesus Christ, of course there is.” Stan laughed for a moment, running a hand over his face.
“Although, that wouldn’t really make much of a difference with or without a wound.” He continued reassuringly.
A crooked smile briefly flashed across Stan’s face. “Well... that sounds great.”
“I’m more worried about debris.” In regards to the burn, at the very least. “I should have a first aid kid upstairs.” He said, moving back towards the elevator.
“... Alright.” Stan conceded, following after him.
#virthiefictober#fictober19#fictober#writetober#gravity falls#my fics#c:stan#c:ford#ngl this is kind of a setup for a fic i've been wanting to do for a while#eh well assuming i follow through
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While I still have to read Bound By(sooon) how about a fictober prompt? If you dont have anything planned yet, either "fight" or "trapped" for royai? Thanks! Im loving what Ive read so far!
Witch, Please! Fictober 2019 (13/31)
A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation. Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.
For @dvltgr
Prompt: “Fight” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Relationship/Pairing: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Genre: Pre-Canon, Young!Royai
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Word Count: 1,726 words
Read on AO3
Dinner at Hawkeye Manor was a pleasant affair for those who were accustomed to long stretches of loaded silence. After three years of dining in a conversation vacuum, Roy Mustang had gotten used to it.
Berthold Hawkeye took his meals with his nose pressed between the pages of the newspaper while his daughter balanced the checkbook. Clinking silverware and chiming glass accompanied the pungent smell of printer’s ink as the tip of Riza’s pencil scratched against the household’s ledger. The set of the fourteen-year old’s blonde brow spoke volumes about the solvency of the Hawkeye estate, and judging from recent observations, Roy braced himself for another hard winter. He wrote home to his Aunt Chris, asking for sweet treats, a thick pair of gloves and extra blankets to see him through, intending to put the letter to post the next morning before his lessons.
“What are you doing?”
Riza’s voice was not entirely jarring, but the sudden urgency of the question caught Roy off guard. He flinched, nearly jumped out of his skin and pivoted in his chair, staring back at the knock-kneed tomboy as if he had seen a ghost. Admittedly, she had been looking paler lately; the threadbare quality of her clothes emphasized that fact.
“Writing a letter to my Aunt. Why?”
“The one who lives in Central?”
“Yes.” Roy supposed he hadn’t quite explained that he only had one aunt, that he knew of at least, but wasn’t about to start now. “Why?” Roy’s voice carried an edge that he hadn’t quite anticipated.
“Sorry,” he added, apologetically, “I’ve got a lot to do here, and you startled me. Is there something you need, Riza?”
Reluctance was not an emotion that Riza wore all that often or all that well. She fiddled with the frayed end of her baby blue sweater, refusing to meet his eyes as she spoke. “You should go into town to mail that letter this evening so it’ll go out on the morning train,” she said. “I’ll set aside some dinner for you. I’ll even give you an extra slice of dessert. It’s peach cobbler.”
“That will take almost an hour, and I don’t want an extra slice of dessert,” Roy retorted. “I can just give the letter to the postman tomorrow morning. One day won’t make a difference.”
Still stroking the hem of her clothing, Riza’s tone became impassioned. She looked up to meet the gaze of her father’s apprentice. “It might freeze tomorrow night, and the mail to Central could be delayed for weeks. Could you please, Roy? I- I need to talk to my father, and I think it’d be best if you were out.”
Roy opened his mouth to argue but stopped as the puzzle pieces fit together, forming a more precise picture in his mind. Riza needed to speak with her father, which she never did. She’d made Professor Hawkeye’s favorite food, peach cobbler, which they rarely could afford. Riza was offering Roy an extra slice of dessert - possible her own - because it was the only bargaining chip she had to offer.
He’d be an ass to refuse her request at this point. Aunt Chris had taught him better than that.
“Fine,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Roy glanced out the window as the wind gusted through the trees, knocking burnish yellow, brown and orange leaves from the branches. He shivered at the thought of a long, lonely walk down the dusty country road.
…
Roy returned later than intended with frozen toes and cheeks red and raw from the cold. As he stepped into the entryway and stamped his boots against the mat, Roy heard raised voices coming from their small kitchen, the place he usually ate dinner.
“I give you food. I give you shelter. I provide for a first-rate education, and what has that school imposed on us! The clothes on your back are fine as they are, and I should write that school an impassioned letter to protest non-academic endeavors. End of discussion.” Berthold’s raised voice loomed through the wooden walls of the dilapidated country home.
“All the other girls enjoy the cotillion,” Riza stressed. Her tone was high and shrill. “I don’t want to ruin it for everyone, but the nice dress I have doesn’t fit. I asked my teacher if I could help prepare and serve the food again with the lower grades, but she said no. I’m to be judged on table etiquette this year and dancing next year. The cotillion is one-sixth of my overall grade, Father!”
“Table etiquette and dancing!” Berthold scoffed. “I’m not going to allow you to spend a quarter of our monthly budget on frivolities such as shoes and dresses that you’ll wear once. What you have is sufficient.”
“Please, Father. I already tried letting out the seams. See? The hem is too far above my knees, and my chest-”
Roy crept close to the doorframe. He walked softly to muffle the sound of his footsteps against the hardwood and pressed his back against the wall. The apprentice stilled his breath to hear his master’s low, cruel utterance.
“Maybe you should eat less. It fit your mother fine when she was your age.”
There was a beat of silence as the weight of his words settled and wreaked their havoc. Roy’s fists tightened. His teeth clenched, and he heard the soft shuffling of fabric and shoes against the kitchen’s checkerboard floor as Riza darted into the hall.
He caught sight of her as she passed and was surprised to find Riza wearing a lacey white dress gone yellow with age. The delicate layers sat too high on her hips, and the button-up back was taut. The effect strained the natural curves of her figure in places where the garment should have comfortably fallen. In the split-second their eyes met, she turned away and darted up the stairs toward her room.
As Roy followed in Riza’s footsteps, he stopped off at the small apprentice dormitory to discard his jacket, boots and scarf but caught sight of the dinner on his desk before he could peel the layers from his skin. As promised, there sat an extra serving a peach cobbler and a note thanking him for his discretion. The sight hurt Roy’s heart just as much as the soft sobs coming from the other side of the hallway.
He sat down to write another letter to his Aunt Chris and told himself that he didn’t mind two brisk walks through the bitter cold on the same evening.
…
If the crates stacked in the entryway of Hawkeye Manor bothered Berthold, he paid them little mind. The postman begrudgingly lugged them in from his wagon with sideways remarks about the size and weight that Roy pretended not to hear. It took the young man four trips to carry the wooden boxes to his second-story dormitory and twenty minutes more to recover from his exertions. But the content of crates far surpassed any expectations he might have had when he asked his Aunt if his sisters had a nice dress to spare.
Chris Mustang’s note was, as she, straightforward and to the point.
Roy-boy,
A dress is useless without shoes, coats and accessories. Your sisters have no need of these as they are from last year. See that they find a good home.
Aunt Chris
All that was left was to wait for Riza to return home from school.
…
“Oh, Riza,” Roy called out, pleased as a preening peacock, “could you come here a moment. I have a favor to ask.”
Roy waited with growing impatience for her to turn the corner and smiled like the Cheshire cat when her indignant scowl fell, quickly replaced by a look of wonder. At least a dozen dresses and coats of all colors and styles were laid over the two vacant beds in the dormitory. An entire jewelry box of ornate rings, bejeweled earnings and long strands of pearls sat casually on Roy’s nightstand. And in the corner of the room, a large crate of purses and high-heeled shoes sat, still waiting to be unpacked.
“My silly sisters thought you might be interested in some of their old dresses,” he started. “And I told them that, of course, you wouldn’t want last year’s styles, but they insisted, and here we are. Might you consider taking these off my hands? I’d hate to send them back.”
Riza approached the dresses with equal parts hesitation and fascination, running the back of her hand along the frilly sleeve of a shimmering, soft pink dress and burying her fingers in a fur-lined coat that, Roy realized, once belonged to his own Aunt. Then, suddenly, her awe turned sour as she shook her head to rid her eyes of the marvels before them.
“I can’t accept these, Roy,” she said sadly. “We can’t afford-”
“Oh, please,” Roy interrupted. He’d prepared himself for this particular argument. “No one would be caught dead in these clothes in Central City. And I realize it will be a hassle to take them in, but I’d hate to have to haul these to the post office. It’s so far away, and the weather is absolutely terrible this time of year.”
Roy hoped against hope that, just this once, she wouldn’t be so stubborn, and he was rewarded by a teary-eyes gaze that caught the reflection of the many metallic bobbles glinting in her new jewelry box. Riza gathered the clothing in her arms and looked at Roy with a heartbreaking grin that stretched the corners of her heart-shaped face.
“Thank you,” was all she said in reply.
Through the lump in his throat, Roy grumbled his own response. “Don’t mention it.”
He couldn’t go to the dance with her and probably would not spend another winter under Berthold’s tutelage. Neither could Roy change his master’s mind once it had been made up nor lessen the burden of her lonely life. But if he could play some small part in a brief moment of happiness, the young man decided he would take that chance, if not for altruistic reasons then selfish ones. If only so that when Riza would smile, all decked out in her finery as she departed for the cotillion, Roy would know he was responsible for it.
He would fight for her well-being, even after she herself had surrendered.
A/N: Thank you so much for the prompt. I hope you like it even though I took royai and made it young!royai. Today, I woke up thinking about my grandmother and a particular conversation she had with my father about a prom dress. So, I guess this one it a little for her as well. Feel free to send me pairing requests for particular prompts (Fictober or original) via my tumblr, and if you read something you like, don’t hesitate to let me know. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs make my day!
#virthiefictober#fictober19#writetober19#fma#fmab#young!royai#royai#riza hawkeye#roy mustang#berthold hawkeye#fight#father daughter relationships#dvltgr#flourchildwrites
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Fictober Day 19: Death
A/N: Okay so I really wanted to write this scene since I have since changed my plans for the later fics so this is 10000000% au where Cara is the high queen of skyrim (its a long story come bug me about it in my ask box if you'd like) but i enjoyed this idea so much i figured i'd put it here!
Cara placed the Jagged Crown on her brow, the weight of it, making what was about to happen seem that much more permanent. She felt Miraak at her side.
“You do not have to do this, I know you do not want to.”
“I know your thoughts on the matter.”
“That does not mean that you have to do this.”
“He tried to kill me, if I let him live, who am I? Certainly not a queen. Not one that can lead her people anyway.”
Miraak gently grabbed her jaw to have her look at him, his eyes worried. “You have a gentle heart, dii lovaas. We all know this, no one can fault you for staying your hand.”
“It’s because I have a gentle heart they don’t take me seriously. It will break my heart, but,” she paused, stepping away from him, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin. “This is something that must be done.”
She left the tent without another word, and Miraak followed.
The wind whipped at their robes, the camp silent as Cara, Miraak, and their honor guard walked through the cliffside camp.
A large crowd had gathered, some of the Jarls that had ridden south with them to fight the Thalmor, some lords and knights of the Empire.
Cara’s gaze snapped to that of her mother, her sister, and two brothers.
“Carawen, please I’m begging you, please pardon him.” Her mother implored, fighting the grip of two of the honor guards that were holding her back.
“Please, escort them out of here,” she adverted her gaze from her family. “They don’t need to see this.”
“You traitorous bitch.” Her older brother, Koredil swore, spitting on the ground at her feet.
“King Voriiel will put your head on a pike for this.” Nelaril added.
Cara stared at her brothers, sadness in her eyes. “I know you will never forgive me, but I’m sorry.”
Her sister was crying into their mother’s shoulder, but the guards took them away as she had asked.
Cara brought her gaze to the man kneeling in the center of the circle that had formed.
“Lord Falnar Direnni. You stand accused of attempted murder, and attempted assassination of the High Queen of Skyrim. How do you plead?”
The Altmer in front of her stared at her, venom in his blue-purple eyes. “I only regret that I didn’t throw you to the sea when you were a child, graxifalas hulkynd. You’ve been a disgrace since your mother birthed you.”
“Before I sentence you, father, I would speak for myself for once, not as Queen, but as your daughter.”
“You are no daughter of mine.”
Cara smiled. “You have said that all my life, but my imperfection comes from you, your bloodline. For years I thought, like a stupid child perhaps one day we could reconcile. But now I know that would never be the case.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “You are right, though. You are not my father, not really. I share your blood, but you do not share mine. Auri-El gave me my soul, Mara blessed it. I am the Last Dragonborn, I am of the Dragonblood, and that still doesn’t matter. All that matters is, I became the very thing you didn’t want me to be. And that is enough for me.”
The elf shook his head. “I pray for the day you die, even if it is not by my hand.”
Cara let out a deep breath. “Lord Falnar Direnni, I, Carawen Direnni, Arch Mage of the College of Winterhold, Stormcrown, Laat Dovahkiin, and High Queen of Skyrim, sentence you to die for your crimes against Skyrim and her people.”
“You won’t do it. You’re weak.”
“May the gods have mercy on you, father.”
“MUL QAH DIIV!”
Cara’s spectral dragon form settled over her shoulders, a blanket of black, gold and violet shimmering against her robes. Regal horns formed and fanned out from her brow, great transparent black wings settling on her back.
A realization settled over the old elf’s features as she took several steps towards him. “It wasn’t a lie, you really are-“
“Dovahkiin, geh, bormah.” Her Voice made the sky rumble.
Cara saw the fear in his eyes .“I’m sorry it has to end this way.” she murmured, no one but perhaps Miraak understanding her through the rumble of the sky.
“KRII LUN AUS!”
Her Voice rang out into the night, and Falnar slumped over into the dirt without a sound.
A/N: translations
graxifalas hulkynd- Aldmeri for 'Disgraceful Broken Child'
#virthiefictober#fictober 2019#writetober 2019#miraak#carawen x miraak#cara x miraak#elder scrolls#skyrim#drabble
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Writetober day 28: Ruins
(Seems Claire snuck in this time. Claire belongs to @captainthane)
Claire was impressed with this town she stumbled upon. It wasn't anywhere on the map but that didn't stop people from greeting her. It was refreshing to find human beings just genuinely being kind to each other.
It's almost like it's just contagious here.
She turned around when someone tugged on her shirt. The woman looked down to find a little girl in a brown dress just smiling at her. What was shocking was the fact it looked like she had a pair of tiny white wings.
The little girl grinned. “Your really pretty miss.”
Claire could only smile at that. The child just radiated joy. “That's very kind of you. Do you live here in this town?”
The little girl nodded almost as if she was just excited to even talk to someone new. “Yeah, I live here with daddy. My name is Sarah, what's your name miss?”
She smiled. "You may call me Claire, young one. Is your daddy nearby?"
This town has the safest feel but I don't see any parent letting a child this young alone in a village.
Sarah grins. "Daddy is working on new clothes he can sell in the city. I can play as long as I come home before it's dark."
Did those wings on her back move?
She grabbed Claire's hand and tried to tug her along. “Come on miss Claire. There is so much you can see in the village. Your gonna love it!”
Claire just laughed and let her be led by this young child.
000000
As the sun had begun to set, she at least walked Sarah home. The little girl's enthusiasm was almost contagious but she had a good time being showed around this little town.
Sarah paused and looked back. “So did you have fun miss Claire?”
Claire nodded. “You make a lovely tour guide.”
She looked down for a moment. "I have to say sorry. When I first saw you, it felt like a part of you was scary. That wasn't nice of me, because you're nice."
Wait, did she sense Fona somehow?
The woman dismisses the thought. Many things are still a mystery in the world, this child was no threat.
She knelt and patted Sarah on the head. "It's alright, I am new in town. It just means you were very brave to be so kind to me."
The child giggled before looking at the house on the hill. “That's my house.”
Sarah paused before running back. She handed Claire a small object while smiling. It was a small pretty stone.
“That's my favorite. I'm letting you borrow it so you better come back to town to give it back."
I honestly can't say no to that face.
Claire nodded and pocketed the rock. “Very well, I will return this to you next time little one. Now you better get going. Your father is waiting for you.”
Sarah waved as she ran over to her house. It was a pleasant experience for Claire. No demons, or even human cruelty. It was what she hoped life could be.
000000
It was almost a year since that first meeting as Claire stood in the ruins of little Sarah's home. Most of the village had repaired itself after what they called the great fire. Though they left this house untouched.
Many lives were lost including Sarah and her father.
“I'm so sorry little one. It seems I came back too late.”
She took out the stone and looked at it for a moment. There was a part of her wanted to leave it here in the girl's house. She decided to keep it instead.
I did promise to take good care of it. This shall serve as a good reminder. I won't make that mistake again.
The village itself just seemed to lose its charm. It's like all the joy seemed to leave it when that girl left the area. A lot of them just seemed to now call it a curse. All because they couldn't protect their little angel.
Claire sighed. “Well, there's nothing left for me here anymore. Time to move on.”
#writetober#virthiefictober#wrieblr#writers on tumblr#My writing#Claire#Sarah#little sarah#Sarah is alive just no one knows it#it was fun
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Writetober 14: Scars.
Everyone has scars in some way.
Some physical, some mental or emotional. A scar is a scar.
Faye is no exception, of course. There was a reason she had always worn jean overalls, back when she was human. Her legs still had some leftover burn scars from her attempted sacrifice. She had a faint scar over her mouth as well, from a breakdown once while she was writing.
Her other scars, however, are mental and emotional.
Trauma, of course, from her past experiences with fire. Paranoia from her time looking for answers she should never have looked for, and from always being watched. Less trusting as well, from being manipulated by who was now her boss.
She was also less... truthful herself, keeping many many secrets. She has to, for other people’s safety. It hurts, though, to keep things from others, so she decided to keep a distance, for her own good.
The scars remain, no matter what, and they still give her pain from time to time, but she gets through it. She has to.
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Writetober/Fictober day 1: Fear/ “It will be fun, trust me”
Trigger warning!!!!
This is not based on a true story. I don’t take the act written about in with short story lightly. If you or anyone you know has gone through this, know you are not alone and there is help out there if you chose to seek it out.
this an original fiction piece. I chose to combine the two prompts from Writetober and Fictober.
Sorry from any grammar mistakes/ spelling mistakes.
--------------------------------------------------
He grabbed my hand as he led me towards the backseat of his car, “ It will be fun, trust me.”
My body screamed with regret. No, No I couldn’t let this happen again. I tugged my hand away from his grip it made a sound like sandpaper rubbing against itself “ No, this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let you convince me to come with you. I'm going home.” I spun on my shaking heels and started forward.
I only got to take a few steps before he grabbed my shoulders spinning me around. “ Don’t you ever walked away from me.” A certain fire was burning in his eyes. Something I haven't ever seen before. His grip tightened as he saw my eyes travel to his hand.
“ Let go of me. You can't control me anymore.”I said firmly, surprised that my voice came out hard. Inside it felt like my heart was being squeezed and being shaken all at once. My stomach clenched with fear, threatening to spill the dinner we had just ate. I knew that he could feel me physically shake but I hoped he dismissed it from the lack of layers against the cold, not giving him the satisfaction of him giving me this reaction. My body turned cold as he pulled me flush against him. He grabbed my waist and hoisted me up over his shoulder. He started to walk towards his car.
I banged my fists on his back. “ Let me go!!”
He didn't budge. He steadily kept walking towards his car.
A thousand situations ran through my mind. None turned out good. I screamed for help as my head it the back seat of him car. In one swift movement he locked the back door and shut the door. He took off his belt and tied my hands together then tied it to the door handle. I kicked and screamed as much as I could. This couldn't be happening. I kicked him in the chest as he took off his shirt and grabbed my jeans, he didn't even budge. Tears started to stream down my face. “ Please don’t. This isn’t you”. I looked into his eyes,the eyes of the person I once loved. That love was ripped from my 2 years prior due to the idiocy of the unknown. He hadn't said a word to me until a month ago. He begged my to have dinner with him to give him a second chance. If only I had known what he had planned.
I tried everything in my power to get him to stop his horrific act. Once he was finished in untied me. The opened the door, “ Get out.”
I just layed there. Crying tears I didn't know I had left. He got out of the car, still fumbling with his belt. Once he got to the back door he had just opened, he grabbed my arm and pulled me out with a thud and left me on the concrete. He drove away. Leaving me there. My pants still down at my ankles. I sat there, frozen.
I could describe the feeling as anything other than pure fear.
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Rating: Teen
Ch: 4/31
Fandom: Detroit: Become Human
Relationships: RK900/Simon
Warnings: Body modification/horror, fake blood, bullying Reed
#dbh#detroit become human#virthiefictober#fictober#mine#my stuff#dbh simon#dbh rk900#writings#dbh rk800#dbh reed#dbh hank
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Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 7
Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: - || Moon. “No, and that’s final.”
______(~1k words) ______
Bandaging Stanley’s wound went relatively well, though perhaps only because neither one of them talked beyond basic exchanges. ‘This is going to sting.’ ‘You done?’ ‘So how many limbs am i losing?’
The last one, admittedly, made Ford smile a little, although there was a part of him worried about the wound still. Even if he had picked up the magic of the sigil, as the orange glow indicated, it was a protective one so if it did anything it should be to help him.
After they went downstairs and Ford handed him a painkiller medicine, he expected them to break out of the silence immediately. They didn’t. Though it was only a matter of time.
Ford realized why Stan avoided talking for just a few moments, probably stalling on time for the stinging pain from the medicine on his shoulder to die down before another fight potentially flared up with more injuries or going out into the cold that could feel good, but most likely would be an unpleasant minute until his car warmed up.
Why Ford himself didn’t just get it out of the way though, especially when he didn’t have the time? ... What was he doing? Maybe it was some belated hope that Stan might change his mind about taking his research to hide it, except nothing had changed so there was no reason for him to think that might happen.
He heard a distant hum like the portal that he was sure he was imagining again, because it couldn’t be active and it was just his mind replaying what had happened downstairs. That could have done something. He should be checking on that instead of just sitting idly by-
Light flashed and Ford’s eyes shot open, first recognizing that they had been slipping closed which was always a bad sign, then noticing the kitchen lit up with dim yellowing light from above the kitchen sink then dark with a triangular shape of moonlight from the small window falling onto the floor in front of him.
Finally, he noticed Stan, who was beside the light switch flicking it back and forth, leaving it on when Ford looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at him and let his hand fall back down again.
Ford quickly felt his breathing returning to normal. “Why did you do that?” He asked tiredly.
“Well, saying hey wasn’t waking you up and I was already over here.” He said with an unbalanced shrug.
“...I was asleep?”
“Looked like you were getting there.” Stan answered nonchalantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Ford straightened up, and ran his hands through his hair, harsher than necessary for some painful stimulation to confirm that he was really awake right now. Everything since Stan had arrived had left him with far less mental energy than normal to manage any nightmare scenarios, which was really saying something considering his average mental energy these days.
The words came out of Ford’s mouth as soon as he thought them. “You need to go.”
Stan stopped breathing for a moment, and after a beat his breath came out with a word. “What?”
Ford tried to think of a million explanations and his thoughts crumbled onto one another uselessly. “I have to work and you don’t want to be here.”
“Who said-” but as soon as Stan started, he just as quickly stopped himself and shifted, his stance widening as he pointed at Ford. “You know what, you’re the one that asked me to come here and one minute later you ask me to leave. You didn’t want me here, I don’t care. I don’t-” He took a step forward, and harshly repeated himself. “I don’t care, Ford! Hell, I couldn’t care less even, but you don’t call me here then send me away because you suddenly don’t even want me here at all!”
“How could you-” Ford grumbled before matching Stan’s level of noise. “I didn’t change my mind! I needed you here to take the journal and hide it! How is that- How-?” He laughed in disbelief at Stan, at this entire situation, at how he was having this argument in a series of events that shouldn’t have ever happened. “Why are you-?”
“Because I came all the way out here, and now all you want is to never see me again!!”
“I didn’t say that!!”
“You told me to go as far away as possible!”
“I wanted you to take my RESEARCH as far away as possible!”
“Then hire a fucking mailman!!” Stan shouted, swinging his arms out wide, a restrained cringe in his expression.
Ford put his hands against his head that was mere seconds from bursting and his surroundings swinging back and forth, glaring down at the floor.
Stan audibly sighed, taking quick steps to his left then back again to his right back in front of Ford, breaking where the moonlight fell onto the ground.
Ford couldn’t help but notice how Stan was faced towards the hall though, ready to walk away, ready to leave, ready to- “You don’t want to help me, that’s fine.” He should have known. He should have- Ford continued, refusing to look up. “I don’t need you to take the journal.”
“Just let me...” Stan’s hand started to lift from his side, and Ford saw it- Stan taking the journal and burning it, just to get back at him, burning away years of his life, the only years worth anything.
Ford interrupted before he could finish the sentence, finally looking up with a venomous glare. “No, and that’s final.”
Stan withdrew his hand, eyes wide, and took a short step back. A brief silence before he would no doubt snap at him about his ‘dumb mysteries’ again.
Except that never came because within that short second the glow off of Stan’s shoulder shined bright enough that Ford could see the orange light mingling with the moonlight, and Stan’s legs apparently giving out underneath him as gravity suddenly pulled him straight down.
“Stanley?!”
#virthiefictober#fictober19#fictober#writetober#gravity falls#my fics#c:stan#c:mullet stan#c:paranoid ford#c:ford#sTANGS STANGST STANGST STANGST STANGST#stangst#author's note: >:3c
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pffff okay so... this was going to be the next fic, but on the very last sentence I decided I didn’t like it so I’m just dumping it here.
Ficlet Scraps Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 8 Scraps (Again!! More Scraps!!)
Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: - || wop wop stan is turned into a kid and ford’s trying to figure out what to do between him and the permanent threat of bill
______(~1500 words) ______
To be honest? Stan didn’t know who this even was. He looked too much like Pa though for him not to be related. Well if Pa didn’t wear suits and forgot to wash or shave. Stan’s best guess was that he was some older cousin or second cousin once removed twice joined, something like that. He didn’t remember seeing him before.
Except, he didn’t really remember much of anything around him right now. Not the messy kitchen, and he definitely should have remembered getting into clothes way bigger than him, or where he was at. He could see snow falling outside, which meant it definitely wasn’t Summer.
The guy took a deep breath, looking beyond tired which was all the more reason for Stan to not stick around him. “Stan? What’s the last thing you remember? Before you saw me.”
“I was making myself a sandwich, that’s all. I didn’t do nothin’.” Stan lied easily, well the last part might not have been, but he pretty sure it probably was. He tied the top of the pants into a knot so they’d stay up and rolled up the sleeves and pants legs before getting up.
“I didn’t- I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I’m just-” He stopped, grimacing like he was already fed up with Stan.
There was something fishy about the way he avoided telling him where Ford was; like he knew, but didn’t want to tell him. If the guy had been a jerk he would have guessed it was because he locked Ford into a room or something like that, but it didn’t feel like that which gave him a bad feeling that Ford wasn’t okay and the guy just didn’t want to tell him outright. Or maybe Ford was somewhere else. Stan tried not to think about either of those options for too long though, all he had to worry about was finding Ford then everything would be alright.
Just as Stan was thinking about banging into every room in the house, the guy asked him another question.
“What year do you think it is?” He asked without looking at him, dead set on staring at the kitchen table behind him instead, one hand holding onto the side of his face like he was just barely keeping himself from an urge to cover his face entirely.
Stan stopped, thinking this was some precursor to some unjustified scolding, but the expression on his face wasn’t right. “Uhh...”
He seemed unwilling to look right at him, not even angry, but like there was something about Stan that made him not want to look at him. Instead of getting mad when Stan unanswered, he got visibly more tense and uncomfortable with Stan looking at him without saying.
“What year do you think it is?” Stan asked, turning the question back around on him.
“I know what year it is.”
“Great, so do I.”
“Stanley, it’s 1982.” He said, getting it out quickly. “It’s not-” he briefly glanced at Stan’s face before glancing away again- “62 or- the early 60s.”
He’d time travelled into the future. He went from completely silent to bubbling with excitement within the span of a second. “Prove it.” Maybe he’d accidentally found an old relic on the beach that actually brought him to the future, or some mysterious artifact in the pawn shop. Or time ghosts-!
The guy let out a breath, looking around and finally standing up. “There’s- I don’t know, there’s-” he pushed his glasses up with a hand to rub at his eyes. “You can see the forest out that window, we’re not in New Jersey. I don’t have time to look for a calendar-”
“Wait! Where’s my brother?” He forcefully asked again, harshly cutting him off.
Stan caught the pained expression that crossed the guy’s face, and how he tensed up like he’d just been given a particularly hurtful insult. “He’s- fine, but you-” The guy said evasively as he quickly went to fold his arms behind his back in a gesture that Stan immediately recognized.
Stan tuned out whatever he was saying and grabbed onto one of his arms to stop it and see his hand. He let go again once he was able to count the six fingers. “Ha!” He grinned back up at him. “I knew it was you, Ford!”
Instead of returning his excitement though, Ford just looked uncomfortable. “There’s more than one person with polydactylism.”
“Yeah, but what are the chances of more than one being as big of a nerd as you?”
Ford scoffed, with a hint of a smile.
“Hey, so what’s going on anyways?” Stan asked. “You look like...,” he glanced him over, “you look like what people feel when they say they need a vacation.”
He shook his head, still avoiding looking at him. “I’m- I’m- what’s important right now is that this is dangerous,” he said pointing at the ground between them. “You...” he seemed to flounder a bit. “I do not know how to fix your current situation.” He said each word just a bit too carefully to sound normal.
“I only just got here, I don’t wanna go back right away anyways!” He objected. “Besides what’s so dangerous about this?”
“Being in this house is dangerous, in this city. Stanley, you have no idea what’s going on!”
“I asked you what was going on! Look, Sixer, just tell me-”
“Don’t!” Ford interrupted him with a venom that came out of nowhere, and finally looking at him again.
Stan glared up at him. All he’d been doing was just asking to know what was going on. He’d expect Pa to yell at him for stupid questions, but Ford shouldn’t have...
“I’m- I’m sorry.” Ford said, once again glancing away again though now guility at least. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“Well, you did anyway.” Stan grumbled, crossing his arms and not looking at him.
“I know, I’m sorry.” He said.
Being suddenly in the future with an older version of his brother should have been fun. “... Why do you keep avoiding looking at me?” He finally asked, pushing back the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.
There was a beat of silence... then another. Finally, he saw Ford getting down onto a knee and Stan looked over at him where Ford had put himself back to be at least close to his same eye level.
This close, Stan could see the purple tint of the veins under his eyes. “Stan.” He said, looking straight at him. “It- It is terrifying that you’re here like this.”
“What? Why?”
Ford paused. “Because... the longer you’re here the more likely something bad is going to happen to you. As an adult, you would be able to protect yourself, if you were on guard. Sometimes even then- even then you shouldn’t be here.” He cleared his throat, continuing. “As a child, without your usual strength, if you encounter...” He started hesitating.
“What? What is it?” Stan asked earnestly. “Hey, if you don’t tell me what it is then I’m not gonna know it when I see it. Is it like a monster?”
“... yes. Yes, it’s like a monster.” Ford looked down. “You were- I was going to ask you to take some of my research away, but then-” He looked back up, and gestured at him.
“Wait a second.” Stan said. “Okay, first off that doesn’t make any sense. Second off though, where am I?”
Ford blinked. “Oregon. We’re in Oregon.”
“No, no I mean the older me that’s here.”
“That is you. You are you. Wait-” Ford paused, confused. “I mean, there is no ‘older you’ because the older you turned into you right now.”
“That clears up nothing.”
“I am very tired, give me a moment.” Ford covered his eyes, then blinked hard. “Alright. Some magic sigil reacted with you and turned you into a child.” He finally said, gesturing at Stan at the end.
Stan glanced over at the boots that had been too big for him. “Oh.”
“Precisely.”
“Okay uh, how do I turn back then?” Stan asked, looking back at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Fuck.”
Ford halfheartedly laughed, pushing on the floor to stand back up, and stumbled just slightly, grabbing onto the counter top for balance.
Stan watched him for a second. “Are you okay...?”
“I’m fine, I’m just tired.” Ford said. “Listen, Stanley, I need to go check on some machinery downstairs. Can you stay?”
“Why can’t I just come down with you?” Stan asked.
“Because- because the magic sigil tis downstairs and I don’t know yet what would happen if you got near it again.” He said, lying badly.
“Uh-huh.”
Ford let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. “I won’t be long,” he said. “Just stay here, and whatever you do don’t go outside and if you hear anything or anyone outside then yell for me right away.” He told him, beginning to walk off, and abruptly stopping to turn back towards him again. “And- Just please, promise me if you even think you hear something you’ll get me.”
“Jeez, relax, I promise.” He waved him on.
Ford hesitated, but left quickly moving down the hallway.
He didn’t know how long he’d take, but hell this gave him time to look around to figure out what the monster was.
#my fics#c:paranoid ford#c:kid stan#I'm Just a Kid au#fictober#virthiefictober#fictober19#writetober#gravity falls#i was in a bad mood and i wrote which helped my bad mood#but didnt make for a good fic#should have done a different kind of fic#this was not the style for me tonight
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Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 2
Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: - || Nightmare. “Just follow me, I know the area.”
______
Dipper had been looking for a way out of Stan’s mind, not to run further into it. Except he hadn’t been paying attention to any signs and was now stuck in a hallway of nightmares with doors that would haphazardly open at random.
Thinking back, he remembered seeing a door labeled nightmares that had been chained shut which made a lot more sense when said nightmares would freely exit from the memories and into the hallway.
Dipper tried to catch his breath against the warped paneling. Maybe he could just run all the way out of here? Could that work?? He ran his way in here.So it should work. He probably should have ran the other way, or looked where he was going, but no! No, instead he was running past stereotypical mobsters and living machines that tried to chase him down.
“How are y-”
Dipper reflexively screamed, taken off guard.
“Jeez! Never mind I asked, kid.”
After catching his breath, a second time, he actually looked over to see- Grunkle Stan with- “You-You had a mullet?”
“Yeah, and you had a panic attack.” He said. It was Stan, but he was much younger with brown hair that just barely reached his shoulders. It’s not like he hadn’t seen Stan younger by this point, but he hadn’t expected to see Stan outside of any of his memories. “Look, what are you doing here?”
“I got- I got lost and I got stuck. I was trying to get out of here.”
“Yeah, well, you’re damn near in the middle. Come on.” He said, gesturing down the hall with his thumb. “Just follow me, I know the area.”
Dipper reluctantly started walking, smelling something distinctly burnt now as he passed by a cracked door shining a dull blue light into the hallway. He peered at it cautiously, worried something would jump out. “What about all the monsters and everything that keep jumping out of the memories?”
Stan shrugged. “Eh, nightmares get free reign here for the most part. Just avoid them.”
“How are you not worried about them?!”
“Well for one, none of the others got nothing on me, and second this is the mindscape, kid. You can imagine anything you want to get away from them.”
Dipper paused, thinking. “Anything?”
“Yeah, it’s not like this is reality.” Stan waved a hand, making a wrench appear in his hand before chucking it over his shoulder where it thunked onto the ground. “See? Easy.”
“Huh...”
Before he could think much about that though, Stan stopped to open the door in front of them at the end of the hallway.
“Alright, out you go.” Stan told him.
“Uh, thanks? I guess.” Dipper said, awkwardly walking ahead.
Stan hesitated, with the door open considering Dipper. As he opened his mouth though a loud boom went off soon followed by Mabel’s and Soos’ screams.
“Oh no!” Dipper turned towards the noise then back to Stan again. “I gotta go help my sister and Soos.” He said already walking backwards, barely
“Go ahead, I know the feeling.” Stan said waving him ahead which was all the goodbye Dipper needed to completely turn around and start running.
#virthiefictober#fictober19#fictober#writetober#gravity falls#my fics#c:dipper#c:stan#asfdjlas;fd stan is his own worst nightmare sue me#stan: *very purposefully not turning his back towards dipper*
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Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 1
Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: Heights || Fear. “It will be fun, trust me.”
______
Ford’s foot slipped off the edge and his hands instinctively clutched onto the rock behind him for dear life. His throat completely closed up on him. Not that he had been planning on speaking, but it made him feel like he was suffocating.
Going along with Bill’s earlier encouragement to diving near the waterfall as he was now frozen on a cliff side not terribly far from that waterfall which was crashing into the lake far, far below.
As much as his entire being wanted to not be this high right now, instantly in fact, he couldn’t force himself to turn around to edge his way back to safety.
“Then jump!”
Ford jolted in place and some rock dust and pebbles skidded out from under him and over the edge, slowly falling down and getting swirled farther out by the wind.
“Bill!” His voice was hoarse and thin, and he nervously readjusted his feet further back for extra security.
“Relax, smart guy, it’s just me!” Bill’s familiar voice reverberated in his head before his form assembled near Ford.
As he spoke, he tried to reign his voice to something more calm. “Please, Bill, if I fell off from here wrong...” he trailed off, glancing at the rocky edges underneath him briefly. His mind filled up with a barrage of bloody imagery of sharp edges slicing and impacts with overt crunching noises. “It just- wouldn’t be good.” He finished, trying to push the imagery out of his head.
Bill waved a hand before smacking him hard on the back of his shoulder. “You would have been fine!” He assured him, more than cheerful. “Come on, you know you’d never hit any of the rocks at this angle.”
Ford refrained from saying anything at the smack on his shoulder, it was entirely non-existent physically speaking so it wasn’t as though he could be mad at Bill for it since it wasn’t actually endangering him. Just a figment of his imagination so to speak. “Still,” he said, glancing down.
Bill hummed. “You’d just go straight down, right about there actually.” He pointed and his arm stretched until a finger appeared to be dipping into the water, then snapped back quickly like a retractable tape measure. “Thirty feet!” He announced. “Chances are you won’t need to worry about rocks underwater either.”
“Thank you.” Ford responded with as much gratitude as he could muster, feeling exponentially worse as his brain was already jumping to calculations and figuring out probabilities.
“Hey, you know that’s over double the highest you’ve ever jumped from.” Bill told him conversationally. “Off of a pier in 1962, you remember that? I can help you remember if you want.”
“I remember it very well actually.” Ford paused then with a creeping realization that he hoped he was wrong about. “Bill,” he asked slowly, “am I asleep?”
If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Bill glowed just a bit brighter. “Of course, you are. It’s the easiest way for me to talk to you during the day.”
Ford nearly felt his heart fall out of his chest. “I’m on the edge of a cliff asleep.” He said quietly, afraid to move.
“Yup.” Bill confirmed simply, just looking at him.
He hoped that would be enough, that Bill would realize the danger and wake him up, but Bill didn’t do anything. “Bill. Please, wake me up.”
“You’re not going to fall over in your sleep, Sixer. If anything you should be more worried about when you wake up!”
Ford couldn’t even respond, feeling nearly nauseous with fear at this point something he tried not to think about the effect it could have on his balance out of the dream.
“Look, you came out all this way.” Bill started.
“Right.” Ford replied airily.
“I’ve already told you you’d survive this jump!”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the big deal?” He asked, waving at the water. “Scared of a little air and water.”
After a pause, Ford realized Bill was waiting on him to say something so he talked, desperate through this so his unconscious body wasn’t limply balanced on a cliff side liable to fall over from a strong enough wind. “I-I just don’t like heights.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re still up here.” Bill emphasized, amused. “Once you jump it’ll be a completely different story! It will be fun, trust me.”
All of a sudden, Ford felt himself lurch a bit as Bill disappeared, coming back to himself gently leaning against the wall. He ran his hand over the wall rough enough to check that it caused him pain, a small pang of relief allowing him to breathe again though not very well.
Running through Bill’s last few sentences through his head, he jumped.
Jumping wasn’t fun.
Falling wasn’t fun.
Struggling back to the surface of the water wasn’t fun.
None of it had been fun, but he couldn’t blame Bill for that. His muse didn’t seem to understand certain aspects of human beings. Obviously Bill wouldn’t try to make him uncomfortable or similar on purpose. Besides, it was over with now.
Ford pushed away from the roaring noise blaring in his ears once he resurfaced, his body shaking from either the cold or the relief from no longer being so high up.
#virthiefictober#fictober19#fictober#writetober#gravity falls#my fics#c:ford#c:bill#am i 45 minutes over? yes#but also i spent an hour finangling around with formatting#so by my own standards i'm fine#also an hour west of me it's still the first so we gucci#heights#what do i even tag this as?#lowkey abusive interaction?#who even knows#bill's being a jerk for his own fun#If Your Friend Asked You To Jump Off A Bridge Would You Do It?
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Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 3
Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: Character Death || Loss. “Now? Now you listen to me?”
______
Filbrick had never been much good with talking, a man of few words, so she wasn’t surprised to see his Last Will and Testament was only one page long.
He’d written it when he’d become bedridden and sealed it into a cheap envelope for the sake of formality.
The past few days had been emotionally exhausting to put it lightly and now, more than anything, she just felt tired. For once, Filbrick’s bluntness that started the letter was a comfort for her. It was just business. What was to be done with certain things. Simple and straightforward instructions.
Until the very end.
A single sentence requesting she tell the boys he loved them... including Stan.
Caryn’s hands crumpled the cheap paper as they began to shake.
After years of her trying to get him to say anything to Stanley again, casually mentioning him every long now and then just in the hopes that Filbrick would say something. Tell her to even just tell Stanley he said hello. Only for him to remain in stony silence.
“Now? Now you listen to me?”
Not even at the end, but after it, did he budge.
#virthiefictober#fictober#fictober19#writetober#my fics#c:ma#c:caryn#c:filbrick#sort of#i almost had this be Real angsty with diff characters#and with one dying in the moment#but i didnt have the energy for Big Angst#me for the 2nd time: character death but w The Jerk Character
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Witch, Please! Fictober 2019 (22/31)
A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation. Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.
Prompt: “Academia” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List
Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Relationship/Pairing: Todoroki Shouto/Yaoyorozu Momo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Quirks
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Word Count: 2,163 words
Read on AO3
Coach All-Might often lectured on the importance of momentum, the desirable quality of motion, which makes a player hard to stop. But the textbook definition did the concept little justice. Over the past two months, Momo had learned that teams built momentum better than individual players. And once acquired, the U.A. heroes pushed their collective energy to the max with smiles plastered across their faces, win or lose.
As her team’s defensive starters lined up on the 20-yard line, Momo’s skin erupted in gooseflesh. It was third down, a passing play no doubt, and all eyes were drawn to the dynamic line up of opposites in the tight end and cornerback positions -- Shiketsu High School’s Inasa Yoarashi and U.A. High’s Shouto Todoroki.
Of course, Todoroki had not started as a cornerback, not until after Coach All-Might had shaken up the lineup last Fall, but Momo wouldn’t have known that by the way he’d dominated the field on defense. Shouto read an opponent’s intentions as if he’d written their playbooks. Cold stone still one minute and hot in pursuit of an interception the next, he’d earned his nickname, IcyHot, the hard way.
A hush descended over the crowd as the play clock began its countdown. Even the cheerleader’s chats quieted in favor of rustling pom-poms and hushed murmurs of anticipation. From the sidelines, Momo held her breath, tugging nervously on the collar of her official polo. As she watched Todoroki, her fingers dipped to stroke the white embroidery that showcased her name and position, Momo Yaoyorozu, Assistant Equipment Manager, U.A. High Heroes Football Team.
Yet, as much as Momo honed in on her favorite cornerback, Shouto's attention was fixed on Inasa.
The boy with bright white and red hair hadn’t been asked to cover the powerhouse tight end, but he did so almost on instinct. U.A.’s defensive line adjusted, players zipping back and forth behind the line of scrimmage, as Shiketsu’s offense arranged and rearranged itself. Shotuo stayed with Inasa, looking for the split-second tell he’d uncovered after watching endless hours film, the one he had whispered in Momo’s ear while she’d helped him into his pads.
As Shiketsu’s quarterback snapped the ball, Shouto’s left eye narrowed, and Momo remembered to breathe, realizing that Todoroki must have found what he was looking for. The cornerback didn’t stop to watch the center snap the ball. He was already darting deep downfield, showcasing athleticism with wide, strong strides as Insa ran an innocuous out route.
But then the tide turned, and Seiji Shishikura made a daring throw from within the collapsing walls of the pocket. The ball headed for Inasa, now poised to catch it near the five-yard line, an inevitable touchdown until... Shouto Todoroki snatched the coveted pigskin out of midair, and through the audience’s collective gasp, Momo swore she heard five incendiary words mumbled in Inasa’s direction before Shouto darted toward Shiketsu’s endzone.
“I’ll be taking that now.”
The crowd roared. Mina Ashido and Toru Hagakure directed the excitement with synchronized jumps and flicks of their pom-poms, The home side of the stadium reveled in their school’s preferred chant -- “Plus Ultra! Plus Ultra!”
Todoroki went down near Shiketsu’s 15-yard line, tackled by a running back whose blond hair spilled out of his helmet. As Shouto fell, Momo tensed again. She felt her heartbeat in her throat but managed to relax when Shouto stood, calmly handing the football to the referee. Unfazed, he jogged toward their sideline, making intense eye contact with his team’s assistant equipment manager.
U.A. had the momentum once again, and the offense took advantage of it. The quarterback, Izuku Midoria, lead the heroes to a resounding homecoming victory over the Shiketsu Captains with the broadest smile on his face.
...
A year ago, Momo could hardly have imagined having more than a handful of friends over after the homecoming game, but now, three-quarters of the football team, half of the cheerleading squad and nearly the entire band was packed into her father’s McMansion. Though Momo had initially scoffed at the idea of beefing up her college applications by serving as assistant equipment manager of the football team, she had to admit that Mr. Aizawa’s advice had been spot on. Not only had she taken initiative by inserting herself into a male-dominated sport, but wallflower Momo had also managed made new friends in her junior year of high school -- a stupendous feat if ever there was one.
And as it turned out, neither Momo’s parents nor her best friend, Kyoka, minded the new additions in their loved one’s life. In fact, no sooner than Momo had asked her father if a small get together after the homecoming game was permissible than he had suddenly announced a burning desire to visit a bed and breakfast with his fiancee that same Friday night. Momo’s mother would check in the following morning, of course, and (for better or worse) Kyoka set up the sound system and arranged for a few kegs of weak beer.
An hour into the party, Momo looked around with astonishment. Everywhere she turned, a different person was smiling back at her, neither poking fun or laughing at her offbeat sense of style. Everyone she talked to responded with words of thanks and promises to be careful with the many valuables scattered throughout the decadent home. The uneasy feeling in Momo’s stomach settled as she sipped a noxious concoction Kyoka called jungle juice.
All felt right with the world. Except…
“Everything ok, Mo?” Kyoka asked, troubled by the way her best friend’s eyebrows were suddenly furrowed.
“Oh, yes,” Momo responded brightly. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by the crowd. Can you watch things while I step out for a sec?”
Kyoka nodded in reply, the fringe of the asymmetrical bob bounced with her dangling earrings.
“Sure thing, Mo.”
Up the steps and through the second level’s main hall, Momo traveled, weaving her way through classmates and kissing couples corralled in dark corners. She found her room unoccupied and breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind her with a comforting click. The young woman sat down at her desk and stared out the window. With a fond expression, she watched Bakugo and Kirishima toss a football back and forth.
It had always been a longshot, to be sure. When Momo had invited Todoroki to her party, she’d realized that his father rarely let him attend social events, not even school-sponsored dances or festivals. In fact, Shouto and Momo had attended the same school since first grade and had only become acquainted recently courtesy of a minor equipment malfunction -- a freak accident his father hadn’t hesitated to blow out of proportion.
Enji Todoroki was well-known as severe and obsessive, and perhaps Momo had made unfair assumptions about his son based on that knowledge. But soon, the mystery of IcyHot the football star had unraveled like fine thread in her nimble hands, and Momo found herself reconsidering everything she knew about Shouto Todoroki. Countless conversations later, the young woman didn’t think it was unfair to say that he was kind despite his quiet nature and thoughtful both on and off the football field.
Momo didn’t have to help him take off his pads and ice his bumps and bruises after games, but she did so religiously with a reverence she reserved for, well, nothing else. In return, Shouto taught Momo about football, explaining both general concepts and, eventually, the finer points of the game. And it all felt like it was building toward something more, except there was never an opportunity to...
“Yaoyorozu?”
Momo’s chest tightened as she heard a familiar, gravelly voice. She turned to find the source of the sound, hardly believing her eyes. There he stood, an impressive sight, though awkward, in khaki pants and a white polo shirt. Taut muscles fought against the thin cotton, and Momo fingers grasped the folds of her pale pink maxi skirt. Her high top converses tilted inward, toes curling within as she thought about how he sighed when she pressed warm compresses against his sore muscles.
Would it be completely inappropriate to trace the edges of the burn mark over his left eye?
Most likely, yes. But that didn’t stop Momo from thinking about it.
“You came!” she exclaimed, rising from the chair to greet the boy she definitely had not fantasized about in this very room. Momo gripped the nearest post of her bed to steady herself. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Jirou said you’d be up here. Can I come in?”
“Of course. Have a seat.”
Warily, Shouto entered the room, softly closing the door behind him. He leaned against the endboard of Momo’s 4-poster bed and looked around expectedly.
“Your house is-”
“An eyesore,” she interrupted. “I know. My mom took all the taste in their divorce. Dad doesn’t know the meaning of understated, but it’s home.”
“I wasn’t going to say ‘eyesore,’” Shouto asserted, though Momo noticed he didn’t disagree. “Have your parents been divorced for long?”
Momo nodded. “Since middle school.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. They’re much better off as friends, especially now that dad is engaged and mom’s remarried. I like my stepmoms a lot.”
At that, Shouto stifled a small chuckle.
“What?” Momo asked.
“I was wondering if your dad’s fiancee has better taste.”
“Afraid not,” Momo laughed. “I don’t think she’s ever met a fleur de lis she didn’t like, but by the time they get married, I’ll be out of here.”
“Damn,” Shouto added in mock disappointment, “I was so looking forward to the wedding pictures, seeing you all dressed up.”
Under the cover of semi-darkness, heat spread to the apples of Momo’s cheeks, and a strange feeling burned in her belly when she spied the green cocktail dress hung over her closet door. Dare she be so bold?
“Well, you could just come to the homecoming dance tomorrow,” she stated, eyes fixed on the plush carpet. “I’ll be taking tickets by the door, but I think I might be able to step away for a dance or two. And I’d like to spend more time with you, talking like this, you know?”
The grin faded slowly from Shouto’s face as his gaze also drifted to an uninteresting patch of carpet. “You know my dad’s strict. If I ask to go, he’ll come up with some conflict. I had to tell him I was watching game film here tonight just to get away.”
Momo tried to pretend she wasn’t disappointed. “Oh… He believed that?”
“The only thing good about my dad’s football fixation is that he assumes everyone else is just as obsessed as he is.”
For a moment, all was silent as the letdown washed over Momo. From the opposite side of her room, she could hear the ornate cuckoo clock ticking, counting the precious seconds she wasted in Todoroki’s presence. However, Momo refused to back down so quickly, not when the stars had aligned so perfectly to grant her this moment. Not when Shouto was in her room at her party, sitting beside her, completely unsupervised, on her bed.
This was Momo's moment. She'd be a fool not to seize it.
“Todoroki, I-”
Whatever words Momo wanted to say were silenced by Shouto’s thumb pressed against her lips. His hand gently cupped the cheek, and she leaned into his warm touch, wary of the mesmerizing mismatched eyes that threatened to steal her senses.
“I’m not very good with my words, Yaoyorozu,” he said in earnest. “But I’d like to ask you if I could...”
“Could what?”
“I mean, if you would be agreeable, I’d like to…”
“Go on.”
Shouto growled in frustration and pressed both hands against the endboard. “Everyone makes this sound so easy,” he groaned. “I never seem to know how to say the thing I mean when I have the chance.”
Momo steeled her nerves as her stomach practically dissolved in a heap of butterflies. It seemed she did dare tonight more than she ever had before.
“Would you like to kiss me, Shouto?”
“God, yes!”
He took his lips to hers with an urgency that Momo could not have anticipated, and the world as she knew it faded away, save the small space the young couple shared. If kisses could talk, this one would have been eloquent. It would have told Momo that he’d always carried a little torch for her, for as long as he could rightly remember while reciting the loveliest verses of poetry known to mankind. But, of course, without words, the liplock was equally pleasant, capped off by a sigh of relief from both sides.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, forehead pressed against hers.
Momo saw no room to argue but in the interest of full disclosure… “Then why don’t you do it again. Maybe I can figure it out.”
Momo and Shouto’s momentum wasn’t slowing down anytime soon.
A/N: So, for academia, we have my hero academia... without the hero! Yep, it's a quirk-less AU featuring Todomomo (because why not)! I've written a lot of that this month, and I kinda love it. By now, you all know the drill. Feel free to send me pairing requests for particular prompts (Fictober or original) via my tumblr, and if you read something you like, don't hesitate to let me know. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs make my day!
#virthiefictober#fictober19#writetober19#bnha#my hero academia#todomomo#todoroki shouto#yaoyorozu momo#alternate universe#no quirks#high school#academia#flourchildwrites#but she didn't have time to edit
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Witch, Please! Fictober 2019 (30/30)
A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation. Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.
Prompt: “All Hallows Eve” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List
Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Relationship/Pairing: Todoroki Shouto/Yaoyorozu Momo
Genre: Trick or Treating
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Word Count: 804 words
Read on AO3
“Trick or Treat!”
Halloween doesn’t make sense to Shouto; however, it isn’t the idea of pretending to be someone else that he can’t comprehend. Though he isn’t as exuberant as Midoria, Shouto idolized All Might. In fact, he still does. It’s natural for kids to have such dreams.
Shouto can picture himself as a child, turning the corners of a happy home in loose socks and a towel tied his neck like a cape. His mother would have laughed, and his father would have smirked, peering thoughtfully over the top of his morning paper. Of course, this false memory is nothing more than a poor imitation of normality, strung together from odd ends of pop culture and sitcom reruns.
But it’s a nice thought nonetheless.
No, it isn’t the costumes and pretend play that baffles Shouto. It isn’t even the flash mobs, zombie runs or themed pub crawls. If U.A. had not kept him so busy, he might have joined in.
It’s the child, a little boy of maybe five or six, who stands in front of him dressed in a navy blue jumpsuit with burgundy wrist guards that causes him unease. Brown eyes bright with awe, he rocks back and forth, teeming with excitement in his snow-white boots. The child’s movements strain the gray neckpiece connecting the high collar of his costume, and lower down, a brown utility belt jingles with every subtle movement.
Impressed, Shouto scans the child’s heart-shaped face, noting the wig as well as the makeup applied over his left eye to mimic Shouto’s infamous scar. It’s hard to fault the child or his proud mother for their fastidious attention to detail. Yet, Shouto cannot help but wonder if they’d feel the same if they knew the story behind his mark.
He keeps his silence and forces a small smile, dropping a piece of candy into the kid’s plastic pumpkin along with a pre-autographed card. Both treats hit the bottom of the container with a hollow thump. It’s only his twentieth visitor, but Shouto has already grown tired of tricks, treats and the children who’ve swarmed the decorated auditorium.
In true U.A. style, the event is ridiculously “Plus Ultra,” from Tokoyami’s Haunted House to the three-legged race officiated by Iida. Even Bakugo has a part to play, though he has no lines. Ground Zero merely stands by Midnight’s side as she welcomes the crowds, and perhaps it is progress enough that he isn’t yelling obscenities over the sound of Earphone Jack’s festive music.
Shouto’s directive is to be more personable, and to this end, he is paired with Creati, handing out candy on a mock front porch. So disarming is she that sometimes Shouto forgets that the Yaoyorozu family is old, old money. So kind, that from time to time, villains underestimate her S-class intelligence.
He’s realized recently that she takes advantage of their ignorance. But not tonight.
Tonight, her smile is as open and unguarded as ever. Bright eyes blaze in midnight shades of gray offset by the crimson cape of her hero’s costume and the gold belt glinting beneath it. Flashes of skin capture Shouto’s unbidden attention, but moreover, he finds himself enthralled by the way she connects with both the students and parents. They might put Shouto on a pedestal as a potential successor to All Might, but the public feels like they know Momo Yaoyorozu.
And sometimes Shouto is jealous. Of what, he isn’t sure.
“Has the hero Shouto come to help me eat all this candy?” she asks the small boy.
Delight spreads across the child’s face when he realizes she’s talking to him and not the semi-pro handing out candy alongside her. He happily thrusts his hand inside the plastic jack-o’-lantern and offers Momo an orange KitKat, which she politely declines. Instead, she produces a box of pocky and offers mini-Shouto a slender stick. They laugh and share their sweets. Momo’s tongue darts out to greet the rich chocolate, and Shouto finds himself watching and wondering.
In the space of a second, the young man’s mind flits back to his earlier reverie. But now, he is no longer the child; Shouto is the father, sipping a cup of tea, legs tucked under the kotatsu. A little girl with split black and white hair sprints outdoors. She catches snowflakes in her gloved hands and spins as the flurries continue to fall. Momo is seated next to him, watching their daughter.
It’s pleasant and disarming -- the precise qualities Momo exudes despite the danger lurking just out of sight and mind. He shakes the pesky thought off and continues to attend to the never-ending line of lookalikes. If it is jealousy Shouto feels, he hopes it will not show. Not for the first time, he wonders if these wishful daydreams are truly tricks or treats.
A/N: And that's a wrap, folks! Here's some light Todomomo to round out my Fictober 2019 challenge. Perhaps this is a couple of days late, but I'm calling this project a win. 30/31 is pretty good! A million thanks to everyone who followed this collection and encouraged me along the long, long road. As always, your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs give me life. Also, don't be a stranger and check out my tumblr. Send me questions, comments or whatever else may be on your mind.
#virthiefictober#fictober19#writetober19#bnha#my hero academia#todoroki shouto#yaoyorozu momo#todomomo#trick or treat#flourchildwrites#finally finished
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Fictober Day 20: Stars
Miraak often looked at the stars, the constellations. It was part of his job, after all; to read the sky and record it. He did less recording now, just content to admire the stars while ok kest slept soundly in their small tent.
She had taken first watch, so now in the wee hours of the morning, the stars were bright and glittering overhead, small specks interwoven with the fabric of the night sky the Northern Lights made.
Tonight they were hues of blues, purples, and pinks. The purple was the exact shade of her eyes.
It was quiet nights like this, were there was nothing stirring in the brush to disturb his thoughts, he would reflect on how drastically his life had changed in just a few months. The selfish part of him wanted her. Wanted her to return the feelings he had tried to bury deep inside himself.
It hadn’t worked.
#virthiefictober#writetober 2019#fictober 2019#miraak#carawen x miraak#cara x miraak#elder scrolls#skyrim#drabble
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Witch, Please! Fictober 2019 (4/31)
A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation. Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.
For @teaplease1717
Prompt: “Vampire” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List
Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Relationship/Pairing: Todoroki Shouto/Yaoyorozu Momo
Genre: Romance, Historical AU
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Word Count: 986 words
Read on AO3
They say monsters exist only in fairy tales, but Momo has always had an eye for creatures that hide in plain sight. She catches a glimpse of him across the candlelit dance floor and follows, setting aside her glass as if the wine turned suddenly to water. Despite the ornate masks and excessive plumage of the masquerade ball, there is no mistaking Shouto’s otherworldly countenance. His mismatched eyes and hair are poorly concealed by his dark costume, but perhaps it is the very act of not wanting to been seen that makes the memory of him transparent in other’s minds.
Momo could not forget Shouto if she tried. They’ve been dancing in the dark for years now, a sultry tango predicated on a word whispered in the shadows of high society: Vampire.
He catches her as she turns a corner in the garden, and but for the finger pressed to her lips, she would have yelped in surprise. Momo’s dark eyes flutter shut as she takes in his scent. Her fingers intertwine themselves in the fine hair at the nape of his neck as his hand caresses the curve of her hips, sliding upward to rest at her waist.
“Where have you been?” she asks, too loudly for his liking. “I was worried. It’s been weeks.”
“Away,” he explains vaguely, eyes shifting to and fro. The frown on his lips is palpable, but his words ring true. “I have missed you, Signorina Yaoyorozu. Though you should be running from me, not to me.”
Undeterred, Momo leans into his touch as the fingers which quieted her lips trail across her cheek to cup her face. Where a fire seems to burn over every inch of the young woman’s skin, his touch is cold and hard. Momo’s chest falls and rises within the corseted costume she wears, white as light to offset his dark. She presses herself against him but does not hope for the telltale tick-tock of a beating heart. That longing left her not long after their affair started -- when she first became aware of his true nature.
“You must be hungry,” she whispers into his ear, without precaution or preamble.
Momo draws her hands behind her head to unclasp her black choker. The velvety fabric falls to reveal two neat puncture marks, red-rimmed and scabbed but otherwise clean and stuck somewhere between healing and scarring. Rather than excited, Shouto seems to resent the sight, and the eager grin fades from Momo’s face.
“I’m sorry,” she says, stumbling over her words. She cannot deny that she has craved the feeling of his lips on her neck, sucking at the flesh and drawing out her life force. While there is violence in the way he feeds, there is also pleasure and intimacy -- moans that rattle in her throat as her senses dull, shutting out the world and halting the passage of time. “Isn’t this what you came for? To feed?”
Shouto stares at her quizzically, and Momo can see the gears turning in his mind, testing an idea that he is hesitant to speak into being. Behind her mask, Momo blushes. She fastens the choker as fast as her fumbling fingers will allow and adjusts the band to cover his mark.
“We cannot continue like this,” Shouto states with unreadable intonation.
Momo’s heart sinks. She tries to pull him out toward the light, to enjoy a dance or walk amongst the crowd if only for a moment. But Shouto is unmoved, a perfect statue of a human being decked out in his finery.
“I will come to you soon,” he says, heterochromatic eyes flashing silver and turquoise from the cover of the shadows. Momo doesn’t believe him, but he is gone before she can protest.
...
Momo is lovely in her best dress. Exquisite fabric, the color of spun sunshine, pours down her sides, and her bodice is not without compliment, showcasing an elegant coupling of decorative cords and pearls. Yet, as her handmaiden ties the last ribbon on her sleeve, Momo’s frown deepens. Her eyes remain downcast as she descends the staircase.
She supposes she is lucky to be betrothed to a count, but given the opportunity, she would gladly have escaped alongside Shouto.
“Momo!” Her father’s voice fills the high ceiling of their small ballroom, beckoning her downward to meet her fate. A Yaoyorozu to her core, Momo is poised even as she feels the weight of the future settle squarely on her shoulders.
At the base of the landing, Her mother draws near, pulling Momo toward her fiance and whispering words of wisdom in her ear. “Greet your future husband, dear. He is foreign, but I think you’ll find him most agreeable.”
Momo’s solemn eyes flit upward, and she is immediately confronted by familiar shades of gray and blue. Before her stands Count Todoroki, or so her father proclaims. He is a little-known nobleman who made his fortune in trade and other such commerce. Her father explains that he suffers from a rare illness which obliges him to shy away from public life, but Momo is no longer listening.
With barely contained joy, her onyx eyes trace the outline of his strong jaw and the slicked-back ends of his red and white hair. She notes the peculiar way he’s pulled the corners of his mouth over a pair of sharp fangs and blushes when she notices that he regards her with the same passion. Before her father can utter another word, Count Todoroki grasps his intended’s hand and presses the smooth back to his cold lips. The shiver which runs the length of Momo’s spine has little to do with the temperature.
“Have faith in me, la mia bella principessa?” he whispers in flawless Italian. “It is not your blood that I want.”
Whether he is a man or a monster, Momo decides that she will love Shouto until her heart stops.
And possibly thereafter.
A/N: Some prompts have well-written character development, and some just have vampires being vampires. This chapter is the latter, and I regret nothing. As always, do not hesitate to send me pairing requests for particular Fictober prompts via my tumblr, and if you read something you like, please let me know. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs are so appreciated!
#virthiefictober#fictober19#writetober19#bnha#todomomo#yaoyorozu momo#todoroki shouto#vampire!todoroki#historical au#vampires#masquerade ball#teaplease1717#flourchildwrites
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