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bucketsofmonsters · 1 month

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The Shapeshifting Detective - Part 8

cw: parental death, grief, referenced murder, police brutality, slow burn, more tags will be added as the story continues

male shapeshifter x fem character

word count: 3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Kate had no idea how long she’d been in here or if the others had been taken into custody. She’d been waiting for hours, locked away in a room with no windows, no clock, no way of telling the time at all.

Her wrists were sore. Her brain kept circling back to it over and over again. They were unbearably sore, both of them shackled to the table to prevent her from running off. They were irritating at first but after a while, she came to appreciate them, their unyielding weight helping to keep her present.

She didn’t know what was happening or how long it had been or what would come of her but she knew her wrists were sore.

Eventually, even they were not enough. She’d been able to stomach a lot in the last days, but sitting still and alone was not one of them.

She had nothing to throw herself at, no justice to find. She was just here. Alone, in a room, waiting for the dust to settle. Waiting to see how she would come out of this. If she would come out of this.

The creak of the door pulled her back to herself and her head jerked up to find whoever had come to break the infernal silence.

When he entered the room she felt like she could breathe again. Her detective walked up to the table she was chained to and suddenly everything was going to be alright.

“Harvey,” she said, a swell of relief filling her chest.

When their eyes met she realized her mistake. “A bit familiar, don’t you think miss? Wonder where you picked up that habit?”

It wasn’t her detective at all.

His dishevelment told a different story than the one she was used to. Gone was the man who just didn’t quite fit his clothes despite having shaped himself to belong in them, always sitting slightly askew with his wild hair and off-center tie.

No, this man looked like he’d walked through hell, eyes bloodshot and his stubble growing unruly.

She had no idea how much he knew about the situation, how much he’d been told about his mysterious doppelganger. The vitriol present on his face said he probably knew more than was good for her.

He leaned over the table, looming over her, and Kate did her best to pull away with her hands chained, tethering her down.

“I don’t know you,” she spat out, incapable of feigning demure answers despite knowing it was undeniably in her best interest.

“Really? That’s odd, some people at the station say we’ve gotten quite close. Congratulated me on latching onto the killer so fast. Wasn’t that clever of me? How did I find you out so quickly, I wonder?”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Then why did you confess to it.”

Of course he believed her mother. She certainly hadn’t done much to earn any trust with him. It stung anyway. “I didn’t. She’s lying.”

“Now now. Your mother is an upstanding woman, I don’t think she would lie to me. And you…” He grabbed her chin and tilted her head to the side, as if to inspect her. She reeled back, pulling herself from his grip, a movement he seemed to find amusing. “Well, I suppose what I think about you depends on how well we know each other. What do you say, Katherine, do we know each other or not?”

He spat her name at her like it was poison. It might as well have been.

“You’ve questioned me a few times, that’s all.”

“Oh, just a few. I only remember us speaking once but perhaps I’m misremembering. Maybe I wrote it down somewhere. I did find some very interesting notes about you in my office. They were very complimentary, seemed like we’d spoken quite a lot. Can you remind me if that’s true?”

“It was a couple times. That’s all.”

“Consistent. Smart, you shouldn’t be changing your story.”

“You can’t do this,” she insisted. She knew he could, though. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He could do whatever he liked. Who would stop him?

“I promise you I can. You know what I find odd? The way you looked at me when I walked in here. You didn’t look at me like the prime suspect in a murder case who’d only spoken to me a few times. Who were those big, hopeful eyes for? Because I know one thing for damn sure, they weren’t meant for me.”

“You’re insane,” she hissed at him.

His hand snapped up faster than she could track and then her head was being slammed forward into the table in front of her, the world spinning as she pulled back.

“I’m going to get the truth out of you one way or another,” he snarled.

“I didn’t do anything,” she sobbed out.

“Maybe you didn’t. At this point, I don’t really give a shit. What was that thing? Are you one of them?”

“I don’t know anything,” she said through gritted teeth. There was no getting out of this, she could see that now.

“Yes, you do. You’re on its side, the only thing I don’t know is if you’re a piece of shit turncoat human or one of those monsters.”

The door opened and a man you didn’t recognize walked in. Harvey snapped to look at him, snarling out an impatient, “What do you want?”

The newcomer was some other police officer, his hat not quite facing forwards properly and his jacket buttoned up just one button off.

“Someone wants to see you,” the newcomer said.

“I’m a little fucking busy, actually.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said, and faster than either of them could react, he slammed Harvey forward, throwing everything he had into banging his head into the table.

It knocked him out cold, his body sliding unceremoniously to the floor as Vincent rushed over to her side, a frantic look in his eyes.

“Evelyn is in the other room,” he said, speaking as fast as he could get the words out. “They started poking around and we couldn’t make them leave. They were gonna find them either way.” He gestured down at the unconscious man below him. “I just untied them and told them no one would believe them, seemed like the best option at the time.”

She tried to move forward, into his space, the shackles stopping her unbecoming display of desperate affection before it could even really begin.

He seemed unaffected by Kate coming to her senses about the action, wrapping an arm around her and holding her tight to his side. “Let’s get you out of here,” he muttered, and she could feel his chest moving as he spoke. “I don’t want to- Oh my god, are you bleeding?”

He reached for her instantly, his hand cradling her cheek as the other rose to wipe at a drop of blood she hadn’t even noticed, the viscous liquid spreading across her skin.

He immediately reached for his pockets, muttering angrily under his breath.

Upon finding nothing he began rooting around in Harvey’s pockets, pulling out both a handkerchief and a key ring victoriously.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he promised, pressing the handkerchief gently to her wound, cleaning it as best he could before beginning to try the first of many keys. “Just hold on a minute.”

“What are we going to tell them?” she asked as he tried key after key, looking warily out towards the rest of the station.

“You’ll see. I just have to wait for…”

Before he could finish his sentence, all hell broke loose, the sounds of yelling and rushing about filtering through the door.

“What is that?”

“Our cue.” He said, trying keys as quickly as he could, a slight shake to his hands as he did. Finally, one clicked into place and the cuffs snapped open.

Kate stood, rubbing her wrists and Vincent gave her a nervous look. “You may want to turn around.”

The words echoed in her ears and before she could really register them, he was changing. The horrible snapping of his bones accompanied itself with the creation of new angles where they shouldn’t be.

The cracking and shifting noises were drowned out by the noises of chaos that were slowly filling the building, but it did nothing to stop them from reaching her ears.

She wondered why he had to shift like this. Surely there were more efficient ways to travel from one body to another. Human bodies weren’t that different, seemingly creating a new set of bones and tissues for every one seemed horribly inefficient.

She thought, perhaps belatedly, that she should be scared. Or at the very least, horrified. And yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to be.

It hadn’t even really occurred to her, to be honest. Perhaps some of it was due to her current, exhausted, sluggish state. She just hadn’t thought of it, hadn’t considered being afraid.

Why would she be, asked a little voice in the back of her head. It was just Vincent.

Instead, bubbling up, slower than they should have, were other feelings. Relief, gratitude, but nothing resembling the revulsion she was sure should be present.

As he transformed, she was lost in thought completely, busier mulling over the situation than actually watching the seemingly possible transformation.

He winced at her as soon as he had enough of a face to wince with. “Sorry, you shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Vincent looked more scared than she did, staring at her as if at any moment she might scream and run, never to be seen again.

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. It didn’t feel like one, like anything close to being either reassuring or a smile, but he seemed to understand the meaning, giving her a quiet, sweet smile back.

And then he held out his hand, as if to escort her out of the room. She took it and he led her into the chaos.

Evelyn seemed to be at the epicenter of it all, shouting and throwing things around the station. No one really seemed to know what to do with themselves, trying to calm her while simultaneously acting like if they got too close they might spontaneously combust.

As she watched the chaos unfold, the comfortable weight at her side disappeared and suddenly she felt very exposed.

She glanced around nervously and saw Daniel sitting in the corner, a distant look in his eyes. He seemed like he’d be less of a problem than Harvey had been.

Evelyn drifted over to her and pulled Kate towards her. She went with little protest, leaning into the woman as she was guided to her side. She was the only other person left who didn’t want her locked up, now that Vincent had made himself scarce. There were worse people’s arms to be clinging to.

As Evelyn argued and Kate stood, unlistening, at her side, she saw Vincent dart back into the interrogation room and she did her best to avoid looking at the door again, keeping as much attention away from there as much as possible.

She heard the door creak once more but kept her eyes adamantly forward, tensing up even more at the noise. She imagined no one could tell, it was hard to look more tense than she’d already been.

She heard Evelyn slam her hand down on the table beside her, hard, and guessed someone’s attention had drifted a little too far.

Kate should be paying more attention, should be helping more with this plan she wasn’t privy to. She just couldn’t draw herself back into the present. It had been too much, she was too tired.

And then, storming through the doors of the police station with a bang, was her mother.

Now she was aware of everything, pulling away from her and further back toward Evelyn.

An arm snaked around her waist and she was grateful for it, grateful for the reminder that at least someone here was on her side, even if it was more for Vincent’s sake than for hers.

“Why is she free?” her mother asked, looking around frantically, looking more confused than angry, despite the way she’d entered.

The policemen around her seemed just as confused as to why Kate was standing amongst them, looking around for someone with an explanation and finding no one. You hoped Vincent would be back soon. You had a feeling you’d be thrown right back into the interrogation room if he wasn’t.

“She killed him,” Kate insisted quietly, sounding unconvincing even to herself.

Her mother took a step forward and she couldn’t help but flinch. At that, her mother paused, shifting back once more and keeping her distance.

“You can’t fool them. They know the truth, they believe me.” Her voice sounded strained and distant and Kate couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was just her mind going. Nothing seemed to quite make sense anymore.

“They do,” she said, slumping further into Evelyn’s side. The woman took her weight without protest, giving her side a little squeeze that she couldn't make sense of.

“Of course they do! I am a well-respected woman. And who are you? Unmarried, unsociable, why would they believe you?” The words were careful, intentional, but not how they normally were. There was no tact behind them, not really.

As she yelled at Kate, restrained and unnoticing of the people watching, it occurred to her that this was not, in fact, her mother. Her mother would never make a scene like this and if she did, if she really snapped like she was supposedly doing right now, she would not keep her distance and try her best to avoid frightening Kate.

Because that’s what she was doing, stepping away, keeping from shouting too loud, keeping the blame from Kate's shoulders as best she could. It was a show, one calculated to harm her as little as possible while revealing the truth to some closed-minded police officers.

But Vincent was struggling, struggling to make it natural and believable, so she threw him a bone.

“You can’t fool me,” Kate said loudly, having no problem making it believable. Maybe she should give Vincent some lessons when this was all over. “They’ll see it soon too. I know you killed him.”

“And I would’ve killed you too if I knew how much trouble you’d cause me,” she said with a scoff.

And then her eyes widened, looking around at where she was, her breath catching in her chest before she turned tail and ran.

Everyone was too shocked to stop her, quick orders to chase her down being shouted amidst the chaos.

Most of the officers left, starting the search efforts. Those who remained didn’t seem to know what else to do with Kate, milling around her awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” Evelyn snapped. “You heard the woman, she’s innocent, don’t you have better things to be doing than terrorizing this poor girl any further.”

They didn’t seem fully convinced but they seemed more frightened of Evelyn than they were wary of Kate.

She wondered what it would take for them to fully be done with her, be entirely convinced of her innocence. She imagined there was very little at this point. She’d already messed up too badly, broken too many rules. That crime she was guilty of and so they were convinced that something must be wrong.

She couldn’t bring herself to care any longer. There was no anger left in her.

Evelyn began to pull her towards the door and she followed like a well-drilled pup.

Harvey passed them as they attempted to flee and she knew instantly that it was her detective. She was so much better at seeing it now, at recognizing it, even as distant as she felt.

He smiled at her and then turned towards the rest of the precinct.

“And that concludes this case. My apologies for keeping this from you, but I felt the ruse was necessary to find the truth. The lovely Miss Katherine here was willing to help, once she heard my plan. Her intention, of course, was to clear her mother of any suspicion. When we cornered her, she told a different tale. I just needed time to settle the case. Fortunately, she seemed set on doing it for me,” he finished with a put-on laugh.

She heard Evelyn sigh beside her and mutter under her breath, just barely loud enough for Kate to hear, “He really is too much.”

Confused murmurs filled the precinct but Vincent did not seem like he wanted to stick around to clear anything up.

That felt like it was best. She had no idea where the real Harvey had ended up in the chaos or how long they had until he returned.

She let Vincent lead her off, Evelyn shifting Kate over to him, shouldering most of her weight as they walked.

She stayed tucked carefully into his side. It felt safe there, secure in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Why didn’t you do that before freeing me?” she asked, much later than she should have, but at least she still had the sense to ask at all.

He looked away, a sheepish air taking over him. “I didn’t want to keep you locked in there any longer than I had to. The plan was just to incapacitate Harvey but… it wasn’t right.”

“You’re an idiot.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I got the job done though.”

“Hmm.” And then, perfectly patient, holding out just long enough to not inconvenience them too badly, she collapsed.

#terato #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #shapeshifter #the shapeshifting detective #thank you so much for your patience #the next chapter is the last one and I promise it won't take so long #Vincent putting on his worst performance yet #hes trying his best #Evelyn gave him a script and he forgot it Instantly

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ratinayellowbandana · 4 months

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For the prompt thing if you’re still up for it: hoodie

Happy writing!!

please pretend I'm not answering this ask from september in december. I hope this is worth the wait. it might be the fluffiest thing I've written in years.

word count: ~1.5k

also on ao3

Imogen hadn’t expected to be at the barn so long. She was meant to be home two and a half hours ago, and the twist of guilt in her stomach is difficult to ignore. That and the pangs of a skipped dinner provide an altogether dreadful end to a dreadful day.

The weather suddenly turned brisk after an unseasonable warm spell, and Imogen’s fingers are cold-bitten. The horses, most of whom she finds to be altogether well-behaved, were getting on her last nerve. Barring Leonard, naturally, who is always a bit spicer than the rest. The cranky old gelding is never really one for people. Imogen can’t blame him, either. The chill irritates his joints, though, and there’s only so much his grain supplements can do.

Imogen steered clear of him as best she could, leaving his care to one of the other stablehands.

The barn was busy today, flooded with children on school holiday and parents desperately needing them to get out of the house to burn off some energy. Let the sugar-fueled kids loose on someone else’s property and let someone else parent them for a while. Unfortunately, it made Imogen’s life harder each time she had to remind an ebullient child not to run around the horses while the parents chatted by the barn door, unwilling to dirty stroller wheels and designer slippers.

Imogen loves her job; she really does. She’s a barn manager at a property a few miles outside the nearest city. Far enough away that she can pretend she’s back home in Gelvaan and close enough to commute from her apartment. It’s a lesson barn offering day camps, event hosting, and boarding. It even has a small pond and arboretum that they decorate for the holidays. The evergreen branches fill with twinkling lights, and the sculpture garden is adorned with festive additions.

Their walking path through the holiday decor attracts a decent crowd in the wintertime, and they get a relatively steady stream of tour groups. Imogen loves being able to teach the children about animal welfare. The looks on their round, city-raised faces as she leads a thousand-pound animal from its stall is priceless. Especially the little ones who look between her and Flora, her most unbothered mare, with awe and reverence. Those are Imogen’s favorites, the ones who want to be here so badly they would burst–Do you want to pet her nose?–if it wouldn’t frighten the animals.

She doesn’t even mind the toddlers who take fistfuls of mane in pudgy hands and squeal with joy–Yeah, honey, the horse does say ‘neigh!’–though she pleasantly reminds them to use their gentle hands.

It’s the families who expect the world to bend to their every whim that have Imogen feeling just a bit murderous during what should be a joyous time of year. But those are the families who will pay by the hour for private lessons and board the ponies their children will visit once a month. They’re Master Faramore’s ideal clientele, which means they pay Imogen’s salary. So Imogen plays nice.

She was supposed to have a relatively easy day, but one of her staff members called in sick, and another conveniently forgot to mention he would be out of town, so Imogen was left to pick up the slack. Normally, she wouldn’t really mind–these things happen, and she likes working with the horses, anyway–but with two days until their biggest publicity event of the year, she is being pulled in five directions at once.

The Winter’s Crest Parade is huge for the stable. A few years back, Imogen finally convinced Faramore to let her test an initiative to fund riding lessons for kids who couldn’t afford them. A thing like that would’ve changed Imogen’s life growing up, and after months of begging and promising, no, it really wouldn’t cost him anything if they fundraised, Faramore agreed. The parade was a valuable opportunity to highlight the beneficiaries and promote the program. The stable trailered the most bomb-proof horses into the city along with the old red and white barouche and walked between the high school marching bands and scout troupes, waving at the crowd.

The event attracted nearly forty thousand tourists last winter, and Imogen hopes this year will be the same. Preparation was well in hand. They’d pulled the cart out of the storage barn and cleaned it up last week. Today was supposed to be all-hands-on-deck oiling all of the tack.

Every time Imogen settled in with her sponge and her hair tied back, something came up.

A haggard parent of a, in Imogen’s opinion, bratty ten-year-old attempting to lecture her about which pony her daughter wanted to ride for her lesson–

We assign the lesson horses based on skill level, ma’am–

The influx of visitors wandering the property– Please don’t climb the trees!

And the restless horses– Leonard! Don’t you dare bite at–

Imogen was bone-weary by the time the barn closed to the public, and the remaining staff went home for the night. She couldn’t bring herself to ask them to stay late so close to Winter’s Crest, and with the warning signs of a headache brewing on the horizon, isolating herself was doing everyone a favor, really.

Her feet dragged her across the concrete floor and into the tack room, where she flopped onto a pile of saddle pads. She indulged seven minutes of self-pity and pre-grieving for the ache in her back before picking up her oil and cloth to condition the leather harness straps. Just one more, she promised herself a half dozen times until her fingers grew stiff, and she finally registered the time.

Which is how she finds herself climbing the narrow staircase to the apartment she shares with Laudna two and a half hours after she was due back. Laudna, from whom she had three missed texts when she finally remembered to check her phone.

Today, 6:08pm: Will you be home soon? I’ll start on supper, so it’ll be warm when you arrive.

Today, 6:54pm: I hope you don’t mind I ate without you. I wasn’t sure when you would be back. There’s a bowl keeping warm for you in the oven. [IMG_2136.JPG]

Today, 7:26pm: I hope everything’s all right. Let me know when you’re on the way?

Imogen responded immediately, lips tight with the guilt of making Laudna worry.

Today, 8:32pm: Shit. I’m so sorry, Laud. Got caught up in work and didn’t notice the time. Be home soon.

She fumbles the key in the lock and winces at the noise in the quiet hallway. She removes her muddy work boots and leaves them on the shoe mat, careful not to dirty Laudna’s preferred pair of black flats. Pushing the door open, Imogen is greeted by the clean, piney smell of the candles Laudna likes to light in the evenings. Says it makes her feel like she’s out under the stars, even in the city. Imogen’s stomach growls at the lingering scent of whatever Laudna cooked wafting from the kitchen.

She can hear soft music playing from the living room. Setting her keys in the bowl in the entryway, she pads down the corridor until she can see the couch. A record spins on the vintage gramophone Laudna had found at an estate sale. Her face had lit up, and she talked the appraiser’s ear off until he’d given it to her at a substantial discount. Imogen had watched the encounter with pride and no small measure of adoration.

Laudna is curled on the sofa, a novel fallen to the side. Perpetually chilly, she is bundled beneath two blankets and, Imogen notes with a fond smile, Imogen’s hoodie. The pale blue hood is drawn up to warm her ears. Her head is quirked at an awkward angle against the headrest, and Imogen knows she’ll have to move to the bed before long unless she wants to wake up sore. Laudna’s breath comes in slow puffs, sending a few loose strands of hair fluttering across her closed eyes. A mug of tea cools on the coffee table.

Imogen steps closer and crouches near her head, careful not to startle her.

“Hey,” she says softly, brushing strings of black and gray from Laudna’s sleep-smoothed face. Laudna stirs. “Im’gen?”

“It’s me. ‘M so sorry I’m so late; I got stuck at the barn.”

Laudna hums. “Did you eat?”

“Not yet.”

Laudna’s brow furrows. “Imogen,” she scolds halfheartedly, voice still hushed and creaky with sleep, “There’s food in the oven.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” Imogen presses a kiss to Laudna’s forehead and cherishes the way her nose scrunches as she burrows deeper into her blankets.

“Join me when you’re done?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

#im stretching my muscles and filling some old prompts I never got around to #this is like 50% me getting really into world building and 50% remembering I had a prompt to fill #thank you so much for your patience #critical role #laudna #cr3 #imogen temult #imodna #my fic #fic #imodna fic #critical role fanfiction #imodna fanfiction #imodna fanfic

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lyr-caelum · 2 months

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✨Some news here! ✨

#sorry for the atyd comic delay #life has been very bussy #hope u all understand.#consider following also in webtoon so u don’t miss any announcements #thank you so much for your patience

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ikemenomegas · 1 year

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Gave my love

Portgas D Ace x Reader || Shooting Stars

a/n: Make a Wish prompt fill for panda-anon. I am crying because my first draft spun off into the void of my own technological mishaps, so I hope the second version is satisfactory. I'm sorry it took so long (it took forever for me to do the rewrite these last few weeks have been a bit hectic) I hope that you enjoy it! I apologize if Ace seems at all ooc, it's been a long time since I last took a deep dive into his character. He reads to me as someone who would be kind of a tsundere about romantic feelings but able to be happy if he told himself it was "just friends" so he could pretend to be normal about it. The boy has so many excuses: Butterflies? he's happy to see you, feeling hot? he's made of fire, jealous of your attention? you were his friend first... (also the linked song aged remarkably well, it's fun and noisy and is where the title came from) Thank you so much to my friend who braved an omegaverse fic to edit for me. I hate editing my own stuff and she did such a good job making sure that things weren't too obtuse. cw: omegaverse, alpha!reader, Ace's canon compliant self worth issues

The trouble with narcolepsy isn't the daytime hours. He'd learned to manage those when he was a kid. The trouble comes at night, when his body is visited with the opposite impulse.

Ace rolls over for the nth time. Now, with the same insistence it had put him to sleep, his body pulls him awake.

He follows that pull with heavy, silent steps. He stretches his arms above his head and feels his back pop. He leaves his hat by his bunk, suddenly eager for the sea breeze through his hair.

He hesitates for a moment. Though he no longer gets cold, he considers wrapping something around his shoulders. His pillows and blankets still smell faintly of you. He looks at the bed.

No one is around to accuse him of something so treacherous as longing, but he still jerks his head away and pretends as if he hadn't spent much too long considering such a thing.

When he leaves the covered floors of the ship a bird - he cannot see where it come from - flutters down and nearly clips his head. It's not a seagull. He wonders for a moment, could it be?, but he quickly casts the thought away. Probably not.

A flash of light streaks across the sky, distracting him.

The worn railing is smooth, almost soft, beneath his fingertips when he leans over it. He folds his arms and lays his head in the cradle of his elbow.

He's been dealing with insomnia for the better part of a decade, either waking in the night or not sleeping at all. He'd see Luffy, sprawled out on the floor of the hideout, snot bubbles and not a care in the world. Even though his little brother didn't often notice his midnight absences, even when Ace would show up with prey in the morning, being unnoticed had not left him feeling unwanted.

Knowing someone was waiting staved off the loneliness. Becoming Whitebeard's son had been the best decision of his life. Yet tonight, he has no desire to disturb the sentries or wake a crew member for company.

A glossy black crow lands on the rail within easy reach. It cocks its head at him, warbling low in the back of its throat. Ace narrows his eyes at it, staring until the crow shrinks back, feather ruffling. This was the bird that had almost hit the back of his head, he's sure of it.

It looks almost sheepish at it places a little bag on the rail between them.

When he doesn't pick it up right away, the bird pushes it closer with one delicate claw, bobbing its head.

He picks it up slowly, keeping an eye on the bird. It tilts its head back and forth, clicking in the back of its throat. It takes him a moment to catch it in the dim light: the reflection of your Eye in the black marble of the crow's.

A grin showing teeth makes its way across his face.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi." Sound comes out of the crow's open beak like there is a microphone in its throat, like there's a snail in its belly. It doesn't move in synchrony with the words, but in an unsettling sort of pantomime.

Your voice is made ragged by the crow, but even with one word he knows it is yours. His grin goes lopsided and he weighs the pouch in his hand.

"Fancy seeing you here, pretty bird" he says.

The crow makes a hacking sort of cough he knows to be its version of your scoff coming from its mouth, but the bird rubs its beak against the gleaming wood of the ship, as though to take the sting from the sound.

"I do occasionally have good timing," it says with your voice.

He leans his head on his arms and looks directly at the bird. His gaze cuts through the animal in front of him and to you on the other side. One side of his bangs falls across his eye.

He has some idea of what you do, but not exactly. He knows it's dangerous, for a certain value of dangerous. You go to places he hasn't seen yet.

When he asks you where you are, you tell him about places you've been, never where you recently were. You don't relent even when he pries, whining low in his throat at your typical evasiveness. The crow speaks the rusted over name of some island he's never heard of.

When he asks you how training is going, the bird does some funny little movements that require it to over-correct when it nearly falls off the rail and imitates the sounds of bo staffs colliding.

The sentry peeks down from a higher level. Ace waves them off, feeling suddenly defensive. He wants to keep this moment a secret.

The bird freezes, looking up from where it's hunched over in an all too human kind of expression that reminds him of the last time you were a guest of the Whitebeard pirates and you'd raided the kitchens with him, sneaking around with unnecessary stealth, pressing back as if to hide him from every passing shadow until he was giggling into your shoulder, you scents mingling as you sweated under the hot atmosphere of a nearby volcanic island.

He snickers as the bird shakes its feathers flat again, giving an experimental little croak and finally straightening up when the noise doesn't immediately bring the sentry back running, looking out for his crewmate. The bird bumps his hand, as if to draw attention to it, and Ace draws his fingers through the soft, smooth feathers.

When you creakily ask him about his own recent adventures, you offer tidbits from the news to get him started, and it warms him in a very strange way to think you've been keeping an eye on him.

Eventually, the late night catches up and a comfortable quiet settles around the two of you.

Ace listens to the crow's low gargly kkqrk as it moves on its perch. He smirks to himself at the sight of the shining black bird shifting against the star scattered, velvet night.

"Are you going to open it?" you, finally ask. The bird pecks emphatically at the rail by the velvety bag.

All of the bird's expressive hopping and pecking for excited emphasis is so very un-human. It amuses him to imagine you puppetting the creature, instructing it to dip and flap for his benefit, even though he knows it is more akin to the bird itself interpreting your emotions.

Even so when the bird, looks at him, he can almost see the pleading look only you can pull off. Truly and delightfully uncanny.

He sighs as if it is all a chore, bobbing the pouch up and down on the string wound around his fingers. The crow follows with the movement with its beak and then its whole body.

"Should I?" he muses. "Suppose I save it-"

The bird all but stamps its little grey scaled foot in expressing your impatience and he laughs at you, at the odd humanity of the motion, as he finally does open the bag, drawstrings tangled in his fingers.

The contents of the pouch glitters, even in the starlight.

"How nice," he says, opening the mouth of the bag wide to reveal an array of crystals inside. "A good bit of shine."

All pirates of course liked things that gleamed. As did crows. The bird tilts its head between his face and the bits of rock in his hand.

He shifts them around in the bag. There are many colors.

"You should try one," it - you - says, shifting its weight. The bird stayed almost perfectly still, head tilted as it took in his incredulous expression.

"I am not dumb enough to eat rocks."

"I know."

The bird, peers up at him, blankly expectant.

Ace looks back in the bag and eventually plucks one of the crystals out. It's orange bleeding into purple like a storm ridden twilight and edged like the inside of a geode.

He glances once more at the bird, at you, but the creature just shuffles its wings to sit more primly against its body. Ace has never been very good at backing down from a dare.

Still he bites down very very carefully.

The crystal cracks apart under his teeth and spills sweetness on his tongue - plum and passion fruit, tart and bright and dark again, like the last touch of a setting sun. The outside is hard and cool like stone, but falls away to jelly by the time his bite sinks to the center.

He cannot help the way his eyes go slightly wide.

"Where are these from?" he asks.

"I made them," your voice slips from the bird's parted beak, almost shy. "The King of Kettles taught me," you add fondly.

He nibbles on more of the crystal, candy he now knows. Rock candy, he thinks as he grins to himself. He's not sure when the last time someone brought him candy of all things. Sugar is expensive no matter its source, and sometimes hard to find among the islands. Even syrups made from fruit would take a long time to make.

"Make sure to brush your teeth!" The crow interrupts his thoughts with a trumpeting, too loud, cackling sort of caw.

He stuffs a corner of the crystal into the crow's beak, interrupting the sound with a choking, fluttering, sputtering.

One thing about birds is that regardless of interpretation, they are sometimes not very good at managing their volume.

The crow hunches over, sending Ace as dirty a look as it can manage. You consider having it play dead, just to get back at him, but the shuffling attention of the sentries has you, the crow, freezing in his shadow.

You are reminded, somewhat guiltily, that your welcome on Whitebeard's territory does not give you unrestricted access, even for stolen moments like this.

But again, Ace waves off the inquisitive sentries, and they go, because he is the commander of the second division.

Ace can tell that they're curious, but this is for him, for now. In the morning if they or anyone asks, he will tell and laugh and tease. And it will be real.

This is real too. He feels protective of this moment, even if it is only a crow with your Eye as a glossy, curved reflection. It's his little secret.

It's not in his nature to keep secrets. Not for long. But for a while, he wants to keep this one. Not out of shame, not like the other, but because this one is warm like a glowing coal.

It is his, to follow the direction of a falling star and have a bird deliver him a gift and a conversation. You can't tell him where you are or where you're going, but you have frequent, funny little names that are familiar enough that you can tell him stories and he knows of whom you speak. The King of Kettles, Catfish, the Forlorn Maiden - all of them people he has never and likely will never meet.

Do you have a secret name for him, do you tell people about him? Something meant to safeguard him from the world?

Will there ever be a time when he isn't the secret? When that secret doesn't drag a darkness along behind it to cover those who know?

Another flash of light goes across the sky - blink and you'll miss it.

He sees it, you don't, going in the same direction as before. It flies away into the night.

Slowly, through the odd technicolor vision of the crow, you see a closed off, thoughtful expression take the place of the easy smile from before.

"What are you thinking of?"

The crow's hissed approximation of a whisper should be unsettling but it isn't.

Ace leans his arm on the railing and looks over at you, at the crow. The corner of his mouth lifts up, but he can't put enough of his heart into it to cover the melancholy.

He finds himself wishing for your scent. Sending a bird is one thing, but if he had not seen the Eye, he wouldn't have even been able to tell you it was you there, and not some well trained pet.

"I wish you were here," he sighs, reaching out to run a finger over the bird's smooth head feathers.

The bird ruffles its wings and says nothing. There is a long moment of nothing, long enough that Ace thinks of going back to bed. Sleep is finally reaching for him, he can feel the chill of it on his skin.

It's through the quiet of the dark that it finds him, a dull sound, almost at the edge of hearing.

He reaches out with his awareness, scanning the sea for any creature stupid enough to attack one of Whitebeard's fleet. A Sea King would be a bit of bedtime fun. Or it might be the distant sound of canons, although intuition tells him that isn't it.

The sound gets closer. It is not canons or the writhing movements of a deep water monster. It is more like someone shaking out sheets, but as regular as a sleeper's heart - the flap of wings.

He sees a shape, black on black, in the distance. It vanishes between one blink and the other, melting into the night. Another shimmer of light falls overhead while the wingbeats suddenly disappear.

Ace remembers owls and the way they hunt, swooping silently down upon their prey. He looks up to see if the watch is at all disturbed, and then to his left. The crow is gone.

The wingbeats return, now soft and so close. Right below him. He looks over the rail and a familiar face rises up to meet him.

This crow upon which you sit is longer than him if he were to lay down, feet and fingers pointed as far as they would go. It drifts upon the shallow eddy stirred up by the ship, drifting alongside.

"Hello," you say. You're smiling. Teasing snatches of scent get caught in the sea breeze.

From behind, the crow that had been your mouthpiece swoops down upon your shoulder.

"Willful thing," you say to it.

It croaks, head bobbing cheekily.

"Hi," he says. His heart feels like it's soaring, light alongside you, every whoosh of blood a wingbeat.

"I heard you," you say, nudging the crow's chest with your finger.

"You do occasionally have good timing," he says, grinning wide.

The enormous bird flaps a few times, slowly, up to the level of the rail.

He catches you when you slide over the side of the ship and step onto the deck. He never feels the flames when they come from him, but your palm sliding over his makes him feel like he's burning.

"I think I'm going to be in trouble with your Father," you say, shrugging a shoulder, "for the bird."

It croaks again, and then caws, as if to prove a point. The both of you wince.

"I'll tell him you came for me," Ace replies. He doesn't bother to keep quiet now, but that's alright. The bag of sweets you brought him dangles around his wrist like a charm.

You're a little breathless when you look at him. He can see stars reflected in your eyes.

"Whenever you want me."

#portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #it's implied that the reader is somehow involved with the revolutionary army #alpha!reader #omegaverse #panda anon #thank you so much for your patience #this was super fun to write #and i really enjoyed getting back into his character a little bit #hope that i did it justice!#i forgot how young and repressed ace is XD #he will absolutely reject outright romance so you can't tell him that shhhh #just pretend there's another reason he's special and it'll be fine and give him time to figure it out #prompt fill #make a wish prompt fill

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junowritings · 1 month

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Omg your matchups are so cute. Can I request one please, only if you have time??

sign: Aries

gender: nb

pronouns: they/them

sexuality: bi

height: like 5ft. short ass

appearance: baby faced, short & dyed hair, lots of piercings and tattoos!

personality: LOUD. extrovert with introverted tendencies. Alice’s to be the clown for people. enjoys writing, poetry, and hanging with friends playing RPGs and board games 😌

Of course you can request~! One matchup for Avo coming right away! This one was easily a no brainer, because you'd make a perfect fit for,,,

Did someone order a tall loving queen? Because Karlach is right here and boy would she be head over heels for you.

Our love story begins with the meeting of two extroverts. But seriously though, the two of you end up bouncing off of each other’s energy like it’s an endless supply. Being around Karlach is like a rush of warm air on a cold day - she’s exactly what you need and it feels like her very presence alone is enough to give you energy for life that you never realized that you had. And you do the same for her! You’re loud and vibrant and the world feels so much better with you in it that she actively looks forward to every chance she gets to spend time with you. Which - word of warning - will be a lot because once Karlach’s attached you’ve got a trusted friend and lover for life; she can hardly imagine her life without you in it now and she doesn’t ever want to.

You may be loud, but gods if Karlach doesn’t give you a run for money in terms of energy. All that time with no way to physically express how she’s feeling about people she’s made up for it vocally and through body language. This of course bleeds into her relationship for you because she refuses to have any hesitation about making it known how much she feels. She will be so vocal about her love, all of the things she loves about you tumbling from her lips even though she feels like it’s never enough to actually explain all of this love she’s got burning overtime in her chest. If anyone makes the mistake of asking about you she will strong-arm the poor soul into a verbal powerpoint presentation worthy ramble about everything she noticed and loved about you that day; from the way your face glowed that morning to her favorite tattoo of yours looking just as amazing as ever. You’re gonna have to wrangle her in if you’re in the immediate vicinity, though that may just end up in her telling you all those lovable things as she links her hands with yours.

Did someone say matching piercings? Because if you’re game she will absolutely get a piercing to match with yours. Karlach’s got her fair share, mostly in her ears and across her face so she’s completely chill with getting others down the road. And if those others just so happened to match with her partners, then that’s just coincidence surely. (It’s not - she’ll literally gush about it before she even gets the piercing done and ask what you think the whole time too.)

Literally cannot keep her hands off of you, so I hope that you’re ready for the slew of affection. Karlach’s been deprived of any kind of touch that wasn’t in battle for over a decade, and now that she can touch without the risk of burning someone to a crisp she is PINING. Please please PLEASE don’t be afraid to give her affection she will absolutely melt. Granted it’s been a decade so she gets a little overwhelmed from too much affection, so please be gentle with your kisses and watch the giddy lovestruck grin spread across her lips as she goes ruddy up to the tips of her ears.

She absolutely peppers kisses along the tattoos that she can touch, tracing fingers and making patterns alongside them like she’s imagining even more art decorating your skin beneath her touch. Mutters about how breathtaking you are the whole time, eyes almost glowing as she takes in every curve and edge of your tattoos as though she’s trying to memorize every inch of you. Your tattoos are a little window to your soul, and Karlach will let you talk her ear off about them if you’re up for it. Safe to say most of the day will be full of her pointing to a new tattoo and wanting to hear you talk about when you got it and why no matter how small.

Would get oddly worried about your friend group at first, but only because she doesn’t wanna feel like she’s just jumping straight into your friendship circle. They’re your friends and she’d love to be their friends too and get to know them! After all they’re your friends so they must be damn good people. She ends up worrying over nothing though. By the first couple meetings Karlach would be the life of the party and your friends would absolutely love her just as much as you do. She’s the kind of girlfriend that checks in with the council known as the group chat to coordinate surprises for you and double check gift ideas.

Read her your poetry. Sure she can read it herself, but what’s more romantic than hearing your partner read their own works aloud like you wrote it just for them? Will literally curl up with you so close that if her engine wasn’t just bright enough to read what you’re writing you’d have to give her a playful nudge for nearly blocking out the light. She’ll happily read your writing too, though if you’re looking for in depth criticism our girl ain’t gonna give it to you. She loves all of the things that you write and will tell you just that, and no amount of kisses in the world will change her view on that.

Karlach always cheers you on during any kind of board game with the same energy as she takes on everything, which is very very loud and excited. Any game that starts out quiet with her around lasts that way for about two minutes before she breaks in with a none too quiet whisper in your ear asking what your play is and who’s winning. Girl’s got the spirit, though the other players might get thrown off by that rambunctious attitude of hers.

#baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 karlach x reader #karlach x reader #bg3 karlach #bg3 match up #baldurs gate match up #juno art #ng i may need to tweak this image a lil but but HERE IT IS #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE

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squadrah · 8 months

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recently just got done watching kingpyn and creator clash (basically amateur boxing for influencers/youtubers) and one of the competitors 6ar6ie is goth and tall which reminded me of risotto so i was wondering how well you think each la squadra member would do in these events , love ur headcanons btw!!!

Thank you so much for the kind words and especially for your patience - this took me so long because I'm very out of my element with boxing, and had to look up different sources to figure out how the boys might fare in this one. Hope I did it justice!

Risotto: Black and white striped boxing shorts, "tied" in front by two steel pellet bells, black boxing gloves and his hair braided into tight cornrows. Obviously a fan favorite due to his build and interesting tattoos, even if reporters can barely get a word out of him. Rarely does he meet someone his height, and it's even rarer that he has to guard his face from anyone reaching it. Often uses his height and slow advance to corner his opponent and can withstand a lot of punishment to the gut to get them there. Mostly does lead and rear hooks, and when he wins, he gives his opponent a silent hug.

Formaggio: Firetruck red boxing shorts and matching boxing gloves studded on the wrist straps only. Mildly popular more due to his fairly charming stage personality and humorous interviews than for his skills or success in the ring. Does a good amount of dodging, circling and leering to test as well as rile up his opponents into making a false move so he can move in with his jabs and crosses. His core strength is considerable, but once you get him to guard, you can be sure that he's at his limit and a strong offensive will take him down. His wins almost always come from frustrated and unguarded opponents.

Prosciutto: Indigo boxing shorts with webbed patterns and a golden buckle, indigo and yellow boxing gloves, and his hair sewed into rosettes with thread to keep it in place. An unconventional fighter because his legs are stronger than his arms, and he can use them to dodge, evade, and keep distance from his opponents with admirable skill. Despite this, he is one of the most aggressive boxers and it's rare to see him guard at all. He tends to soften up his opponents before taking them down with his fast and painful uppercuts, so when he busts those out, the match is pretty much over.

Pesci: Marine themed boxing shorts with faux fur trimming and matching boxing gloves, his hair always starts out standing proud and then getting plastered onto his scalp with sweat. He's a darling as he bumbles his interviews, and his appearance is an acquired taste, but once he warms up enough to stop guarding his head and circling about like a crab, his offensive actually becomes really potent. His instincts are superb, and while it takes him time to feel out his opponent's balance and rhythm, the moment he can match it, he will be very difficult to beat. His triumphs are heartwarming.

Ghiaccio: White and cyan futuristic themed boxing shorts and boxing gloves, red safety glasses. Like Prosciutto, he is another extremely aggressive boxer, and his short stature belies a constitution and force that can vie with opponents much larger than himself. Is put off by reporters and always keeps things curt and straight to the point, but his fans can tell that he's not so much rude as too focused to allow distractions. Doesn't mind guarding at all because he has learned to fake and feint in order to take advantage of opponents who underestimate him. Wins or loses by KOs every single time.

Melone: His boxing shorts and matching gloves are shades of purple with black patterns, while above he is working with a purple eye patch and his hair pulled into a ponytail. He's definitely more Creator Clash material, so I'm imagining him representing his half entertainment, half informative YouTube channel and being very congenial about it in interviews. He was not cut out to do any boxing and tends to dodge and back off a lot until his stamina runs out, with only a few calculated hits snuck in before he inevitably hits the floor. Despite this, fans usually cheer him on until he drops.

Illuso: Voluminous metallic gray boxing shorts and matching gloves, and his enormous hair in a braided bun. Another one who feels like he came from Creator Clash and is very evidently chasing the clout. He is lucky to be hot enough that attracting fans is easy, but it takes some really dedication to embrace how obnoxious of a mean girl he is on camera, and then root for him when he starts frantically guarding his face. His few wins had come from a considerable height difference and his managing to catch his opponents off guard after dodging them for minutes on end to figure out how to get them.

Sorbet: Black boxing shorts and black boxing gloves with golden accents. You can tell that it's all about the money, and whatever fame comes with it barely matters to him. All his interviews are short and dry, and he spends most of his time staring holes into his opponents' souls. His movements are quite slow at first because he believes in conserving his energy, but as he gets into the spirit of it, he gradually picks up speed and hits harder. His gut is his weakest point; he will take any pummeling in his face, but if you hit his diaphragm, it's over. Widely loved for doing double duty as a drag ring girl.

Gelato: Obnoxiously orange boxing shorts with flame patterns and matching boxing gloves with LOVE WINS spelled out across the knuckles. Isn't an aggressive soul and his interviews and greetings are always super fun and jovial. Manages to maintain that cheerful air deep into the ring, but once his excitement deepens, he forgets that guarding is a thing and just moves in to pummel with everything he has, with jabs, crosses, hooks and uppercuts coming at his opponents at haphazard. Started as a complete amateur and is still unpolished, but his sheer confidence keeps him winning.

#jjba #la squadra #risotto nero #formaggio #prosciutto #pesci #ghiaccio #melone #illuso #sorbet #gelato #squadrah headcanons #squadrah crossovers #squadrah original #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE #and again for the kind words!!!

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