solid trace

Send My Love (To Your New Lover) - Coda

Fic Summary: You come home to find that Baekhyun has been unfaithful, and you let him go. But what happens when he can’t let you go?

Coda Summary: The End ~ 

Thank you: @byunshim, @tousdae, @imbaekhyunstrash, @kryloxen, @redlogicx, @shesdreaminginoverdose, @smexy-demon, and all the other wonderful anons for their love, support, and angst enabling <3

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Baekhyun’s POV - 5:17 AM

The grass is soft beneath his feet as he walks. Is it grass or is it water? Maybe it’s fire – flames that are cool to the touch. He’s drifting, gliding. Flying.

The smell of rain curls in tendrils around him, pulling him forward, and he can hear it drumming ceaselessly on the roof of a car somewhere far away. Rain and wind chimes. He just has to walk a little farther and he’ll find it, what he’s searching for. Just a few more steps. His mouth tastes of omelets.

His fingers trace something solid – wood. Not tree bark…no, this is the wood of something built for beauty. A beautiful thing. A beautiful place. A place where things began and ended. He reaches out his hand…searching…

And fingers lace through his.

“Baekhyun,” she smiles. It’s her.

“Y/N,” he laughs, and there’s true joy and relief in the sound bubbling out of him. Then his face crumples. “Oh no. This is just another nightmare…You’re not real, are you?” This is simply how it goes – he finds what he’s been searching for, only to wake up and realize it’s gone. He’s going to wake up soon. He really doesn’t want to wake up.  

But for the first time since his nightmares began, she does something different. Placing his hand on her chest, over her beating heart, she looks up at him with those eyes and says, “I am. You are not sleeping right now. I am real, and I’m not going to be your nightmare anymore.”

He’s never heard these words before, and they’re doing something to him. Pulling him from the fog. The sound of rain recedes along with the distant wind chime laughter until all he hears is their breath. “No?” he asks her, uncertain.


“Then will you be my dream?”

He watches her beam, and it’s like the light slipping through the blinds. “Open your eyes and find out.”

He opens them.

“Hi jagiya,” Y/N smiles.

Thank you all so much for inspiring me to write this series. I’ll keep writing things for you as long as you want me to <3 love you, friends 



Stephen groaned outwardly as he leaned back into his chair, distended stomach pushing forward into his lap. He raised his hands to place them on his undeniable gut and give the small swell a solid rub.  As he traced his hands across its outline, he inventoried the changes. He had put on at least twenty five pounds since starting college three months ago, and he knew more was ahead if he kept eating like this.

But, Texas was nothing he could have seen coming. Hailing from rural Maine, Mexican food was a rarity, and had always been a favorite. But, now, down in the south, in a border state no less, his options were as plentiful as the menus were cheap. For the last three months, he had taken himself from restaurant to restaurant, sampling seasoned meats, sharp cheeses, fine spices, flavorful rice dishes, and his absolute favorite:  desserts. Stephen had an especially soft heart for sopapillas–flaky pastries fried in oil and slathered with honey, sugar and cinnamon.

His curiosity had taken him to at least a dozen restaurants, but one, and only one, was running on the same 24/7 schedule he was:  Taco Cabana. Stephen knew it was one of the farthest things you could get from authentic Mexican and not the tastiest either, but, at night, when his stomach would growl and his resolve would crumble, he’d always manage to find his way to this glowing oasis of food, with its tacky decor and cheap, plentiful portions.

He groaned again at the tightness in his stomach, and reached down to unbutton his tight shorts; shorts that he knew were loose on him just before he came to college. The button struggled, but his hands were deft and the clasp was freed. He sighed in relief as his stomach fell gratefully into the extra space. How many nights had he spent like this, he idly wondered. How many times had he sauntered in, late at night, to stuff himself with rice, cheese, and greasy meats?

How many times, indeed, had he come in? He knew, fifteen pounds ago, that he was putting on weight, but, that didn’t seem to stop him. He knew when he started having to suck in his gut to button his pants; he knew when his underwear clung tightly around his thighs and backside; he knew when his favorite button down wouldn’t close around his gut; but none of that, absolutely none of it, had stopped him. Each time, Stephen always swore to himself, he’d start a diet.  He’d start a diet, skip out on Mexican food, and lose the weight–but for some reason, each time he was up late studying, or just hanging out with his friends, he would come back. And not just come back, but stuff himself until he was absurdly full. A task which, as his gut had grown, required steadily more and more food to accomplish. Stephen realized, if anything, he was coming around more and more often.

Stephen adjusted in his seat and stifled a belch, his small belly wobbling back and forth as his hips shifted. His stomach wasn’t aching as badly as it was earlier, he noted, and decided it was time to go. Stephen stood and, grabbing the tray which carried three empty plates of food, walked over to the trashcan to dispose of them. He took his empty drink to the soda fountain to top off before heading out, filling it back to the brim with a sugary soda and made his way to the exit. As he passed he register at the entrance, he gave a polite nod to the gentleman behind it–a usual night staff worker, Stephen had noticed. However, this time, a few feet from the door, he heard the cashier call out:

“Hey, gordito.”

Stephen didn’t speak a lick of Spanish, and he was some time from learning what the word meant, but, he knew it was for him. He turned around to face the cashier and asked as politely as he could, “Yes, sir?”

The cashier smiled to himself. “How about some dessert?”

Stephen’s stomach let out an audible gurgle, causing him to blush slightly and the cashier’s grin to spread a little wider.

“What do you say? How about dessert to go, on the house?”

Free food? Free dessert at that? Stephen grinned widely and gave a strong nod, unaware of the way his gut bobbled slightly along with his head.

“Here you go,” said the cashier. He reached down under the counter briefly, and produced a small to-go box. This was something he clearly anticipated. Stephen approached the counter and took the box, and gave the cashier a pleasant thank you as he walked out the door.

Returning to his dorm room, Stephen set the to-go box on his bed. He groaned quietly to himself and rubbed his gut, happy to have his roommate out for the week. As Stephen was standing up and preparing to undress, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His belly was visibly swollen with food and strained noticeably against his favorite tee-shirt. The shirt fit in an unflattering fashion. Stephen’s body had been swelling outward, pulling taught every formerly loose fold in its fit. To say it clung to him tightly was an understatement–It seemed to highlight the swelling of his torso, accentuating his protruding love handles. Stephen noticed this did the unfortunate work of pointing out exactly how much he had grown, as it left nothing to the imagination as to exactly how wide he was getting or by how much he was overflowing his shorts. It was glaringly obvious that his love handles had managed to not just rebel against the waist of his shorts, but to overtake it and swamp it in excess adipose. Bad as that was, worse still, Stephen thought, was at the apex of his belly. Each of his budding love handles swelled together toward the front of his gut, blossoming outward into a round, protruding gut which struggled so tightly against the shirt that an indentation was left where his navel was–an obvious place where fabric was not in direct contact with flesh.

Stephen groaned pitifully to himself, noticing now that his shorts were still unbuttoned. The shirt managed to cover his gut, but only as much, and it left exposed to the world the evidence of his recent gluttony. He had walked how many blocks like this? Had seen how many people like this?

He reached down under his gut and sucked in, tucking the button into its clasp before letting his stomach fall back out. It didn’t hurt as much as it had earlier, but, it seemed to hoist his gut higher and make it more pronounced. Stephen sighed, running his hands at the top of the largest curve. This was getting out of hand, Stephen thought to himself. It’s time to start that diet and get back into shape, his voice rang in his head confidently. Yes, Stephen was sure, the diet starts now.

As Stephen turned around, however, his attention was caught by the small, styrofoam to-go box on his bed. Stephen looked down at the soft curve of his gut, then again at the to-go box.

The diet would start tomorrow.

He grinned to himself, already thinking about the taste of the delicious treat on his palette.  But, rather than start immediately, Stephen decided he wanted to at least be a little more comfortable. Sucking in his stomach yet again, Stephen reached down and unfastened the button for his shorts and slid them down his legs. His chunky thighs and well-filled buttocks appreciatively relaxed into the extra space, and were made more obvious by the fit of his mid-thigh boxer briefs. Deciding to leave his shirt on, for now at least, Stephen grabbed a clean fork from the sink and walked over to his bed, tugging his shirt down over his belly before sitting down.

Stephen’s stomach gurgled again as he opened the to-go box, eyeing the fried morsel with a thick coating of sugar and honey. Sopapillas–his favorite. As Stephen cut off a corner with the side of his fork, he reminded himself that he wasn’t going against his diet, since he wouldn’t be starting that until tomorrow.

He slid the bite into his mouth, and sighed contently as the sugar and honey dissolved onto his tongue. The sweet and savory morsel rolled about his mouth, the tastes becoming more intermingled as his teeth greedily gnashed away. This, Stephen thought, was worth it. His fork went back and shoveled another, larger bite into his waiting maw.

Bite after bite, the pastry before him was turned into a gnash of fried bread and sugar, and swallowed into his waiting gut. Stephen eagerly scraped the remaining sugar and honey from the sides of the box, lifting as much of it as possible back to his mouth. Finally, after a euphoric few minutes, Stephen’s fork came up completely empty, and only filled his mouth with a trademark metallic taste. Stephen let out a sigh, half content, and half disappointed that his treat had been finished.

Stephen closed the box and set it down at his side. He let out a little belch, sighed again contently, and then lightly placed a hand on the top of his gut as it rested in his lap. Stephen looked back down at the box, a little disappointed. Tomorrow his diet would start, and that would mean no more sopapillas and no more nights of mexican food. Stephen looked down at the swell of his gut again, though, and was reminded of why that may not be such a bad thing. After all, Stephen didn’t want to get fat.

This was, Stephen knew, his last sopapilla for a long time. Resigned, Stephen sighed and stood up to walk the to-go box to the trash can. He reached down and picked up the box, only to discover that it was heavier than he remembered. Confused, Stephen opened the box again and to his surprise found not just one, but two sopapillas inside.

Stephen blinked.

“The fuck?” were the only words he could audibly muster. He could remember eating the last one just less than five minutes ago. Not only could he remember it, he could still make out the lingering taste of the sopapilla on his tastebuds. Despite Stephen’s confusion, his stomach came to one conclusion:  it growled audibly, and Stephen began to salivate.

Shrugging his shoulders, Stephen sat back down on his bed. “Must’ve been three in there and I missed them somehow.” Aware that this was a shitty explanation, Stephen didn’t really care. As the growl of his stomach and the smile creeping over his lips explained he already knew what he wanted:  more dessert.

Sitting back down on his bed and picking up his fork again, Stephen wet his lips in anticipation. Stephen brought down his fork on the flaky, gooey pastry, and smiled wider as the utensil crushed through it, forcing excess honey to ooze around it. As his stomach issued another quiet grumble, Stephen slopped the morsel in the excess sweet, sticky honey and brought it to his lips. Slipping the morsel into his mouth, Stephen again let out a content sigh. The gooey mixture of bread, honey, and sugar dissolved on his tongue, and he swallowed strongly, feeling the slop of sweetness plop into his waiting stomach.

Stephen reached for his fork and rapidly shoveled in another few bites until the first pastry was gone. Despite his earlier binge, Stephen was suddenly racked with a renewed sense of hunger. His primal urge turned on the remaining sopapilla, and Stephen, uninterested in wasting time, set the fork down on the nearby counter and reached in for the gooey treat with his hand. Stephen sopped the flaky pastry in the excess honey and sugar left in the container and, to his own surprise, brought the whole pastry to his mouth. Stephen wet his lips, then opened his maw wide as he stuffed in the pastry until his cheeks visibly puffed out around the food his mouth contained. Stephen bit down, his teeth tearing through the pastry as his lips became covered in sticky honey.

Stephen groaned happily as his jaw flexed, trying to subdue the pastry into a chewable mash. He swallowed a little bit at a time, feeling a slow trickle of honey, bread, and sugar down his gullet until finally, the last of it landed in his greedy stomach. Before he knew it, Stephen had shoveled what was left of the second sopapilla into his mouth and began to chew. Closing the lid on the box, Stephen set it at his side again, and placed both hands on either side of his gut. Stephen leaned back against the nearby wall and tilted his head up gently, swallowing, as his hands began to lightly massage his gut.

Stephen’s stomach gurgled audibly as he massaged it, trying to break down the pastries into usable calories. Stephen was content before, but now, as his stomach gurgled again, he wanted more. He wanted more, but, gently squeezing the side of his gut, Stephen reminded himself that what he needed was a diet. Especially now, Stephen thought, after three helpings of dessert.

“God,” he groaned, before stifling a belch, “I can’t keep doing this. I’ll turn into a fucking pig.”

Stephen’s stomach protested; it gurgled slightly, and Stephen caught himself struck with hunger again.

“God damn it, why the fuck am I hungry again? I just ate,” he groaned, perplexed by the sudden insatiability of his appetite. It had never been like this before.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stephen again noticed the to-go box. As the hunger ebbed away at his sense of self-control, Stephen caught himself wondering. If last time, there was more, then, maybe…

No. Stephen stopped himself and shook his head–even if there was, for some godawful reason, it was no excuse. He was on a diet, and he was going to lose weight and that was that. Stephen looked down at his gut again with a renewed sense of embarrassment, and strengthened his resolve.

But, from within, his hunger whispered, “I did say the diet starts tomorrow… and it’s definitely not tomorrow.” He eyed the to-go container again, “Do you think?” the voice in his head asked. “Maybe,” came the same voice in reply. As his hunger rose again, so did the intensity of his desires. Stephen unconsciously smacked his tongue in his mouth, sopping up whatever microscopic leftovers of its sugary treat it could still find. “Maybe,” Stephen thought to himself, and his hunger firmly commanded, “Check again.”

Without lifting the box, Stephen flipped the top on the to-go box to find to his surprise, another two sopapillas just as decadent as the last ones.

“What is going on here,” Stephen spoke aloud to no one in particular. He removed both hands from his stomach and lifted the to-go box to his face, the scent of the pastries hit his nose hard, almost like they had been freshly baked. Stephen’s round stomach let out a loud gurgle, as the hunger pains returned to rack his body again.

Groaning, Stephen tried to control himself. “I don’t need to eat–I don’t want to get fat.”. Stephen whined, placing his hands on his abundant gut, trying to ground himself. Alas, from deep within, came the voice.


Stephen reached in with his hand and picked up one of the pastries and stuffed as much of it into his mouth until his cheeks visibly strained. They puffed out hard on either side, and Stephen struggled to keep his mouth closed as he chewed. He tilted his head back again, lips smacking as his jaws worked to turn the treat into something more manageable. Bit by bit, the sugary treat slid down the back of his throat and sloshed into his stomach.

Stephen’s stomach gurgled as he reached for the second sopapilla to repeat his gluttony. As he smooched the chewy pastry into his waiting mouth again, Stephen felt contentment spread across his body even as his stomach’s hunger seemed to deepen.

In what was going to be the last moment Stephen’s willpower held up, he closed the lid and swallowed hard as he wiped powdered sugar from his lips. Through shocked, heavy breaths, Stephen’s fear grew, even as his hunger creeped upon the fringes of his psyche.

“No–” Stephen groaned, “I can’t get fat.” Fear creeping up within him, both hands flew to his stomach as the hunger returned.

“Eat,” came a deep, resounding voice which he could not quite place. “You’re hungry,” it echoed again.

“No, I–ugh.” Stephen tried to calm himself, and his hunger, but to no avail.




“Fuck. Why am I so hungry?” Stephen eyed his gut, stuffed with food and rolling slightly into his lap. Hunger hit him again, and Stephen groaned along with his stomach.

All thoughts of the diet left Stephen’s head. With another loud growl from his gut, Stephen gave in. Whatever force had been within him since he started college, slowly nagging him to glut himself more and more often, finally won over. The unnamed whisper that had been in his ear when he noticed how his stomach was outgrowing even his roomiest shirts; the soothing voice that urged him after two full orders, to consume another; the voice that lulled him when he noticed the rising curve of his ass; at last, the monster that waited until its prey was ready before moving in for the kill had finally pounced.

Stephen grasped at the container, opened it, and crammed another sopapilla into his mouth as the process which had been transforming him the last few months suddenly accelerated six-fold. Stephen moaned at the release of finally answering his unforgiving hunger, almost thrilled to bloat himself up further. His body answered in the only way it could:  swelling–advancing; his body visibly bloated outward, inch by inch, pound by pound.

Stephen smacked his lips, stuffing in another pastry–closing the lid, and preparing to find more.  He lost himself in the flavors:  sweet honey, oil, and sugar flooding his mouth and falling into his gut.

Munch, much, smack, swallow.

Swell. His lovehandles rose, oozing out around him and fighting the thin, cotton shirt that stood between them and open air. As they grew, fat further pooled into his gut and the indentation of Stephen’s navel grew more prominent. Above, his chest began to pad even further, the softness behind his nipples forcing them to protrude visibly against the shirt.

Stephen opened the box, and gluttonously crammed another pastry into his maw; powdered sugar and honey covered his lips, which he sumptuously licked clean.

Much, much, smack, swallow.

Swell. Beneath him, Stephen’s ass ripened and the twin globes rounded further against the underwear that stopped fitting him ten pounds ago. As his thighs thickened with fat and spread out to his sides, Stephen unconsciously shifted his legs so that they were farther apart as he aggressively crammed more sopapilla into his mouth.

Smack, chew, swallow.

Swell. The bloating belly grew by the minute, and with an almost cartoonish ‘fhwip’ forced his shirt to suddenly roll up to just below his growing moobs. His bloating gut rolled triumphantly into his lap as fat further pooled along his sides. The shirt could only cover Stephen’s growing breasts, and at the rate he was growing, not for very long. Both breasts filled and began to overfill, stretching both his sensitive nipples and the thin fabric.

Stephen’s ass and lovehandles aggressively bloated outward as he gorged, his fattening body fighting desperately against the waist of the boxerbriefs. There was a sound that caught Stephen’s ear–a slight pop. What? Stephen blinked briefly, suddenly aware of himself. He swallowed the bit of pastry left in his mouth, and as Stephen looked down at the fat gut advancing rapidly across his thighs, he was treated to the most unusual of choruses:

A rapid, successive ‘pupupopop’ as the stitches which held his body in gave way all at once. Stephen’s breasts fell, heavy and fat atop his swelling gut, and his thighs bulged outward and met in the middle, as two waves crash into one another. Stephen’s gut bulged outward, swamping his lap to mid-thigh.

“Holy shit,” Stephen said aloud, even as his stomach groaned. “Oh fuck, what is happening to me?” Even filled with fear, Stephen was unable to stop himself and he reached again for more dessert to cram into his waiting maw. Stephen’s heart throbbed and leapt into his throat, even as he stuffed more food into his mouth.

I can’t stop–the thought occurred to him as he chewed unwillingly, hunger dominating him. Oh God, I can’t stop. Stephen watched his body steadily inch outward as he continued to stuff himself, unable to rend himself from the force controlling him.

Stephen groaned as he swallowed again. Pound after pound pooled into his gut as it steadily inched along his lap, threatening to encroach on his knees. It sat atop his thighs like a heavy, sagging mass that swelled readily along its circumference, wrapping around Stephen in thick lovehandles. At its crest was Stephen’s navel, now puckered by the thick, soft fat pooling behind it.

“Oh fuck,”  was the only thought Stephen could muster between bites. Every time he could tear himself away from the treats long enough to touch his body it was  somehow softer, and always more of it.

Stephen’s thighs were easily the size of his former waist, and his ass billowed below him, swelling his frame wider even has his gut bloated him outward. Stephen was having a harder time adjusting himself on his bed as more and more fat fought to find its way into him. Stephen struggled to shift his legs farther apart, even as he unwittingly lifted more of the pastries to his mouth.

“Oh no no no no–”  he spread his thighs wider and inched farther back; he felt the weight of his body sway back and forth, as though he were swimming in a sea of himself. Stephen finally hit the back of the bed and opened his thighs as wide as he could,allowing his gargantuan belly to spill forth into the gap like an incoming tide.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,”  Stephen groaned, unable to stop himself from cramming more food into his mouth even as terror gripped him. Reaching with one hand, he struggled against the fat mound of his breast to try and reach the front of his stomach–just something to reassure himself that he hadn’t gotten that big yet–but found himself unable.

Just out of reach, his navel perched the crest of his gut and, almost teasingly, inched further from reach. Stephen fell back against himself, exasperated, terrified, and almost to the point of tears. Finally, Stephen’s fear was enough to rend him from the invisible grip of his hunger, and he dropped the box. It fell to the floor, now well out of reach at his size, and two fresh sopapillas rolled out of it.

Stephen’s stomach gave one last groan before the hunger finally faded, leaving Stephen and his massively overfed form to deal. Stephen began to sob quietly to himself as he began to explore his new body–below him, most of the twin fold-out bed was covered by his width and in front of him, his massive gut sagged heavily between his thickened thighs, topped by round breasts with stretched, sensitive nipples.

Stephen once again tried to reach both hands to his front, but found that his attempts to touch his hands only resulted in squeezing the fat of his gut further into his own body. The fat oozed against his arms, and they remained out of reach of one another.

“Hey, gordito–what did you think was going to happen?”

Stephen’s grief was briefly interrupted by panic, as the cashier suddenly appeared in front of him.

Stephen gasped as, almost affectionately–or was it sadistically?–that the cashier stepped forward and placed his hand on the crest of Stephen’s belly. Stephen knew exactly how to react.


The cashier continued to only grin.

“Gordito, I didn’t do this–I just gave you desert. You–you did this. And I’m willing to bet…”

Stephen’s anger overflowed within him, but, suddenly, a familiar feeling returned to him.

Stephen’s massive gut unleashed another groan, and Stephen felt the pangs of hunger again begin to ebb his consciousness.

“You’ve got… to be… kidding me…,” Stephen groaned between breaths, exasperated, as he surveyed the cashier.

Grin spread wide, the cashier bent over and picked up the pastries and the box which had fallen to the floor.

“See, Gordito? This is what you are.” The cashier reached forward and gave Stephen’s gut a smack, watching the wave ripple throughout his overfed form. As if to answer, the gut unleashed another growl. “A lard-ass. A genuine, overfed fat-ass.”

“Now,” the cashier stepped forward and Stephen tried to pull away, only to find himself pinned by his belly and the wall. Stephen began to panic again as the hunger got stronger, and the cashier got closer. Before him stood a graceful predator, and he was the fattened gazelle.

“I bet someone’s hungry.”        

AO3 Request 3

Double request/response: Lewis and Arthur in a playful fight, then Arthur trying to lighten the mood when Lewis is upset about his arm


It was incredible, really, how focused Arthur was on his task. The deep bags under his eyes told an all-too-familiar story about sleepless nights and exhaustion, but even as he continually shook his head to ward off the need, he continued tapping away at the keyboard in his lap. He didn’t even pause for a moment when a thick bony finger prodded his cheek lightly.

“Gooooo to beeeeeeeed.”

“I’ve got the finish this schematic while it’s still fresh in my head, piss off.”

The large ghost nudged into the mechanic with his shoulder, nuzzling his fiery pompadour into Arthur’s chin and ignoring the groans when the flames tinged his vision pink. “It’s laaaaaate and you need sleeeeeeep come to beeeeeeeed.”

Arthur shoved back, and drew his legs up onto the couch, leaning back against the broad shoulder behind him. “It’ll go by faster if you let me get comfortable and fini-!!!”

Lewis suddenly found himself on his back, laptop folding closed on his stomach as he gazed up at the ceiling through a semi-transparent curtain of shiny black and glittery pink. He sighed. “Well damn, Lew, I’d say you have your head up your ass tonight, but NOPE ALL CLEAR DOWN HERE-”

Arthur rolled himself off the couch as his boyfriend returned to a physical state, smirking and reaching for a discarded throw pillow. Never had a sound been more satisfying than Lewis’s hearty cackle being cut off by a muffled down-feather thud.

“Oh, is this how we’re going to play this now?”

“Since your little stunt has me more awake than ever? You bet your bony ass.”

The fight lasted twenty-five minutes, destroyed sixty-three pillows, and spawned a hearty debate over whether or not intangibility was cheating, before Vivi snuck up behind the two and bopped them with couch cushions so hard they could taste music.


One warm, solid finger traced along the line of a particularly nasty scar, the ghost of a victim appreciating and mourning the ghost of a bitter solution. Arthur shivered, but leaned into the touch, sighing deeply as Lewis’s feather-light exploration leapt from the taper edge of one long-healed bite mark to the next, with all the reverence of a worshiper studying a holy artifact.

“I can’t believe I never even noticed…”

Arthur chuckled, toying with the hem of his pajama pants idly. “Well, my shirt isn’t exactly see through. Besides, the connectors tend to cover the more prominent scars-”

“I didn’t even notice the arm…”

Arthur paused, tilting his head back to look up at the ghost holding him in his lap, dismayed to see the despair shining in depths of Lewis’s eyes. The mechanic reached up to take the bony hand in his, lacing their fingers together and smiling. “Well then,” he murmured, rubbing one finger in comforting circles against the thick bones, “I’ll have to make sure it’s more noticeable from now on.”

The ghost cocked a brow in confusion, and Arthur hummed to himself, as if he was thinking intently. “Hmmm…maybe I’ll paint some bright yellow flames on it.”

Lewis paused, and then choked back a barely repressed peal of laughter. “Hey now, flames are my thing.”

“What, is there a problem with matching motifs? I thought romantic types like you loved that crap. We can get Vivi some blue flame stockings-”

On the other side of the bed, Vivi buried her head in a pillow and chortled. Lewis sighed, shaking his head, but his eyes betrayed an unseen smile. “Alright Arthur, I gotta hand it to you, you definitely know how to lighten the mood-”

A cold metal digit brushed the edge of his nasal bone, and he flinched, glancing down at Arthur questioningly. The young man grinned, prodding his detached prosthetic in his boyfriend’s face once more with a mirthful grin. “Hand it to me?”

“…oh my GOD I hate you the most.”

Still, he took a moment to pull Arthur closer into a warm embrace, before an indignant shriek from Vivi announced the catastrophic impact of a pillow flung at high velocity.

calm waters...

So, boredom at work (and the desire to write something happy) prompted me to write a follow up to my Captain Cobra ficlet from last night. Consider this a flash forward to happier times. 


“Yes, lad?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Killian looks over to the boy (the young man really) and sees him leaning against the bow, his eyes firmly on the sunset sinking swiftly below the horizon. Calm waters beneath them for once a mirror of their lives, with Emma napping in the Captain’s Quarters below, the only darkness to be found the quickly approaching night.

“Of course, what’s on your mind?”

Henry is still for a moment longer before he turns and makes his way to Killian at the wheel, his time on the Jolly over these past months earning him solid sea legs, no trace of uneasiness as he crosses the deck.

“Back in the Enchanted Forest, in that other reality did you…I mean, who did you think I was when we met?”

Killian’s eyebrows shoot up at this query, not missing the somewhat nervous and hopeful tone hidden beneath the question. He feels as though he is tiptoeing on a precipice with the lad and determines that honesty is the only real option in his response.

“At first, I thought you were bloody mad. When you told me that I had taught you how to sail, however, I did begin to believe that perhaps I was the one with the addled mind. It wasn’t until I met Emma and she spoke of our…closeness in this reality, did begin to wonder, hope really, that perhaps….well, that you might have been my son. Alas, I died before any of my questions were truly answered, but in that moment I believed that I was fighting to protect my family.”

Henry steps a bit closer at that, his eyes going to the marks made by Killian’s hook from when he had taught Baelfire to sail all those years ago, the jagged lines that remain a solemn reminder of Killian’s first attempt at fatherhood.  

“I never really knew my Dad all that well. We never had time. I miss him sometimes, but, more than that, I miss what we could have been.”

“I know, lad. I miss him, too.”

Knowing the pain of an absent father too well, Killian wishes he could spare Henry of it, fill the empty space that remains somehow.

“I don’t want to miss my chance with you.”

Killian feels his heart clench at Henry’s words, his longing to be a father to the lad surging in his chest at the softly spoken declaration.

“Henry, a life here with Emma and you is all I desire in this world. Your acceptance as part of your family honors me more than you know, son.”

Hazel eyes meet blue and Killian feels the jagged pieces of his long life begin to move into place. Henry smiles somewhat shyly before shifting his focus back to the horizon. Killian moves to his side, standing shoulder to shoulder (when did Henry get so tall?) as they watch the last of the day fade into night.

Son… I like that.”


Holiday, Chapter 8 (halfsies)

Author: @appleblossomgirl0305

Rating: T

A/N: So this is half of chapter 8. I was desperate not to miss this prompt deadline (it’s genius), but an unexpected visit by my wonderful in-laws kept me from finishing the chapter in time (darn them for wanting to drink wine and visit in the evenings!). So I promise to finish the chapter and get our favorite guy out of this sad, sad place asap.

Evolving and endless gratitude to @xerxia31. Not only does she submit her amazing stories, she helps so many of us with ours! And nice work on the prompts, d12d ladies! Happy Friday, y'all!

Finnick suggested that we take the flashlights and walk down to his friend Joe’s house. Scratching his chin he said, “Don’t go wandering off, okay? People around here take private property pretty seriously.”

Once we left the road, there was no clear path through the landscape, the moonlight making the textured surface of the rocks undulate before me. The darkness, coupled with the heat still emanating from the slabs of black rock, was disorienting.

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Go Home (3/?)


@belleetlabeast @potterhead7656 @crazychick010 @hip5t3r-m3rmaaidd-biitchhh @itsjordanelizabeth13 @p3nny4urth0ught5 @jasmins3

part one

part two


here it is.

 X X X

Three weeks. Three weeks (Y/n) had been locked up in that room, tied to the very same bed she was in three weeks ago. Bucky watched patiently from the other side. He was not allowed in there, fearing that he would make things worse.
He watched as Wanda came in and out of the room twice a day every day, to try to bait her memories back.
(Y/n) wasn’t exactly cooperating. Just this morning, Wanda got a little too close to her and she bit Wanda and refused to let go, causing her teeth to tear through the scarlet witch’s skin. Wanda’s scream was violent, and when (Y/n) finally let go, the skin was already penetrated, blood trickling on the sides.
Bucky placed his forehead against the glass, trying to stop the tears from falling. (Y/n) laughed and looked directly at him. That’s strange. She wasn’t supposed to be able to look to the other side.
“I can see you.” (Y/n) mouthed. Bucky’s eyes went wide as he enabled the microphone between the two rooms.
“How?” Bucky demanded through the microphone. Surprisingly, he kept his voice steady.
“Does it matter?” she asked coldly, looking back at the ceiling. “That girl,” she started, “the one messing with my brain, who was she?”
Bucky stared intensely at her, and somehow he knew the woman he loved, the woman he still loves until now, is there, unchanged, hidden under a cloak.
“You mean that girl you bit?” Bucky said bitterly, “she was someone willing to help you.”
“She wasn’t helping me, she was hurting me,” (Y/n) snapped, her eyes puffed out as if she was about to cry. “She was bringing back your memories,” Bucky explained unlocking the door of the room with his security pass. He didn’t care if he wasn’t allowed in there, he couldn’t simply stay put. He needed to see her, to touch her skin as freely as he once did.
“I don’t want my memories back,” she said shortly, “They come with pain.”
Bucky closed the door behind him and moved closer to (Y/n). I know how it feels, Bucky wanted to say, I know how it feels to want to forget because it won’t hurt, because it’s easier to do it. I was once as desperate as you, too. I was once as broken, once as hurt. I wanted nothing to do with the past. But memories are important and I want you to remember me. I need you to be strong for me.
But those thoughts stayed as thoughts. The words never left his mouth.
“Why?” Bucky whispered, drowning in sorrow.
“I don’t have to look back to know where I’m going.”
“Don’t you want to remember me?” Bucky asked softly, kneeling next to (Y/n), who was helplessly strapped on the bed. Then he looked to the glass. A normal person wasn’t supposed to see anything through it from the inside, but being a supersoldier, he could see dark traces of solid objects. Maybe that’s what they did to (Y/n).
Just the thought of Hydra torturing (Y/n) turning her into something like him made him shudder. He wanted to rip Hydra piece by piece until there is nothing left to salvage.
Hurt me, torture me, kill me, he said when Hydra took him, but for the love of God, don’t touch her.
“Oh, I remember you, James Buchanan Barnes.”
Bucky froze when she said those words.
Maybe Wanda’s treatment worked, after all.
(Y/n) choked as a raspy voice came out of her mouth “I hate you,” she said, “You left me alone.”
Bucky didn’t know why he released the straps of her bed.
The second she was exposed to freedom, she threw him across the room in a matter of seconds. Bucky was still disoriented when (Y/n) swung her fist on Bucky’s face, his jaw slightly dislocated. It didn’t matter though, it would heal soon enough.
Bucky didn’t want to fight back. He would never hurt (Y/n), no matter how much she hurt him. Bucky tried to stand up, but (Y/n) kicked him back down and pressed her feet to his throat.
“Fight back,” she demanded, “fight back, James. Don’t be weak. My son would never have wanted a weak father,” she sneered, pressing her feet a little harder.
Bucky gathered his strength and locked his fist around (Y/n)’s ankles, throwing her down. It didn’t take long for her to get back up again.
But before she could regain her balance, Bucky scrambled to her feet and kneeled.
He looked up with a pleading look. “I’m sorry,” he looked down, only to let tears drop from his eyes. Once a tear broke free, the rest followed in an unstoppable flow. He dropped on all fours and let all his emotion go. He was silently screaming inside, and he did not know how to stop it. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice cracked like a dry leaf. It was barely audible. “I’m sorry,” he tried to repeat the words, but his voice broke down in a tantrum.
For the first time in nearly eighty years, (Y/n) embraced him. Even when she did, Bucky couldn’t stop crying. He held on (Y/n)’s shirt, and she could do nothing else but hold him in her arms as she felt his tears soak through her shirt. Bucky’s human hand made his was to (Y/n) and tangled them together. He found out that they were still a perfect fit for each other, after all these years. Bucky pressed his cheeks to (Y/n)’s stomach. He just couldn’t believe that once she had carried his child in her, and she had to go through that without him.
(Y/n) found her was to caress Bucky’s cheek and angled it so his eyes could meet hers. “I was angry, I-I’m sorry,” she stuttered, but she meant it. (Y/n) pressed his forehead to his. “I… I just missed you, okay? I was so angry that you weren’t t-there for me that I didn’t know what else to do.” She tried to explain. Her voice was breaking, but she managed to hold back. Bucky still sees the woman he loves, but now she was not as fragile as she was before. She used to be a delicate mirror, now she was vibranium.  
Bucky smiled as he tried to wipe the tears away from his eyes. It didn’t work, since more tears came spilling out of his blue orbs. (Y/n)’s let a single drop of tear roll down her cheek, but that was it. “No, don’t cry,” said Bucky, kissing the tear away, his wet face grazing against hers, “because if you do, then I’ll get worse.”
“I won’t,” (Y/n) promised, trying to keep her voice steady, but it was about to give up on her.
Bucky slowly pressed his lips to hers. He missed her so much.
Although he hasn’t kissed her since the forties, he remembered what she tasted like and it was still exactly the same. You smell like vanilla, Bucky had said on their first date, a charming smile plastered on his face.
Perhaps some things never change.
The kiss was passionate and strong and full of love, like all the other kisses they shared. The moment (Y/n) kissed back, it was like God was giving him his life for the first time. She was gentle, like she always had been, and he could feel that she meant it.
I’m glad you remember me, Bucky wanted to say, but he had a feeling (Y/n) already knows that. He got her back. His angel, the love of his laugh, his other half. He is never letting her go again.
“Don’t go,” said (Y/n), her voice merely above a whisper.

A half an hour later, Steve stormed in the room just to find Bucky and (Y/n) in a tight embrace, not willing let each other go.


A man watched silently through the hacked cameras, cracking his knuckles.
“The programming on the girl is weak,” he said through gritted teeth. “Do not make the same mistake twice. The child’s programming will have to be twice as strong.”


I recently read: “NASA to Announce Mars Mystery Solved” and it made my heart beat faster. Had proof of Martian life been found? If not living, breathing, and pumping out methane, at least some solid evidentiary trace from eons ago—that could be the greatest scientific discovery ever. However, the heralded news conference September 28, led by James L. Green, director of NASA’s planetary science division, revealed no such evidence. Nevertheless, details were revealed about a place on the red planet where water recently flowed—not the ultimate revelation but perhaps a step in that direction.

For years it’s been known Mars’s atmosphere contains traces of water vapor, and during a five month period in 2008 water ice was found by the Phoenix Laboratory after gently setting down at northern Martian latitude 68.22°. It’s an icy place, whimsically dubbed Green Valley indicating a relatively safe landing site as opposed to a rock strewn, dangerous area for a spacecraft.

Phoenix discovered a frozen water layer five to eighteen centimeters beneath the surface after digging with the laboratory’s robotic arm. Minerals and salts amounting to several percent of the soil’s weight that only could have been formed in water were also identified. At the end of that Martian summer, snow and ice began covering the site and subsequently destroyed the lander’s ability to communicate with Earth.

Despite previous knowledge about water on Mars, recognition of recently flowing water was a big step in our quest for evidence of possible extraterrestrial life. Streaks about 100 yards long, described as “recurring slope lineae, or RSL” are visible on images of Horowitz Crater at 32.04° S 219.36° W. The crater was named after Norman Horowitz, a geneticist at the California Institute of Technology, who designed Pyrolytic Release experiments aboard Viking lander craft that reached Mars in 1976. That mission initiated the first direct analysis of Martian surface properties and specifically looked for biosignatures of microbial life. Initial reports of positive results spurred enduring debate, general denial, and motivation for more direct experimentation.

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All I Wanted Was You

Genre: Angst, and a little fluff

Summary: Phil and Dan are just friends, but Phil can’t seem to quiet the feelings building inside of him.

Warnings: None

Word count: 792

Author’s Note: This is my second phanfiction, so I’m still working on my writing! This is just a short one-shot, and all comments are welcome! I hope you like it!

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Craft Foam Armor Tutorial Thingy for Our-Asgardian-Warrior

Okay, so I’ll write up a small little tutorial instead of making a video because I personally think it will be easier. Alright, let’s get this party started! 


Supplies (some supplies may be expensive) :

  • Craft Foam (DUH!)
  • Hot Glue Gun
  • Scissors
  • Heat Gun (heat guns are sorta pricey and can range from $40 to $80 usually)
  • X-Acto Knife
  • Gesso
  • Puffy Paint (for details)
  • Spray Paint (I prefer it over acrylic paint) 
  • Mod Podge Sealer
  • Paint Brushes
  • Black Acrylic Paint (for distress)
  • Measuring Tape 
  • Painting Tape
  • Clear Wrap

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All The Stars In Texas - Chapter 22

Before today, I knew every scar on Marco’s body. We spent so many nights in a roulette wheel of motel rooms and rented vacation spots that I found my solidity in tracing the raised lines between his shoulderblades and down his spine. I familiarized myself with every inch of his skin by force of habit alone, learned how to map out the ridges and valleys by feel and memory.

He’ll have so many new ones now that they’ll be impossible to count, much less memorize. All those scars, and every one my fault. I think of the unopened letters still hidden in the lid of my trumpet case, my own unspoken cross to bear, and the weight just gets heavier. Mikasa starts getting ready to treat him, and I start bargaining with God. Just let him make it through this, let him live, and I’ll learn every scar by heart. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll take the full taxonomy of all the wrong I’ve done and hold it close until my last day, just let him live.

The new chapter of my Jeanmarco Bonnie and Clyde AU is finally up!  As always, reblogs, comments, and recommendations are highly appreciated! Enjoy!

Review ID 2149452

I’m actually weeping, but I don’t know from what. This is the most glorious combo of rainbow but also the worst because my retinas are evaporating from the hues and clashing color. I like the fact that you covered his eyes, too, to remove any and all traces of solid colors. The only thing that remains is the embodiment of an LSD trip in the shape of the dragon.

I like it a lot but I also hate myself for liking it.

That Day...

So I’ve been hanging onto this story for a while, hoping to finish it. I know there is more to this story but for now, in honor of Magnus Monday, here’s part 1.

I heard the door click softly. I remained rooted to the chair, unable to look in that direction. I already knew. The police department had called, as it was the policy anytime this happened. They called the significant other to let them know, so they wouldn’t be surprised. My first thought had been to rush down there, to make sure he was okay. But I knew he wasn’t. He wouldn’t be for a very long time. I knew what he was like. I knew he needed to come to terms with this in his own time, in his own way. He needed space, room to move about in his thoughts. He would not have turned me away, but my presence would have been hard for him to take.

 So I waited. Waited for him to come home.

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