#mimic fics

[mimicteruyo]

Witchy Correspondence

[Touhou Ship Week Day 2: Sweet & Pride. Marisa/Alice, 1.1k words]

The rapping against Marisa's window was too localised to come from a human-sized hand. Marisa looked up from her book expecting either a fairy or a small bird and smiled to instead find a neatly-dressed doll peering inside. She dropped the book and walked out of the door.

She very nearly collided with Alice, who had been standing right outside. She stepped back to take in the folded arms and the look which suggested Alice was either suffering from indigestion or had just found evidence of a booklice infestation in her house.

"Here." She thrust a book Marisa had asked to 'borrow' for quite some time towards her. "Now you have no reason to come over."

Marisa took the book by instinct. She stared at it, then up at Alice. She tucked the book beneath her arm. "Okay. What's up?"

"You know perfectly well what it is. For future reference, I would appreciate it if next time you had the guts to tell me how you truly feel to my face."

"Uh..." Marisa blinked several times. There were only so many things this could be about, but even with that knowledge she was left groping in the dark. "Ya got allergies I didn't know about?"

"No."

"D'ya just really hate carnations?"

"Don't mock me."

"I ain't mocking ya." Marisa scratched the side of her head as she tried to come up with other possibilities. "Look, whatever's going on, I think we need to get back on the same page first."

Alice's coolness visibly thawed as she considered Marisa's words. "I agree."

"Just a tick." Marisa ducked back indoors.

It took some rummaging — more than expected, since she could've sworn she had left it on top of the pile rather than in the middle of it — but soon enough she had her guide to Western flower language in hand. She brushed aside the piece of purple string clinging to the front cover, grabbed her hat, and stepped back outdoors. "I'm good to go."

They didn't exchange a single word as they marched over to Alice's house, but the silence wasn't nearly as tense as Marisa might have expected. In fact, both the curve of Alice's shoulders and the casual manner in which her doll flew next to them made the walk seem like a typical forest excursion. It was like the matter was half resolved already, whatever it was.

Once at Alice's house, Marisa set her hat on its usual peg while Alice sailed past her to the kitchen and resumed orchestrating a small army of dolls as they chopped vegetables and minded pots and pans. Almost everything was in its usual neat order, and so Marisa's attention was quickly drawn to the chaos on the desk. Upon closer inspection, the papers covering the surface were filled with tables and explanatory notes in Alice's narrow and precise hand. Preparatory work for a new grimoire? She leaned over to study them, but a look from Alice through the open door kept her from filching a page or two.

Returning her attention to other things, she noticed a potted pansy on the windowsill, its lone blossom turned towards the sun. Despite the tension lingering in the air, the sight was a hopeful one.

"Now then." It seemed Alice's lunch preparations had entered a phase where her dolls required only a fraction of her attention. She returned to the sitting room and picked up an old book which had lain next to the papers on the desk. Its covers were an uninspired shade of brown, but the gilded letters on its spine revealed it to be a cousin to Marisa's book. Her brow furrowed gently as she opened the book and searched for the correct page. "When I first sent you a snowdrop, you took it to mean..."

"Nice flower." Still, Marisa followed suit and opened her guide just as she had back then. "But then I remembered what we'd been talkin' about the week before and looked it up. It means hope."

Alice nodded. "And a few days later, you sent me..." Her eyes moved to the pansy on the windowsill.

"Think of me," Marisa said, with a slightly awkward grin.

"Then it was lilies-of-the-valley..."

Marisa quickly flipped through the pages. "Return of happiness."

"Exactly. And finally..." Alice seemed more hesitant now, as though she had already seen the conclusion of the exercise. Regardless, she sought out the correct page in her book and looked at Marisa. "What does yours say about carnations?"

"Maybe I oughta know what yours says first."

The narrowing of Alice's eyes suggested she was unimpressed, but she obliged Marisa anyway. "Disdain."

"Okay. Mine has 'em meaning fascination and distinction."

"It doesn't specify anything about yellow carnations in particular?"

"Nah." Actually, now that Marisa studied the page more closely, she discovered a list in smaller print specifying the meaning of each individual colour of carnation. Bringing that up seemed counterproductive, however, and so she insisted on the point that really mattered. "I meant only what I thought the meaning was."

For a moment, Alice said nothing. Finally, she closed her book and looked aside. "...That would explain it."

"But, uh..." This was surprisingly embarrassing. Marisa scratched her cheek before continuing. "What's in this book ain't actually what I meant with it. I had hanakotoba in mind."

Alice's next pause only lasted a moment before she returned the book to the desk and walked over to the nearest bookshelf. After a few moments of scanning the titles, she extracted a volume with blue covers from the shelf and studied it with care.

Finally, she stilled. "...Oh."

"...Yeah." Marisa's cheeks were suddenly on fire. Pure and deep love. Because that had seemed like the right message to send at the time.

"...That is rather saccharine of you." But even as Alice closed the volume with a snap, she failed to contain her growing smile. Clearly, the sappiness had been taken in its intended way.

"Yeah, I'm movin' onto the sugary part of floral courtship." Marisa grinned, both because it seemed likely to distract from the blush still warming her cheek and because things were definitely looking up. "Think ya can rise to the challenge?"

Alice carried the guide to hanakotoba to the desk and placed it on top of the first book. "I have no intention of losing to you when it comes to doing research." She hesitated for just a moment before she smiled at Marisa in her usual pleasant way. "I have enough food for two if you'd like to stay for lunch."

"Sounds great." Even as Marisa settled herself for a longer stay in Alice's house, she was already planning what kinds of flowers she might send over next.

#thshipweek #mimic fics #mariali

[ghouljams]

I do love the mental image you supplied of Price being out there with a broom trying to shoo the Mimic away, like-

Price: Get out of here, shoo!

Mimic: :((

Price: No! Go find another witch to snack on! *whacks*

Mimic: :(((((

You watch from your window as Price leaves your garden. The not-moose moves from one side of the wall towards Price. You aren't sure why that makes your stomach twist. You grip your chest, twisting your shirt in your hand, feeling that warm magic buzz at the tips of your finger again. Price can take care of himself, you're sure of it.

Price feels his tethers pull tight as the mimic walks towards him. The overgrown beast doesn't even have the common courtesy to pretend to be a regular animal. It stares right at him, it's eyes moving in different directions as it attempts to keep its focus on you as well as the new threat. Price cracks his knuckles, moves towards the mimic with the same predatory intent that it had been.

"Fuck off," Price advises the mimic, "kindly."

The mimic stops, shakes it's head. It's lips pull back in what Price is sure is supposed to be a terrifying display. He will admit that the noise it makes is downright unsettling, the sobbing wail that seems to broadcast from the mimic. It's face doesn't move at all, the sound just shakes out of it. Price raises a brow.

"You don't look starving."

Another wail from the mimic, the moose turns and butts its horns against the threshold. The twist of horn against your wards makes even Price grimace. It unhinges its jaw to press the full extent of its teeth against the garden's barrier. Price growls, leaning to reach over the wall to grab your watering can.

The iron burns.

Price twitches, his jaw clenched as his head pulls to one side. The unnatural sting of metal against his skin is almost as unpleasant as the scream the mimic lets out upon seeing it. The glassy eyes of it roll to look at him, it slides its teeth off the threshold like dragging knives through molasses. It gives another wail, almost bargaining. Price weighs the sentiment against the iron in his grasp before swinging the can hard at the mimic.

The creature flinches, stumbling back away from him. It drops its head low, menacing. Price doesn't move except to raise his free hand and make a shoo-ing motion.

"If you're not going to leave on your own I have no qualms makin' you."

The mimics eyes roll between Price and the house. It's lips curl, tongue lolling out over its razor sharp teeth. The menacing posturing doesn't let up, in fact the mimic almost seems to be challenging that assertion.

"Price," it sobs in your voice. Price's eyes narrow, his grip on the iron watering can tightening. The burn of it bites into his flesh.

"Now you're tryin' to make me mad." He growls, the mimic takes a half step back, "I'm tryin' to be civil, bet you can't even remember that part of yourself."

A step forward, the mimic attempts another show of aggression only to be caught by the swing of cold iron. The metal scrapes fur and flesh from its muzzle, oily blood sloughing off it into the snow before it can pull its skin back together. It scrambles back away from Price, away from your property. The mimic tries another sobbing voice, aiming for sympathy over threats. Isn't it pathetic? Cursed with only might and the decaying sense it once had as a human. If it could just get enough magic...

"Then find another witch to snack on, this one's mine." Though Price imagines any witch it finds will yield the exact same results. Well, maybe not exactly the same. He can't think of a single other fae that would- That would be eager to help? Have the tethers to be called on? The conviction to grab Iron in defense of their- of a witch. God help him this is getting out of hand.

The mimic seems to ponder this for a moment. It's neck twisting its head one way then another, its horns scraping the snowy ground as it does. It lets out an agreeable is terrified scream, before turning and making its way back into the thicket of trees. Price watches it go for a moment before tossing the watering can back towards the fence with a pained swear.

He grips his wrist, staring at the consumed flesh, the sinew revealed by the acidic burn of the iron. His fingers clench and shake, the muscles pulled tight with pain. Behind him the house door opens and closes, the iron back gate creaks, the sound of rapid footsteps through snow reaches him. He turns in time for you to throw your arms around him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," You squeeze your arms tightly around his shoulders. Price wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you more securely against his chest. You pull away too quickly to cup his face graciously, briefly, between your hands. He can feel his tethers singing for you as you leave his hold, eager to have you close again. His fingers still drag along your waist, reluctant to stop touching you as you turn to grab his injured hand.

Your fingers are so gentle as they graze the outer edges of the wound. Your expression pained, it makes him want to rip his hand from your hold. Instead he lets you finish your exam, his fingers tightening on your waist when you prod a little too hard. You mumble a quiet apology and release his hand, crouching to pick up a handful of snow.

"This might feel a little strange," You tell him, without actually telling him what exactly it is that's going to feel strange. You press the snow against his hand, careful to spread the ice down his fingers as well. Sort of weird that you'd think he'd never iced a burn before.

You lean over his hand, your face close to the snow, close enough he can feel the brush of your breath as you exhale. Then your lips move, and he feels it. The soft shift of the wind, the ringing in his ears, the lacing of his skin knitting back together under rapidly melting ice, the magic that races up his arm and circulates through his heart like a shot of ecstasy. Your grip on his wrist is far flung from the light touches it was, and he sees why now.

Your magic makes him want to jerk away, an involuntary reaction that he tries to steady as soon as it happens. It's hot and molten, it rustles past his ears like a sea breeze, and it is a foreign body invading his own. Price's pulse races, instinct keyed to the highest settings, and you are mouthwatering. All potential power and pretty packaging. He brushes your hair off your neck with his uninjured hand. You're so trusting. He can feel the itch in his teeth, and smell blood.

Price grips your shoulder hard enough to bruise, and leans down to press his teeth to your neck. He can feel your pulse rushing under his tongue, smell your scent under all those lovely herbs. You drop his hand and he's quick to thread it through your hair, to hold your neck long for his consumption. There's no pain, and the tethers between you are so brilliantly warm. No pain. Price blinks. The ringing is gone, the sea breeze gone, you're not holding his hand. You're finished.

He pull back, looks at how you've squeezed your eyes shut, lips thin with fear. That's not right. Fuck.

"Fuck," Price clears his throat, it feels like he hasn't had anything to drink in days, "I'm not gonna hurt you, that's-" He takes his hands off you, as a show of sincerity. Tension bleeds out of you as you open your eyes.

"I told you, it'll feel weird." You tell him, turning quickly to go and grab your watering can. Weird is not how he'd describe it, nor is that how he would've warned about it. But it's done now.

"That was real magic," Price swallows, flexes his fingers now miraculously, magically, healed. You don't miss a step in your quick pace back to your garden.

"It's all real magic," You call over your shoulder, "I just didn't use a buffer this time."

You only turn to look at him when you're closing your garden gate, your smile a little shy and your cheeks pink. You mouth a last 'thank you' and disappear into your house. It's strange. There should be a new tether between you, something solid, something the weight of unfiltered magical expertise, but there's nothing. Even done out of just the kindness of your heart he should have some evidence that you'd done him a service, nobody gives themselves that freely. Even those that do, a recipient would never accept such a gift without a debt; save maybe the few foolish enough to think they're in love.

Fuck.

Fuck.

#cod x reader #fae au #tf 1fae1 #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x oc #oc: witch #x oc #witch does some real magic and Price has a come to jesus moment #I have many thoughts on the human magic system and how it works #john price mw2 #captain price #fae!Price #the end of the moose mimic saga #it's been chased off to go and bother other people #I have been puppy sitting and house training this dang puppy all day #I had THREE fics I was planning on putting out today and I didn't finish any of them but this one #I am so annoyed #this thing is a menace #1fae1

[symbolicbluecurtains]

"And why would I, you rude motherfucker?"

"Oh, you think that's rude, your royal fuckface?" - Danny Fenton: Dead and Loving It by HyperKid on ao3 ( @britcision )

There is absolutely more art coming for this one, I've got at least 4 more sketches to finish up that are from the more Shippy parts, but Jason's face on this one Brought Me Joy

#tumblr quit nerfing my quality challenge #fanart #art of a fic #jason todd and danny fenton #attempted to mimic b:wfa style on this one. to Middling success #next one Ill mimic dp art style i think #my art #blues art #I love them your honor #dcxdp #dpxdc #dead on main

[puhpandas]

it's so interesting how they know the potential the mimic as a character has with their human hero protags, and they immediately used that potential to make Cassie think her best friend in the whole world that she was crushed by the absence of and risked her life to save betrayed her when Gregory didnt. the misunderstanding is so much better than the actual betrayal ever could be

#i NEEEED more fics about it that to in depth #actually i dont think there has been one that goes in depth yet at all. #i need it either way #if only my brain could work enough so i can actually write it myself #pandas.txt #pandas talks #ruin spoilers #gregory #cassie #fnaf gregory #fnaf cassie #the mimic #grimic #ruin #thoughts #gregory and cassie

[lebrookestore]

and i wake with your memory over me, thats a real fuckin' legacy to leave

[sixteen] lee donghyuck x reader

: ̗̀➛ moodboard/aesthetic – then | [now]

[teaser] [read here]

#taglist is still open !! #haechan #haechan x reader #nct moodboard #nct haechan x reader #haechan moodboard #haechan icons #nct u #donghyuck aesthetic #haechan fanfiction #nct 127 scenarios #haechan layouts #nct #nct icons #lee donghyuck x reader #nct 127 layouts #nct haechan #nct 127 moodboard #nct 127 #yes there are two moodboards bc one didnt encapsulate the entire fic and it also mimics the format of the fic hehe #nct dream

[pennamepersona]

second worst things that's ever happened to me wrt reading ace attorney fics was paying attention to the game when it said that the reason the bracelets feel tight in response to tells is bc the metal sits right against a person's skin and gramaryes reflexively tense up when someone lies

#ace attorney #aa4 #apollo justice #it's not the bracelet it doesn't get tight #it's just made out of a metal that allows it to sit right up against the skin #the bracelet isn't magic even a little bit at all #it “”“reacts”“” bc APOLLO is reacting #he tenses up bc he's sensing tells #it's a subconscious mimic thing #Zak says this in turnabout succession btw #awful that i remember this and therefore every fic with apollo in it makes me suffer #the bracelet isn't magic............pls....... #wish i didn't care so much #first worst thing is knowing the difference between a cravat and jabot btw #life is hell

[horsechestnut]

(Whoops my hand slipped and started writing a Batfam Umbrella Academy AU)

From the Personal Notes of Mr. Bruce Wayne:

00.01 - Ability to manipulate gravitational fields allows for advanced gymnastic and combat capabilities. A strong leader, the others look up to him. Loyal to a fault, but needs to be watched carefully. Will choose the other children over himself or me.

00.02 - Determined, focused, strong willed. Has learned to use her ability to analyze the surroundings and formulate a plan prior to attack. Unfortunately lacks any leadership qualities and fails to communicate these plans to the team, preferring to act alone. Still has much to learn, but is eager to do so. My favorite.

00.03 - Adequate marksmanship and proficiency with ranged weapons. Can hold his own in a fight but relies to heavily on his powers. Insolent, can not take instruction or direction. His recklessness will be his undoing.

00.04 - Development of photokinesis is hindered by his unwillingness to fully commit to manipulating shadows as well as light. Charming and a neutral leader. Should Number 1 ever fail, he would be the best choice to replace him.

00.05 - Connection to animals has yet to prove useful. Fighting skills and determination on par with Number 2, but is unpredictable at best. Refuses to admit when he doesn’t know something. Has no respect for anyone but himself.

00.06 - Still fails to reach the full potential of psychometry abilities. Refuses to accept the possibility that he may be able to see into the future as well as the past. Useful for research and not much else.

00.07 - No clear talents. Some enthusiasm for puzzles and mediocre problem solving abilities. To headstrong. Irritating.

#batfam au #batfam #batfamily #umbrella academy au #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #damian wayne #cassandra cain #duke thomas #(Barbara is also there but she's not one of The Umbrella Academy kids) #bruce wayne #Bruce is maybe a little more harsh here than normal #but it's based on the picture of Reginald's notes #so i tried to mimic his style of writing #(really want to make a full fic but can't quite figure out what Steph's power is yet) #(also with the exception of Dick I haven't really read many comics about any of them) #(so I'm a little scared I'd end up using fanon characterizations by accident and I don't want to do that) #if you want to talk about it though please hit me up I've got so many ideas and for it I'd love to share #(also sorry to my followers I know I already posted this but that was a reblog and I spent a lot of time on it) #(So I want to actually give it a shot at being a successful post) #batfamily umbrella academy au #the bat academy au

[incorrect-fnaf-quotes]

For the fic title I have a quote from my favorite game. Are you an idiot or a practiced fool?

MXES had one thing to do: Prevent The Mimic from escaping. Which had been easy enough... until some girl entered the Pizzaplex.

After several attempts at stopping her, and a deactivation... the hare is not happy with being tasked with a new task for something that should have never happened in the first place.

OR: An SB: Ruin fic centered around MXES. After Mimic gets out, Cassie manages to find a way to reactivate MXES, and she accompanies them in trying to stop the newly escaped Mimic.

#Loud-kid2 #Made-up fic title #Asks #MXES #The Entity #I almost had no ideas for this one—but then this came at the last second #MXES is just... very upset at the start as you’d imagine #Ask game #Cassie #The Mimic #Cassie & MXES friendship? Yes #Not a quote

[mantisgodsart]

so very small Worm (Wildbow), Bug Fables Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Skitter | Weaver | Taylor Hebert, Post-GM, Transmigration, Spiders, Bugs & Insects, Canon-Typical Violence

Taylor Hebert wakes up in the middle of a grassy field with an aching head, a massive blank in her memory, and approximately four more limbs than she remembers having. Approximately, of course, because one of her original four limbs appeared to be gone, and she wasn't sure how to qualify an entire abdomen suddenly spawning off of her backside. Something ingrained deeply into her skull told her she should be blaming someone, but she couldn't quite remember who.

Author's Note: Bugtober, Day 19 - Mimic. We think that Taylor would be a mimic spider if we swapped her over to BF. We have no major justification for this, but we are open to suggestions if anyone has a better idea, seeing as it's been nearly three years (we think) since we've read Worm and there are likely people on this website who are not operating on three years of character drift.

#our art #bug fables #worm #parahumans #taylor hebert #watercolor #bugtober #finished #what canon is the violence typical for? good question. #losing access to swarm tactics doesnt defang taylor but it Does mean she would have to put in more effort for gore #this is not a real fic and will not be a real fic at any point in the forseeable future btw #in order for us to write a fic we have to have read the source media within at least six months of writing #and we have been procrastinating on rereading worm #this is just a vague idea that came about from discussing what bugs the undersiders would be #generally we agreed she would be a social insect of some description but this is more Fun for the setting #she is a perfectly normal ant. who is normal. and standard. #we have previously drawn taylor approximately Never and we have not figured out mimic spider anatomy with their weirdass two segments #ehh. her disguise is perfectly passable. ants will not bat an eye at her because she smells right and ant eyesight sucks ass #for those wondering on other placements rachel is a weevil lisa is an orchid mantis brian is a ladybug and alec is a parasitoid wasp #we also decided that squealer would be a bombadier beetle. we feel no desire to clarify this decision. take it as you will #we will now fail to post anything even vaguely worm related for approximately five trillion more years

[mustangs-flames]

If Cesar, the human Cesar, after his death (most likely in the Good Samaritan) could say something to anyone, who would it be too? What would it be?

It would be to Mark.

He would want to tell him that what happened wasn't his fault. Over and over. Until Mark stopped trying to say otherwise.

And he'd want to say sorry for the argument that happened a week before his death.

I don't know if Mark would accept that though. The guilt runs deep with that kid. Really deep. Deep enough to scar.

#hail true body #mustang answers! #htb cesar hernandez #htb mark owens #i think cesar would have some things to say to his mimic too. i think that could make for an interesting fic or oneshot! #a story where ghosts do exist and cesar manages to talk to the mimic throughout all the Parts of the story :) #like how he comes to terms with it. going from hatred and disgust with the mimic to... sympathy you know? #if i had the time i would do it! lol

[candyheartedchy]

Me: I’m gonna make a fan comic about Tiramisu and the Chowder gang!

Me, realizing I have a ongoing fan comic already that I need to work on:

#maybe I can do both? as a treat? #pretty much I been trying to write a fic lately and been struggling because I’m more of a visual storyteller then anything #and the comedy in Chowder is kinda hard to mimic not gonna lie #and I need to work more on my self ship comic of scratch and my sona because it’s been awhile #but I just have all these ideas for my chowdersona #*deep sigh* #💬 chy chatter 💬

[mimicteruyo]

The Reversal

[Touhou Ship Week Day 1: Confession. Kogasa/Sekibanki, 1.3k words]

"Married?"

Kogasa nodded vigorously. "That's what she told me. They're doing it next month!"

"It's the first I've heard of it." Sekibanki turned back towards the door and pulled on her second boot. "Who around here officiates weddings for youkai? Are they having it at Myouren Temple?"

"At Misty Lake. I don't think it's an official thing." Kogasa tried not to hover, but it was hard not to when every fibre in her body brimmed with nervous energy. "Wakasagihime said they just want to celebrate how much they love each other. We're both invited if you want to go."

She hoped Sekibanki couldn't hear her heart thumping in her chest as she waited for a response. This was the critical point. There were several different ways in which Sekibanki might respond, and some of them meant Kogasa would never bring the subject matter up again. Well, maybe not never, but she would have to wait for some years at least.

Fortunately, Sekibanki's shrug was of the casual sort. "Why not?" Her boots now firmly on her feet, she stood up and glanced over her shoulder at Kogasa. "I don't really see the point of it, but I don't mind it either. See you later."

Kogasa's heart was pounding so wildly she almost missed her cue. "Have a good day!"

She continued to quietly vibrate in place for a long while after Sekibanki was gone.

Two weeks later, Kogasa walked back home through the Human Village while humming a tune to herself, her arm around a bag of groceries. She would usually have been at her forge at this hour, but if she followed a routine too closely, she would become predictable, and so she had instead done some bartering in the village for some lovely soup ingredients for her and Sekibanki.

She slowed down as their home came to view. Whenever her thoughts reached Sekibanki, they anchored themselves there, and she suddenly found it nigh impossible to think of anything but Sekibanki's blunt but considerate demeanour, the warmth of her rare smiles, and Kogasa's own increasingly elaborate dreams for a shared future with her.

How long should she wait to pop the question after bringing up the subject of marriage in the first place? Would a few weeks be enough for it to be a surprise, or should she allow months to pass first? Waiting for more than a year would be torture, but at least then she could almost guarantee Sekibanki's jaw would drop at the proposal.

She tried not to sigh as she gave a tiny wave at her neighbours. Maybe she shouldn't have brought up the subject at all. But then, the mere thought of proposing to Sekibanki only to discover she was virulently hostile towards the very concept of marriage made her blood turn to ice.

She suppressed a shudder as she opened the door. No. If Sekibanki really hated the idea, she would have made it known. That meant there was a chance. Kogasa just needed to find the right time to ask. "I'm home!"

"Welcome back." Sekibanki briefly turned her head to frown at Kogasa. "How many spring onions did you get?"

"Guess!" Kogasa set the groceries with their abundance of spring onions on the table, then straightened up, curious. For whatever reason, Sekibanki was crouched down facing a wall. "What's going on?"

"I think there's a mouse hole here."

"Huh?" Kogasa walked over to crouch down next to Sekibanki. "Do you think it's a problem?"

She scanned the wall. No matter how hard she peered at it, the small hole she was meant to see refused to make itself manifest. "Um. Where is it?"

Sekibanki jerked her head to the side just as she often did when she was about to wake up. "...Must have been a trick of the light."

"That's a relief." Kogasa bounced back to her feet. "I'll get started on—"

"Hold on. There's something else."

"Oh." Kogasa crouched back down, whispering conspiratorially just for the fun of it. "What it is?"

Without another word, Sekibanki raised her fist, which had until then rested on her knee, and rotated it until her fingers were turned towards the ceiling. She opened it.

A thin band of gleaming metal with a turquoise stone caught all the scant light in the room.

Kogasa stared at the ring, then at Sekibanki. She felt as though she should have been able to put the pieces together, but her mind drew a blank.

Sekibanki's expression remained passive even as she spoke in a very deliberate tone. "Kogasa Tatara, will you marry me?"

Kogasa crossed her hands over her mouth.

After several long moments — through which Sekibanki waited silently — Kogasa managed to drag her fingers from her face and her initial sensation of being struck by a thunderbolt made of sugar ebbed enough to allow other emotions in. Even then, she could only make sense of feelings that were at least cousins to astonishment. "Am I dreaming?"

"Want to get pinched for proof?"

Kogasa pinched herself instead. The sting of it felt real enough, and Sekibanki was still there. As was the ring. As were the echoes of the question.

"Yes," she finally responded, still feeling like she had wandered into a wonderful dream. "Yes, of course! But how did you..."

"Know to ask?" Sekibanki raised an eyebrow. "You were almost subtle about it, but I also know you pretty well by now. The look on your face didn't make sense if the whole thing had been just about a wedding invitation."

"I... still didn't think you would..."

"Care enough to propose?" Sekibanki looked down at the ring still on her palm. "I'm not gonna lie and say I would've thought of it if you hadn't brought it up first. Still, I already knew that if I ever wanted to marry anyone, it was you."

Kogasa couldn't help but sniffle as a swell of emotion nearly blinded her. "I love you, Sekibanki."

Warmth splashed in Sekibanki's eyes. "Likewise." She held the ring up. "Want to try it on?"

Holding back both sobs of joy and amazed laughter, Kogasa offered her hand and held her breath as Sekibanki slid the ring onto her index finger.

"Feel free to put it in another finger," Sekibanki said as she straightened her back to shrug. "I have no idea which one it's supposed to go on."

"I don't either." It seemed perfect exactly where it was, however. Kogasa stared at the ring, wondering where Sekibanki had scrounged it up from, when a sudden thought made her jerk her head up. "Wait. Shouldn't you have a ring too?"

"Maybe. Do you happen to know any blacksmiths who could make that happen?"

The giggles Kogasa had been holding back now burst free. "You won't believe it when you see it!"

"No doubt." Sekibanki's small grin tugged the left side of her face ever so slightly higher than the right. "Look at me successfully surprising the master of surprises."

This was usually the cue for Kogasa to pretend she was indignant, but she  couldn't dim the smile on her face even a little. "That's not surprising. You've learned from the best."

"Fair enough."

Still beaming, Kogasa threw her arms around Sekibanki's neck and leaned in to kiss her. As soon as it broke, another joyful thought sprung up in her mind. "Now we get to plan a wedding!"

"Oh. Right."

Kogasa grinned and leaned her face against Sekibanki's. "We'll make it fun."

She could feel Sekibanki's face rearrange itself back into a smile against her cheek. "I know."

It was easy for Kogasa to slide into a second kiss, hoping to preserve Sekibanki's smile with it for as long as possible. Even as it faded, she knew they would share a future of endless hope together.

#thshipweek #mimic fics #kogabanki #was i writing this for day 6 only to have another idea that could only go on that day? #you know it

[apoptoses]

Armand/Lestat 'This is absolutely the last time.'

Armand heaved a sigh. "Alright. But this is absolutely the last time."

"As your Prince I think I'll be the judge of that," Lestat said. He had the most endearingly obnoxious smirk sometimes. Armand could think of a hundred ways to wipe it from his face. "But yes. Go on."

Armand drew himself up to his full height and peered imperiously down his nose. "Lestat, I must warn you, this internet account you are running is frivolous, and a danger to us all-" he began, launching into his very best impression of his Maker.

He'd been doing impressions for Lestat for the last twenty minutes now. Stood in front of Lestat, seated on his ridiculously ornate armchair (Armand refused to call it a throne) he should have felt every bit the court jester. It should have been humiliating to be cajoled into mimicking every one of their friends for Lestat's pleasure.

But then, how could it be, when imitating Marius's every gesture right down to the cold way he flicked his hair over his shoulder sent Lestat into peals of laughter? As Armand shook his finger at him Lestat dabbed at the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief, wiping away the blood tears that threatened to spill over. It was the most Armand had seen him laugh all week.

Being Prince was weighing on him. It was evident in the tightness around his eyes, the hard slope of his shoulders wound taut with tension. Not that Lestat would admit it, of course, and not that Armand would ask. He knew better than to do so, any earnest efforts he made at giving advice ended in one of two ways, in fucking or fighting but rarely with any happy resolution. Easier, then, to slip into the council room once everyone had gone, lock the door behind him, and tell Lestat he had a surprise for him in the form of an impeccable mimicry of Gabrielle's most disdainful expressions.

And thank the lord it had worked.

Armand finished his performance and perched on the edge of the great oak table. Lestat's shoulders shook with his laughter.

"Oh, sometimes I forget that you ever worked at the theater, given how little you admit to having gone on stage," Lestat said as he folded his handkerchief. "Come here, you devil."

"I've always been observant, that's all," Armand demurred.

His feet made no sound as he slid lightly from the table and crossed the great room. Lestat's hands, with their broad, calloused palms and long fingers, caught him by the hips and dragged him over to perch on his knee before he could protest.

A long blond curl had slipped free from Lestat's ponytail as he writhed with mirth in his chair. Armand twisted it around his finger, enamored with the way it shone like liquid gold in the firelight, and then tucked it back behind his ear.

"Well? And which did you enjoy the most?" Armand asked.

Lestat's hand crept into the gap between his shirt and the waist of his pants, where a bare sliver of his back was exposed. Armand half expected to find his fingers slipping down the back of his pants but there seemed to be no lascivious intent behind his touch. Just a simple back and forth brush of his thumb, touch for the sake of touch. Armand leaned forward every so lightly. Let his shirt ride up and expose more of his skin.

"Do you wish to know the truth? The real answer as to which version of you I like best?" Lestat asked.

Armand rolled his eyes. "No, I wish for you to tell me a lie."

"Was that you mimicking your lover or has his sarcasm just finally worn off onto you? Because if it's the former I'd say there's some issues with it, you could improve your intonation for one-"

Lestat rambled on between pressing little kisses to Armand's throat, just light enough to make him shiver. Armand shoved at him half heartedly.

"I don't know why I ask you things when all you do is avoid the subject. I might as well ask the walls, or this ridiculous chair-" Armand began.

He was cut off by warm lips pressed against his own. Lestat could have a vicious mouth and yet his kiss could be so very sweet. He held there, stayed still until Armand gave in and melted into it, fingers curling in his hair. It was impossible not to part his lips, to twist in Lestat's lap so that he could get closer and hopefully, by kissing him, sweep the last hints of his stress away.

The truth is, Lestat said, speaking the very words into his mind as he licked into Armand's mouth, I like it the most when you're entirely yourself.

#i just think armand would be so good at impressions okay #what with how daniel went on about him mimicking mortals so well #and his time running the theater #he'd be able to mimic anyone he's spent a good century or two around #and lestat would just eat it up #armand/lestat #vc fic #apoptoses fic

[cosmica-galaxy]

How would the main trio and the mimics react if the human was a shape shifter???

By the way, I love your fan fic! :D

Well, let's get one thing clear.

If they found out the human is a shapeshifter, they would probably ALL get the desire to have you as a mate even more. Since the human can take on any form, it just makes you uber attractive in their eyes.

Buddy would probably be the equivalent of toothless to the light fury. He would try to impress the human as much as possible and would try to make himself out to be the best pick out of the bunch. He's an alpha! What more could he give? If you think of something, let him know and he'll get it done! Just ignore the other two, they're not as great as him! Pal would be the chillest, even if the human turns out to be a shapeshifter as well. He'll just treat them mostly the same, but probably a bit more friendlier than usual. He purrs a lot and sits with the human a lot while they vent their woes or just relax with him. He doesn't mind. Pal is given such a name for a reason, after all! He would probably give you a few more gifts than usual as well, but he just likes to show that he appreciates you. Fiend would be smitten and would be similar to Buddy. He'll drag down big prey and drag it back to you in a show of might and support. He's so strong! Look at what he can do! Buddy can only bite things, but he can psychologically manipulate his prey, which results in a successful hunt every time! You don't need Buddy, you have him! He's also FAAAR more handsome than Buddy, you two would have powerful and handsome offspring. Choose him and only him!! In short, if the human was a shapeshifter, the mimics would be going a little more loopy than normal. XD

#theskyismelting #Thank you for liking my fic! :D #haxorus imp #hax speaks #cosmica galaxy #cosmica-galaxy #skibidi toilet mimic #skibidi mimic #skibidi tag

[puhpandas]

Rough Night

(2,580 words)

Gregory and Vanessa both have scars from The Mimic. Mentally and physically. (Gregory was bait for trapping the mimic and has scars to show for it. Vanessa's scars are mentally, though)

The scar is nothing new, really. Three thick gashes cut cleanly through his calf, each coiling around his leg like a snake, only made six short months ago.

They had needed bait. They'd needed someone to lure the thing into their trap to shut the doors on it. They knew how smart it was. They knew it wouldnt be fooled so easily. No. They had to be smarter than it. They had to give it something to chase. They had to put one of the things it hates most right in front of it. They had to make it think only of the prey it could catch.

It was him, of course. Turns out, when you break free suddenly from somethings control, then proceed to free every other minion of its and leave it back at square one, that thing can develop a really bad grudge against you.

Gregory remembers now. He didnt back then. He remembers how he was its favorite, once upon a time. It had selected him like it had selected Vanessa.

Thinking back, maybe that's why Vanessa insisted he was the better choice for bait. Maybe the thing felt betrayed in a way. Maybe its angry that its former favorite had been its downfall. He doesnt know.

It doesnt matter, anymore. Shutting down useless thoughts is apart of what hes learned at the therapy he and Vanesss have started together. The thing is trapped now. It doesnt matter to him.

It's hard to not reminisce, though. Not when those same three long lines sliced jaggedly through his leg were from the things claws. When it got him at the last second in the vent.

Not when those same lines running all the way up his calf and then some flare up in the night. Not when it didnt heal properly. Not when it still hurts him.

Like the scar, the pain is nothing new. It's not the first time its woken him up in the night. Usually, he bites it down until he falls back asleep.

This time is bad, though. It's not as easily ignored. Usually, if he lays still, the pain will fade long enough to drift back off.

This time, though, it sends stabbing pain up his leg that causes him to twitch and shift, and the burning never ceases. He bites his tongue, frustration palpable in the groan he let's out.

Stupid, stupid robot. Stupid claws. Stupid vent. He usually doesn't get this upset, but this night is a bad night, apparently. His leg is so irritated it's impossible to ignore, and no matter how much he tries to lay still in bed and clear his thoughts, the knowledge that theres scar gel in a drawer in the kitchen bought specifically for nights like these linger in his minds eye.

He groans one more time when his annoyance doesnt cause the pain to magically wash away, and he throws the covers off of his body, hissing when the movement irritates the scar tissue even more.

He bites it down, pushing through with furrowed brows. He just needs to make it to the kitchen, use the gel, sit for a little while, and then hopefully go back to sleep.

He never bothers Vanessa with things like this. Shes sleep deprived enough as it is. Gregory has the mercy of not remembering everything. The things he does being not so vivid.

Vanessa doesnt get that. The memories plague her the worst at night. As clear a day. Shes always telling him how glad she is that he doesnt have to deal with them like she does.

Gregory thinks it's kinda funny. How Vanessa got the mental scars and Gregory got the physical ones. The thin, jagged slice on his cheek never went away, either. It's still there. A permanent reminder of that night.

A permanent reminder that they killed him. Gregory reminds himself. A permanent reminder that hes gone. Like how my leg is like a symbol of how that thing is trapped forever now.

Gregory and Vanessa are victims, sure. But they're also survivors. They won the battle. They won the war. And they have the marks to show for it.

He tiptoes past Freddys slumped, charging, patchwork body with practiced precision. The feeling of sneaking past an animatronic is all too familiar. He turns the knob of the door of his room gently, mindful of where it creaks, and swings it open.

He makes it to the kitchen easily, after that. Being quiet in the silence comes naturally when he pulls open the drawer he knows they keep it in, grabbing the tube as soon as it's in sight.

He avoids all of the floorboards that creak when he makes his way to the couch in their small living room, sending a look to the door of Vanessa's room when he sits down.

He sighs. He'll be quiet. He doesnt want Vanessa to wake up.

He doesnt want to bother her. She has her own demons. He wants her to rest as much as shes able.

He doesnt want to add on to the reasons shes so exhausted every day.

Vanessa knows exactly what kind of night this is when she filters back into conciousness slowly. When she becomes aware or her body, her joints are sore and her mouth is as dry as a desert.

Shes warm, tucked safely into bed, and plenty tired. Usually, all of these factors lead to a great nights sleep.

Not for her, though. Her rough nights are nothing new, really. When she'd first gotten back, freshly freed, only ten short months ago, sleep had been scarce. Every time shed try, flashes of what she'd been forced to do those two years would play behind her eyelids like a slideshow.

That only happens half the time, now. An improvement, sure, but a good night's sleep is still rare for her.

She doesnt even try to fall back asleep. She knows she won't be able to. Better to stop the memories before they arrive by busying herself. Shes used to being tired, anyway.

Its nothing new, really, when she peels herself off of her covers and stumbles her way through her pitch black room to her door. She'll sit in the living room. Watch a movie, maybe. Get a snack. It's what she usually does on her bad nights.

Shes halfway through a silent, jaw creaking yawn when she catches sight of the couch already being occupied, and the TV already on.

She only stands there and stares for a moment, but she understands quickly. She sighs sadly, resigned.

I guess we both had a rough night. Vanessa thinks when she catches sight of Gregory's scar gel on the coffee table.

She makes herself known silently, inching into Gregory's line of sight so he'll notice her himself. He still startles when she catches him unexpectedly, but she doesn't apologize. She knows him. She knows he doesnt like acknowledging it.

He huffs out a sigh, seemingly coming to the former conclusion she just did moments ago. He shimmies down the couch, making room for her in the little nest of blankets hes created on the couch.

She sits down without a word. She knows, and she knows that he knows, and she knows that he knows that she knows. Theres no point in voicing it.

She always finds comfort in the silence, anyway. It's nice. Knowing that somebody gets you enough to not need words. Before, shed always needed to confirm. To deny. To explain. To answer.

She doesn't need to do that, with Gregory. Something about being in the same boat helps her understand. It helps them understand eachother.

She digs into the open box of Cheez-Its Gregory has propped up on his leg, crunching down on a handful. She gazes up at the TV, her eyes burning from the light that shines as bright as a beacon, but she ignores it easily. Gregory's put on some sort of YouTube video about customizing an animatronic.

She huffs in amusement, shimmying to get comfortable. She was already planning on distracting herself with the TV, why not do it with a buddy?

Its silent, for a while. A comfortable silence. Shes glad that she can find contentment with Gregory with little words, even in their predicaments. The TV is the only thing keeping the apartment from being so silent you could hear a pin drop.

Every once in a while, Gregory's leg twitches, and she has to fight to not glance over. It's not good for her. She knows. It's why Gregory wears pants instead of shorts now. Every time she sees those three deep tunnel-like scars in Gregory's leg, all she can think about is how much it shouldn't have been him.

She doesnt know how to explain to him that she was scared. That she couldn't make herself do it. That she took advantage of how sure of himself and confident Gregory had been. How she let herself be weak and put him into the fray. How he had gotten hurt because of it.

Because of her.

It's only now that she realizes that shes failed in not falling into that hole she does every time she gets a look at those scars. They're like the opposite of Gregory's face scar. While the scar on his face represents how she succeeded, how he succeeded, how he freed her, how he stopped the long line of killings, all the scars on his leg remind her of is how she failed. How she failed to protect him. How she failed to take care of him. Of possibly the only family shes ever had.

Gregory notices. He always does. Even though on the outside, all that's changed is the wetness to Vanessa's eyes and the clench in her jaw.

He looks at her. Silently, she knows it's an invitation. It's a request.

She forces herself to look back. Even though her skin crawls. Even when her stomach churns with guilt. Even when she almost cant even stand to see the scar on his face that she associates with hope so often.

He conveys so much to her in one look when she meets his eyes. Like a silent conversation. Its not your fault He says. I dont blame you, so dont blame yourself.

It is, though. She conveys back, hands shaking. You should. Everyone should. I should have been stronger. I should have been better.

He doesnt say anything else. He just turns his attention back to the TV, grabbing her hand with his own and squeezing it enough to let her know he isn't letting go.

A disagreement. Is what Vanessa realizes this is. No, you're wrong. Hes saying. You're healing. We both are.

She takes another glance at the scar gel on the coffee table, and sighs out, relenting. Theyve had this conversation a million times. Enough for it to be second nature to reassure eachother.

Vanessa thinks shes like Gregory, in a way. His scars have healed, supposedly, but they haven't really. They still flare up. They still hurt. They still stand for something. They still are a mark of something that will never disappear. Not fully.

But its manageable. His scars have become less of a gaping hole and more of a reminder there once was one. It can be pushed to the back of his mind, a lot of the time. Sometimes, it's a minor inconvenience. Sometimes, like tonight, it flares back up. An old pain.

But that's what hes become to them, isnt he? A minor inconvenience. He no longer affects them day to day like he did before. He no longer hovers over them, ever present. He no longer has that affect on them he did before.

He became a distant memory. Something theyve learned to manage as something apart of their lives. Of theirs. They survived him. They have the marks to show for it. Theyve outlived him, and so have the wounds hes created.

Sometimes, on nights like these, it's hard to remind herself of how far theyve come. But they have. Theyve built a little life for themselves. With their hobbies and responsibilities and little family theyve made of themselves. It's a country mile compared to what Vanessa had thought only ten short months ago. When she couldnt imagine a life a week from then.

It's like shes heard Gregory say before; they survived, and they have the marks to show for it. A night or two or three spent on the couch at 4am because of a rough nights sleep, or old pain flaring up is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Because she can hear Gregory snort at something funny the people on screen said, and she smiles herself just at the sound, and they're alright. Theyve carved a hole, jagged as can be, where he used to be in their lives, but they're working on filling it. No matter how patchwork it may be.

She wouldnt change her little family and her little life for the world, she decides. Her hand twitches in Gregory's own, and when she remembers she even has ahold of it, she squeezes.

"How about we treat ourselves to some ice cream?" Its the first thing Vanessa's said to Gregory all night, and he lights up like a Christmas tree quicker than Vanessa can even get up off the couch.

She gives him a look that says Stay down. Your leg hurts tonight., and he does. If not wiggling a bit.

"I want the big spoon. Kay?"

Vanessa chuckles, grabbing the carton straight out of the freezer and making sure to pick the appropriate utensil. "Alright. But I get to pick the next video, kay?"

Gregory nods, snatching the spoon straight from her hands. "Okay, room service. Just hurry up and sit down already."

Vanessa rolls her eyes, muttering "I could use the extra pay..."

"Yeah, sure. You're poor. Whatever. Can we watch the Sims?"

Vanessa's scoffs. Sitting back down on the couch and draping the shared throw blanket across her legs. "I get to pick the video, remember, pipsqueak? And pass the ice cream."

Gregory grumbles, setting the large carton in between their knees and getting a huge spoonful when Vanessa snatches the remote.

But despite her comments, she scrolls down to a recent search and puts on one of their favorite series of the Sims, shimmying to get comfortable.

She doesnt miss the way Gregory looks suprised, but neither acknowledge it. They just sit, content, smiles on their faces, stuffing their faces with ice cream.

The sun rises, eventually, and the tiredness feels more bearable when the birds are chirping faintly and the blue sky begins to peek through the blinds.

Its nights like these where she really becomes aware of how much theyve healed. Of how much he has been reduced to nothing but a phantom pain. A lingering inconvenience. Something ignoreable.

They defeated him. It continues to suprise her. Day after day. But they did.

They defeated him, and now, they'll outlive him.

And so will this little family theyve made for themselves.

Freddy eventually joins them in the living room, looking panicked. She and Gregory share a look. They both understand.

Okay, so maybe they still have some healing to do. That's apparent when Freddy tucks himself tightly on Gregory's other side after sitting down. But the idea feels a little easier with her family beside her.

ao3 link

#can you tell im obsessed with the fact that gregorys backpack is left abandoned and unzipped right by the vent leading to the mimic. #almost like it had been left in a hurry. the implications. #i got too carried away with what could come from the mimic scar with gregory and this happened #pandas writes #3 star fam #gregory and vanessa #ggy #dr rabbit #gregory #vanessa #oneshot #my fics

[your-compadre-infinity]

Happy Birthday, @star-critter

Words: 1,274 Time Taken: 4 Hours and 2 Minutes

Part 1 because Tumblr couldn't handle how long this fic is. Dr. Starline was suspicious of his team. Well — colleagues. He wouldn’t call them a team just yet; there were still many things the ragtag group of villains must work on before they could be considered a fully functional team. 

Back to the issue at hand, the platypus was growing wary. For the past month or so, not one person dared to speak a word to him. They were always a mile away from him, at best, and not even the loud and obnoxious Rough and Tumble came to annoy him. Starline found it odd that everyone has decided to keep their distance — it was good for the work, yes, but why now of all times? The doctor couldn’t figure out the reason and it was driving him mad. Perhaps a stakeout would wield results? Starline was good at being stealthy, yes, but not as good as Mimic. That octopus could sneak up on anyone, and if he were to find Starline stalking the team, things may get a little out of hand. But then again, Mimic was also avoiding him, so there really wasn’t any risk, was there? Oh, who was he kidding; Starline still had to calculate all of the other factors and variables before starting this observation.

…  Honestly, though? Starline just wanted answers.  And that’s how the platypus doctor found himself squished between the pipes and the roof, his maroon eyes glued to the hallway below. He swore he would get to the bottom of this — but he sure had hoped he changed into something less pristine.  “Hello, Doctor. Fancy seeing you here.” 

Starline whipped his head around to spot Mimic, disguised as a child mobian, sitting on the pipe beside him and wrapping what seemed to be red ribbon around the mental tube. Just as he was about to question the octopus, Mimic did a double take, his black eyes wide with shock. He leapt off the pipe, changing into the streamlined form of Sonic the Hedgehog and racing down the hall, calling out to the rest of the Deadly 4 to lock the warehouse.  Starline grumbled, climbing out from behind the pipes. Activating the flight powers in his Tricore, he landed on the floor with ease and grace before chasing Mimic down with the speed powers.  Mimic flew into the warehouse and the door slammed behind him.  Starline stood at the door, brushing his perm away from his face and knocking on the door.

“I know you’re in there,” he announced, “open up.” Zavok’s broad shoulders just barely squeezed out from the slim opening in the door. He groaned, mumbling something under his breath before addressing the doctor.  “Starline, why so hasty?” He asked. The Zeti crossed his arms. “This behaviour is unlike you.”

“Would you like to explain to me why you and the rest of the group have been avoiding me for weeks?” Starline glared through his orange-tinted glasses, pushing himself onto his tip-toes in an attempt to match Zavok’s height. “And what are you doing in there? There’s delicate projects in the warehouse.” “We’ve been, um–” Zavok stuttered. He never stuttered. “We’ve been…reorganising the warehouse. Between you and me, I believe the team has been on one too many raids, as of late, and there’s been too much loot. We’ve taken the liberties of rearranging the warehouse, so you can focus on your work. Leave the rest to us.” Starline raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Zavok gulped quietly as a single bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. He cleared his throat.  “Well then, if you could please leave us to our work?”  Starline sneered as he turned and walked away, glancing back at the warehouse every few steps to check for any other clues. Zavok simply stood in front of the door, obstructing Starline’s view to the inside. The doctor eventually gave in and left the warehouse, returning to his laboratory.  Not enough clues, not enough details, but only more suspicion. What was the group hiding from him?

#dr starline #mimic the octopus #zavok the zeti #rough & tumble #deadly 4 #sonic bad guys #sonic idw bad guys #sonic fanfiction #happy birthday #I hope you enjoy this Star! #part 1 only #Infinity’s fics