#fictober2018

A/N: Alternative title: “Imagine Burying a Dead Body With Yakuza!Hanzo”

“You do still look incredibly attractive in that outfit, you know.”

You glanced over your formerly expensively nice, now grime-covered attire before looking up at Hanzo with a glare. “Really? Right now?”

“Just trying to keep the romance alive,” the equally nicely dressed but now dirtied man responded, raising his hands in defense. 

You rolled your eyes before getting back to work; unfortunately, Hanzo wasn’t the one standing in a freshly opened grave. You grabbed your shovel again and used it to pry open the old, weathered coffin you’d both just finished digging up. After doing so, you assessed the container’s contents--some poor sap who’d withered away to bone a long time ago--and what space was left. After gauging at the spot was appropriate, you gave a curt nod and scrambled out of the deep hole.

“Alright, let’s get the body chunks and bury this guy,” you said, as if that were the most normal of phrases, “You owe me dinner.”

Hanzo flashed you a smirk as he picked up the first of several degradable bags laying nearby, tossing it into the open coffin. “I do love it when you take charge.”

Are you a writer, artist, gifmaker, vidder or underwater basket weaver who creates stuff for Star Trek Voyager?

Are you interested in creating fanworks for Fictober, Kinktober, Inktober (the official version or your own) or any other kind of ‘tober I haven’t heard of?

Then please post your works to this AO3 collection!

Voytober2018

You don’t have to post to every prompt. Just add any ST:VOY fanworks you create to any of the October 2018 prompt lists.

(All ratings, pairings, subject matter etc welcome; all I ask is that you use the tagging system responsibly. Thank you.)

For those of you posting J/C fics, you can also add them to @cheile’s collection, J/C Fictober 2018.

This is today’s entry for fictober. I’m going to try to post a short story every day during October based on a quote provided by the organizer of Fictober18. All stories will be from Arrow based on the Olicity Fandom.  

Today’s quote is “People like you have no imagination.” Married Olicity search for a house! Also available on AO3.

“People like you have no imagination.” Oliver huffed. “This place has nothing but potential! We have to buy it!” Oliver and his wife stood in an old falling down house that was probably quite impressive fifty years ago.

Felicity rubbed her husband’s arm. “Oliver, this place needs a lot of work. While I admire your work ethic you already work all the hours of the day being the Mayor AND the Green Arrow.”

“Felicity, you aren’t seeing this properly. Here,” Oliver grabbed his wife’s hand, “let me show you!”

Fairy Tail, Nalu

"I'm sorry, so sorry, Natsu!" Lucy gulped air and used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes. "It was a joke, a stupid joke."

“So when you say you knew something was going to happen--”

“I felt it. You know what I mean.”

“By the pricking of your thumbs, something asshole this way comes?”

“Harris, please,” I said. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” Harris said. She did not sound sorry. “You just sounded a little dramatic there.”

“You asked me a question, and I answered it. What do you want me to say? How do you suggest I talk about my literal psychic powers without sounding at least a little bit dramatic? The English language doesn’t provide helpful vocabulary for this sort of thing!”

“Okay, okay, calm down. You’re gonna make your nose start bleeding again.”

I compulsively touched the end of my nose, but the blood flow had well and truly stopped, it seemed, although not until after leaving some impressive new stains on my handkerchief. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell.”

“Didn’t mean to be a pest,” Harris said, sitting down beside me. “And don’t say ‘for once’.”

That got a small smile out of me. “If you insist.”

“So, you felt that something bad was going to happen, and then what?”

“Well, I didn’t have much time to do anything. It was one of those sort of five-seconds-ahead premonitions. Which are really annoying. By the time you even realize what you’re feeling, it’s happened. Except this one was more like ten seconds ahead. Or, however many seconds it took for me to get across the shop to where the guy was standing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s when I realize what he’s doing. He’s pestering Charlie.”

“Oh no...” Harris glanced over at the human skull sitting on the nearby table. Beyond all reasonable expectations of expressiveness for a human skull, it appeared to be pouting.

“Yeah. He’d picked Charlie up--”

“--ignoring the sign--”

“--blatantly ignoring the ‘please do not bother the skull’ sign, and I guess he thought Charlie was a toy or an animatronic or something because he was poking at him, and Charlie was chattering at him, you know, obviously telling him to stop but of course the guy wasn’t paying attention—and I said, please don’t do that, sir, and he says, he says, ‘Hey, how much for this thing? It’s kinda neat.’”

“Oh no.”

“And I said, he’s not for sale, and then he starts getting real huffy, saying, why do we have things out if we’re not going to sell them, and I’m trying to calm him down, but he’s getting real pissy, and now he wants to see the manager—and of course I can’t call Mr. Hendricks down, not when he’s making a sale, but he won’t hear it, and--”

“Did you punch him?”

“No, I didn’t punch him.”

“You should have punched him.”

“Harris, I keep telling you, you can’t just punch customers.”

“You only say that because you can’t throw a proper punch.”

“How can you possibly be worse at customer service than I am?”

“Okay, okay, never mind the punching. What happened then?”

I sighed. “He started screaming, so...Charlie started screaming.”

“Of course he did.”

“Yeah. I mean. I can’t really blame him. I wanted to scream. But of course, the guy wigs out, cause, you know, who doesn’t when Charlie’s making that noise, so—he threw Charlie at me. Just kind of reflexively, I guess.”

“Oh god.”

“It’s okay, though, I caught him. Uh. Mostly with my face.”

“Hence the nosebleed?”

“Hence the nosebleed. Good thing was, that freaked him out, and he ran out of the store.”

“Damn. Wish I could have had a word with him.”

“It’s probably for the best that you didn’t,” I said, though privately I wished that too. “Anyway, that’s the whole story, pretty much.”

“Hmm,” Harris said. “You know, I have to say, when I walked in here and saw you holding a human skull covered in blood, I was hoping for something a little more dramatic.”

“I live to be disappointing.”

“Mm. Sometimes I don’t know why I bother. You think you’re done bleeding now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay. You want a soda?”

“God, yes.”

“Cool. Wait here.” Harris got up and left for the break room. I glanced at Charlie.

“I’m sorry about all that,” I said.

Charlie let out a soft whistling sigh through his nasal cavity.

Anime: Little Witch Academia

Pairing: Hannah England x Akko Kagari

"Can you feel this?"

Hannah pressed her fingers on Akko's ankle with delicacy of one not accustomed to or interested in taking care of people. She had found Akko at the edge of the woods, left in a miserable pile after a flying mishap. The accident-prone witch had been clutching at her ankle, so Hannah pushed the other girl's hands out of the way, ordered her to stay still, and began applying her own limited medical magic knowledge—most of which came from observing Diana.

"Ow! Of course I can feel that!" Akko yelped. "Are you trying to stick your fingers through the bone?"

"Don't tempt me," Hannah grumbled, moving her fingers around the joint.

Day 3 – “How can I trust you?”

               “How can I trust you?” Sherlock leaned forward slowly and placed his elbows on his knees, resting his fingertips against his lips in contemplation of his opponent. “One person is already dead and I have yet to determine that you are not the killer.”

               Rosie giggled and held her cards up to her cheery face, failing to hide her delight from him. “It wasn’t me!”

               “Prove it,” Sherlock demanded, gesturing toward the game board. “I deduce that the killer is, in fact, Miss Scarlett, and that furthermore, the weapon of choice was the spanner and the location was the kitchen. Can you refute this accusation?”

               Another high-pitched giggle bubbled up from Rosie’s tummy as she selected a card from her hand and held it out to Sherlock. Miss Scarlett’s conventionally attractive face stared cloyingly up at him. “Damn!” he exclaimed, throwing his own cards to the floor and leaning back in his chair, frustratingly defeated.

               “Language,” Rosie chided in perfect Mrs. Hudson intonation and Sherlock huffed in annoyance. Taking up the dice in both of her chubby hands, Rosie tossed them onto the board and moved her token into the billiard room. “Ok! I think it was you!”

               “Oh, you do?” Sherlock replied in a mocking tone, eliciting a grin from the little girl across from him.

               “Yes, I think you killed him with the…” she pointed her finger and thumb at him like a gun.

               “The revolver.”

               “Yeah! The ‘volder! In the ballroom!”

               “You always guess the ballroom.”

               “That’s where the parties are,” she reasoned.

               “Well, I have no evidence to suggest otherwise.” Sherlock gestured blandly down at his cards and Rosie stood in John’s chair to see them better across the coffee table. There lie Colonel Mustard, the dagger, and the conservatory.

               “Then it was you!” Rosie reached for the envelope in the center of the board, but Sherlock put his hand on top of hers.

               “Wait just a moment,” he insisted. “There are still three other suspects to consider, not to mention their weapons and locations of choice.”

               “It was you,” she replied confidently. Sherlock’s mouth twisted up in defiance, but the front door opened before he could defend himself. “Daddy!” Rosie called as John entered the flat and dropped his jacket on the peg.

               “Hello, Rosie-girl!” He stepped swiftly over to her and kissed her on the head. Spotting the Cluedo board, he said, “Ah – or should I say, ‘Hello, Miss Scarlett’?” She beamed and he kissed her again, petting her blonde curls affectionately. To Sherlock, he greeted, “Professor Plum. Ankle up.” Sherlock sighed and raised his wrapped foot onto the corner of the coffee table as instructed.

               “How did –”

               “You’re always Professor Plum.” John picked Rosie up and took up his chair, holding her in his lap. “A brain in a tight purple shirt.” Rosie giggled at Sherlock’s expression of absolute affrontery.

               “Sherlock’s the killer,” she said confidently to John and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

               “Well, that’s a turn. Are you sure it wasn’t Dr. Black himself?” he asked in a mocking tone.

               “The only thing we know for certain,” he stared deliberately at Rosie as he spoke, “is that is isn’t Miss Scarlett or Colonel Mustard.”

               “Course not – upstanding military gent, in my opinion.” John tickled Rosie, eliciting a stream of loud giggles. Sherlock pfft-ed, but couldn’t stifle his smile at Rosie’s infectious laughter. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with Lestrade,” John said, taking up Rosie’s cards as Sherlock rolled the dice. “He wants you to come in tomorrow to discuss the case.”

               With an imperious huff, Sherlock said, “I’m sure he does.”

               “I like Officer Greg,” Rosie interjected, watching as Sherlock moved his token around the board. “Are you going to help him catch a real killer, Daddy?”

               “We’re going to try, love.”

               “You can do it.” She patted John’s hand reassuringly and Sherlock smiled faintly again. Rosie needed to start spending time with women other than Mrs. Hudson – she was remarkably matronly for a girl of only three-and-a-half.

               “Thank you, sweetheart,” John laughed and kissed her again. With that, he stood, replaced Rosie in the chair and said, “I’ll order Chinese for dinner, shall I?”

               “Shanghai Palace,” they replied in unison, both focused again on the game. Out of curiosity, John took up the tiny manila envelope and peeked inside. Professor Plum with the revolver in the ballroom.

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