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troglobite · 1 year

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once again pls make no comments to me abt the shows i watch lol

ppl literally are so angry that the show is focusing on zava and shandy and these "awful" storylines abt rebecca's fertility & motherhood, and this "nonsense" w keeley and jack

and i'm just like

hey have you ever considered that these are fictionally real people with real lives who make and have plenty of relationships that don't fit within the core cast of a fucking sitcom?

and that season three is deliberately exploring that?

and using new characters as ways to introduce and explore different themes and areas of growth for the main cast?

have you ever considered that a show that is only 3 seasons and has had clear goals and plans FROM THE BEGINNING would be doing these things deliberately and that maybe you should just trust that they know what they're doing? bc this isn't a fucking show that dragged on for 15 unnecessary seasons--

it's a show that, like very few others, like the good place and gravity falls (bizarre to put those together and also w ted lasso lol), has planned its ending since it began.

i don't watch many interviews bc they're often Weird

but in one that i did watch, jason literally mentioned that jeremy's audition for higgins included him with a goatee, and at some point he found out that he played standup bass in a jazz band

and he went "perfect, that'll be perfect for higgins' storyline at the end of season 1"

like.

nothing in this show comes out of nowhere

this is all so clearly signposted.

like for example you wanna rag on rebecca for being "hung up" on rupert?

HE is hung up on HER.

season one AND two, and even NOW, everything he does is just to piss her off and try to make her retaliate.

i mean come the fuck on

he went and dated the youngest available woman he could find at the charity thing in episode FOUR of season one

they ended up dating and getting engaged

he used her to buy shares in richmond

when that didn't work, he fucking bought west ham

he stole nate, not because he actually believed in his ability to coach (though that was a bonus), but bc he saw him as a tool to use to HURT REBECCA AND TED AND EVERYBODY AT RICHMOND.

there is a scenario where, by doing this, he gets richmond back--which is what he wants, alongside hurting rebecca.

we just don't SEE it as much as we see REBECCA being "hung up" on it all, bc, y'know, HE'S NOT A MEMBER OF THE MAIN CAST. we don't get his pov!

rebecca's growth is counter to rupert's lack thereof. he's cheating--AGAIN. he got the youngest, prettiest woman--even NAMED rebecca. he decided to have kids. he bought a different football club. he should be thrilled. and instead he's cheating, bc that's just what he does. old habits.

rebecca is still trying to change. she's going through different phases, but she's trying to figure out what it is that SHE wants.

rupert just follows his first instinct, without fail, and doesn't really care abt anyone or anything else. manipulation to get it every time.

and that is. clear. from the beginning.

he's not just doing things and oh side benefit, it hurts rebecca.

he is doing things SPECIFICALLY TO HURT HER.

fuck idk why i got stuck on this tangent.

anyway the point being.

these ~pointless side characters~

someone literally said that the first 4 episodes "meant nothing/are pointless" now and i'm like ??? in what universe.

zava highlighted how out of touch ted is, beard's and roy's obsession w winning at any cost and also being out of touch in different ways, jamie's incredible growth and insight, and the vulnerability of the players on the team to be led easily astray or distracted by bright pretty things. it all culminates in ted tearing up the believe sign--he's right, and this will likely lead to him being More Involved, and as someone else suggested, possibly leaving back to kansas thinking it's what he wants, before returning and realizing he wants to be in england.

zava may also end up factoring into stories in other ways. his presence and now absence will have a lasting effect on how the players are evaluated, how the media reports on them, specifically colin's own difficulties with confidence, etc.

shandy, as well. her story is SO far from over, in my opinion. keeley has a lot to learn, and she wasn't able to teach just yet. shandy also (along w the lamb and shit thing) is sort of like--sometimes a cute face disguises a problem. i definitely think there's more, bc i can't put in a pin in shandy's story, yet. given that it happened in the same episode as keeley and jack, i'm interested to see where it goes. her think w the star fckr? like come on. she is ABSOLUTELY going to be involved in SOMETHING later in the season. for better or worse! it'll be compelling to see what happens, there.

but her presence wasn't "pointless", not least bc i don't think she's permanently gone.

oh also, zava was the catalyst for getting roy and jamie together to help train jamie even harder. that builds their relationship and jamie's confidence AND skill. it shows they both have commitment to this.

jack is the most intriguing! i hadn't thought abt it but someone mentioned that she might be jane's sister. which, i mean, their names ARE similar, and they look similar, it would make sense.

regardless, keeley isn't going to end up w jack--it would be odd for a latecomer to end up being part of a main cast member relationship.

HOWEVER this affords keeley some more opportunities for growth. had she KNOWN she was bi before this? was she a bisexual woman who hadn't really been w women much? it happens! it's common! straight men are just easier to find in a lot of cases, esp w the crowds she typically runs in, y'know?

and beyond that, how does keeley feel abt this? she's still hurt abt things w roy. she said as much. clearly this is a sort of rebound situation. it's nothing serious, but it is serious thematically and in terms of character development.

jack will be part of exploring what it means to be professional, finding her own identity as a businesswoman, finding her own identity in herself, leaning into that even more, exploring vulnerability and power dynamics. like it is RIPE with opportunities. and i do mean ripe.

also colin is so clearly not forgotten. keeley and roy are so clearly not forgotten (she literally wasn't able to talk abt him w jack! she said so!).

also how and why did jack know that keeley and jamie had dated, but not keeley and roy? SEE? THERE ARE MORE THINGS THERE TO BE TEASED APART AND SEE LATER IN THE SEASON.

and ted truly has felt detached from a lot of things.

also i can vouch for his persistent lack of detailed knowledge abt the rules of the game: i have watched figure skating my entire life, and i still cannot tell ANY steps apart. i can barely tell pattern dances apart. the best i can do is identify some spin positions and correct positions for jumps, and i had to study v hard to get that. even though i know the names of these things and have read rule books and watched for years--if someone like beard and roy were there for me and i could focu son some other shit. i simply would. ted DOES have knowledge of the game. it's just not the nitty gritty details. he's picked up plenty. knows positions and formations and strategy. but christ the offside rule is confusing and it's a funny running joke.

ANYWAY.

i agree w everyone that i need roy to unpack his anger issues. he's been toxic abt it for the whole show.

and i just KNOW something is going to come up and make him do a 180, bc it's a veneer for something else.

it'll be VERY interesting to see it teased apart.

but trent dropped his mug and EVEN BEARD WAS SHOCKED by what roy was describing.

and i mean, given their dynamic, it does feel partly like roy hamming it up for an audience.

at the same time, he's speaking from SOME kind of experience.

and we STILL don't know why he broke up with keeley and how that conversation went down.

i'm sure that'll come out in the next episode? truths unlocked for many? YES PLEASE. lol

anyway i find it incredible that on a show like this, ppl don't trust the writers to know what they're doing.

or on a show like this, ppl are annoyed and only focused on Ship Stuff.

meanwhile i feel confident that both ted and rebecca will end up single and in a different situation, and that'll be the healthy resolution they need in their stories. lol

for everyone, their fulfillment lies OUTSIDE of romantic relationships.

everyone's al jaw;efhalskdjf alsdkfj abt rebecca and keeley and them being "distracted" by relationships.

have we maybe considered that that's part of their journeys of self-discovery? that maybe they, as characters, are hung up on what it means to be single or in a relationship? to be alone? and that their stories right now and reckoning with those fears and needs and desires?

can they maybe be allowed to be complicated messy women who are BOTH in situations that put them under a LOT of pressure and misogyny? are they not allowed to like, actually cope w that in real fucking ways?

idfk man.

if the story feels real and honest to me, i sort of don't give a shit if it's ~perfectly feminist~

i'd rather have fictional women who feel real (it was established IN SEASON ONE that rebecca always wanted kids! that is a NORMAL AND COMMON THING for MANY people!) than fictional women who fit some bizarre perfect ideal of feminism

also unrelated to all of this but

if that IS a picture of trent crimm's daughter on his desk--

is she standing ALONE?

and if so--

[stares in GAY]

i'm just saying! she's SO YOUNG! at HIS age? and NO mention of ANY other parent?!

AAAAANNNNNDDDDDDD

in SEASON ONE ted was TALKING to her and PROMISED HER COOKIES!! AND DECORATED THEM FOR HER!!!!!!!

i'm just saying this all screams Extremely Gay Single Dad Energy and i LOVE it.

please, more gay little mugs and ways of standing and your old shoes and band and concert t-shirts and your fancy snazzy little jackets and your ~cool~ bag, trent crimm. thank you. lol

okay i need to rid myself of this brainrot. i need to stop engaging w shit online. lol it's not doing great things for my brain.

i regret beginning to read fanfic for this show, as well, even though there are some good writers. lol

but truly the amount of ppl convinced that ted and rebecca are endgame. and here i am like [stares in 'the rest of the show has not been building to that and i will eat my arm if it ends up being true']

*this is not a legally binding contract and i will not actually eat my arm if, SOMEHOW, it is true.

the only compelling "evidence" i've seen is apparently hannah liking a tweet that Implied Something abt it

and even then i'm like

please, actors LOOOOOVE liking tweets where they 1. don't understand the implications or context, or 2. get to engage w fun fan theories and shipping bc they like the characters, too, and it's fun.

//shrug.

idk

anyway.

fucking christ i need to sleep

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gaykarstaagforever · 3 months

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The Summit (2011)

Today's Free Movie is The Summit, a documentary (with some iffy dramatic reconstructions) about the 2008 K2 Disaster, where a bunch of people spit in the face of God and he responded by throwing them off the top of a very high mountain.

People on this website know, and LOVE, my perpetual glee at making fun when bad things happen to people who were asking for it. This movie, which is good regardless, was like candy to me. A bunch of people with more swag than sense decide to form an international conga line up into airless snow-hell, an old South Korean guy is a giant dick to everyone else about everything, and a dozen people learn way too late what happens when you mix gravity and ice. Then when the survivors get back, they and the Media take turns calling each-other idiots and murderers, and the people who didn't lose all their toes to frostbite go right back to doing this nonsense again.

What a delightful romp! It is well made, aside from the recreations featuring the actual people who are decidedly not actors. The first guy who dies accidentally uses his butt as a sled down the face of the mountain, and even if I wasn't being an asshole about it, they filmed this in exactly the most laughably, sitcommy way possible. Like you could add cartoon sound effects to it and it wouldn't feel out-of-place.

As usual with this genre of media, you're supposed to admire the bravery of the people doing this unnecessary, dangerous thing, and feel sympathy for them and their families when it inevitably goes amazingly bad. I can't engage with either because of my smug, morbid fascination at watching self-important jerks get owned by Nature. But I appreciate the filmmaking talent of how this is put together. They also include cuts to an interview with one of the Italian guys who first scaled K2 back in the late 50s, so he can explain how it was also super-hard to climb back then. Because of course it was, because that wasn't that long ago and it's exactly the same mountain. But if you didn't know that, I guess...?

The standout is Pemba Gyalje Sherpa, who is one of the best in the world at climbing his home mountains, and is legitimately heroic in trying to get these idiot foreigners off this giant rock in one piece. Especially in the face of how badly the Sherpas are treated in general by these people, most notably by the South Korean team leader (per the interviews in this movie, at least).

I've ranted about it before, and I shall again: climbing the Himalayas, as an entitled world-tourist brat sporting thing, is gross. People are dying and being left as landmarks in an economically depressed region of the world, just so awful people can later brag at dinner parties about how they totally didn't just pay someone else to carry them up a mountain. It was an embarrassing flex of European colonialism when people started doing it, and it hasn't gotten any better now that people from all over the world are joining in. All this should be illegal, if only because of the high risk of death and the callous corpse and gear littering.

Also, in all of these stories, there are ALWAYS Scandinavians being cocky dickholes in broken English. Always. And I guess they know they're pretty enough that most people won't call them out on it.

We get it. You live in a serene Socialist paradise, and it gets so boring, you've decided to become the Ultimate Best at climbing real high. Well done. Unfortunately I'm not a goat, so I don't find that terribly impressive.

But it's funny to me if you fall. So keep it up and keep filming it, Bjorn. I'm sure not all of your surviving orphans will consider you a selfish fool forever.

#movie review #the summit #documentary #mountain climbing #mountaineering #free on youtube

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orangeoctopi7 · 3 years

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Buzzfeed Unsolved: The Suspicious Crash of Stanley Pines

The theme for @stanuary week 3 is Crime... what about... TRUE CRIME? I started watching Buzzfeed Unsolved this last summer, so I’ve been wanting to do something like this.

If you don’t watch Buzzfeed Unsolved, this is probably gonna seem like a lot of rambling.

On the morning of July Fourth, 1982 in the sleepy logging town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, there was a firey explosion that wasn't part of the fireworks and festivities. A car had gone over the edge of the town's famed floating cliffs.

"Floating cliffs?" Shane asked

"They're like, giant overhangs. They're not just floating up in the middle of the air like Pandora or something." Ryan explained, showing Shane a photo on his phone.

"Oh, that's pretty."

"It is really pretty."

"What a beautiful place for a car to careen over a cliff."

Ryan cracked up.

"You get a lovely view as you plummet to your death." Shane imagined.

Between 6:15 and 6:20 PM, the Gravity Falls Police Department received six separate calls reporting seeing a yellow car in flames drive off the edge of the cliff and crash to the valley below.

When investigators arrived on the scene, they found the remains of a crushed and burnt 1971 Subaru DL Coupe. The police report notes finding that the brakes were cut, and evidence of gasoline being poured into the driver’s seat to start the fire. Strangest of all, no body was found in or around the crash, only a few burnt strands of hair.

“So, right off the bat, real suspicious.” Shane commented.

“Yeah, and it only gets more suspicious from here.” Ryan assured his co-host.

“And I’m assuming there’s no chance that they guy, y’know, got up and walked away from the crash?”

“Oh, no, no way. You saw the picture of the cliffs.”

“Oh yeah, no way.”

“There’s no way anyone in the car would have survived that fall.”

“And it was on fire.”

Despite the lack of a body, the police determined from the few burnt strands of hair and an anonymous tip they received at 6:15 PM on the day of the crash, the driver of the car was one Stanley Pines, a 31 year old man from Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Allegedly, he had been coming to Gravity Falls, Oregon to visit his twin brother, Stanford, who lived just a ten minute drive from the cliff Stan’s car had driven off.

“Wait, wait, wait--” Shane interrupted Ryan’s explanation, “Twin brothers. Named Stanley and Stanford.”

“Yeah.”

“Who the f___ names their kids like that?”

“I know, right?”

“Were they identical twins?”

“Uh, I couldn’t find anything saying they were definitely genetically identical, but, uh, with the way this case goes, it’s safe to assume they were identical enough.”

“Yikes, I feel sorry for them growing up, can you imagine how often people got them mixed up?”

“Yeah, but imagine the kinds of shenanigans they must have gotten up to!”

“Oh, that’s true. There would have been plenty of shenanigans. Lots and lots of shenanigans.”

“If you had twins, would you give them cutesy twin names?” Ryan asked.

“No.” Shane answered firmly.

“I think I’d just do like, alliterative names. Nothing too similar.”

“Yeah, no I think twins probably have to deal with enough confusion bull___ without having to throw similar names or the same initials into the mix.”

“Interestingly enough…” Ryan started.

“Yeah, I’m guessing from your comments that the twin thing plays into this.”

When interviewed by the police, Stanford claimed his brother never arrived at his house. However, testimonies of other townsfolk reported seeing a red 1967 El Diablo with a distinctive “STNLYMBL” vanity license plate driving up the road to Stanford’s house earlier that winter. The house is out in the woods, isolated from the rest of the town, so no one would drive up that way unless they were going to see the cabin.

“Well what if they just wanted to take a walk out in the woods?” Shane countered.

“It was in early February.”

“Snowshoeing.”

“In a blizzard.”

“Ok, you do not have a weather report for the exact day they saw this car!”

“Two of the testimonies mention there was a snow storm that day. Plus, the license plate says STANLEY MOBILE.”

“Well, Stanley is a fairly common name.”

“You-you’re just being contrary to bug me now, aren’t you?” Ryan accused.

Shane just grinned.

What’s more, that same red El Diablo was the car Stanford now drove.

“What!?” Shane laughed with disbelief for a moment before putting on a mocking tone. “Uh, yeah, he never showed up, but, uh, I have his car. I’m still driving it. Y’know, seemed like a waste to just let it sit in the driveway.”

“He didn’t even change the license plate.” Ryan added.

“Oh, of course not!” Shane said sarcastically. “Why go through all that trouble?”

Upon further inspection, the car that crashed was registered to Stanford, and had been reported totaled almost seven years prior.

“It’s interesting that they say it was totaled.” Ryan commented. “Because totalled just means that the damage is more expensive to fix than the car is worth, so it could have still been drivable.”

“And if you’re trying to fake a car crash, what better to use than an already worthless car?” Shane agreed.

“Exactly.”

Stanley Pines was declared dead by auto accident and the case was closed in September of 1982, due to lack of evidence and quote: “A lack of interest from the involved parties”.

“A lack of interest from the involved parties!? What the h___ does that even mean?” Shane asked in bewilderment.

“It’s odd, to be sure.”

It’s when we look into the background of the presumed dead Stanley, and his brother Stanford, that this case becomes truly bizarre.

Stanley Pines left home at the age of 17, and had brief but unsuccessful careers as an amature prize fighter and as a salesman, before he turned to a life of crime. Prior to his reported death, he had been in prison five times, in three different countries, and had lived under at least eight different assumed names, with several others that were never confirmed. He had known ties to the mob and drug cartels.

“Quite the shady character. That might explain why the police didn’t look too closely into his ‘death’.” Shane put air quotes around “death”.

“Well, does it? I mean, if they thought his death might have been related to the mob…” Ryan argued.

“They know better than to mess with the mob, even in Oregon.”

“I mean, we have seen in several past True Crime episodes, what can happen if you mess with the mob.”

“Oh yeah.”

“You don’t wanna do it.”

“Nope.”

His brother Stanford was no less strange. He was born with fully-functional polydactyly, meaning he had six fingers on each hand. It’s worth noting that after 1982, Stanford no longer had 6 fingers. He claims that he had them surgically removed, because, quote: “I was sick of people staring.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Shane said doubtfully.

“You don’t believe that explanation?”

“Let’s just say I find it highly suspect.”

Stanford was also a certified genius, graduating with the most PhDs Backupsmore University had ever awarded. As a graduate student, he worked as a researcher and inventor for the US Government. Some sources say he worked on top-secret experiments.

In 1975, he received a $100,000 research grant, which he used to move to Gravity Falls and become a Paranormal Researcher. When he arrived in Gravity Falls, he was the subject of many rumors throughout the town, due to his reclusive nature and strange area of study.

“Oh, so this guy was basically you.” Shane pointed out.

“He’s basically me if I didn’t have you.” Ryan agreed.

“Awww, that’s sweet!” Shane placed a hand over his heart.

Many residents reported seeing strange lights coming from Stanford’s home in the woods starting almost as soon as he moved in, as well as strange sounds.

“Well, it seems like Gravity Falls is a pretty small town. People gossip.” Shane reasoned.

“Ok, yeah, but people gossip about who’s cheating on who, or what business secretly sells drugs out the back. They don’t gossip about strange lights coming out of the new neighbor’s basement.”

“They could. It’s gossip. Gossip can be about anything.”

Reports of the lights stopped in late January of 1982. Just four months later, in March, Stanford began opening up his home for tours, and in a matter of weeks, transformed his home into a tourist stop called the “Murder Hut.”

“Oh my g__.” Shane stifled a laugh. “A little on the nose there, don’t you think?”

“He did rename it to the Mystery Shack about a year later.”

“Hmm, yeah I wonder why?” Shane asked facetiously.

Stanford also exhibited paranoid behavior on several occasions before the crash, especially in the early months of 1982.

One local reported seeing Stanford screaming “No it isn’t, you creeps! I can see you just fine!” down an alleyway. Several other eyewitnesses reported seeing him fall out of his seat at the Triple Digits Truck Stop Diner on Route 14 and scream for something to “get out of his mind” before fleeing the building.

“So, he definitely seemed to think something was out to get him.” Ryan commented.

“Not the words of a sane man.”

“Unless something really was out to get him.”

“Eeeeh, even then…” Shane wiggled his hand in a so-so motion.

Dan Corduroy, one of the few people who had regular contact with Stanford before he opened the Mystery Shack, had this to say about the sudden change from research lab to tourist trap:

“Oh, he’s definitely been acting differently. He was really shy before, hard to talk to even. He seemed uncomfortable spending a lot of time with people. I’d invite him over to one of my family’s cabins to visit, but he only ever wanted to visit the haunted one while we were all out of town. I’d say it was a good change, though. It wasn’t good for him to be alone all the time like that. I’m glad he’s finally spending time with other people.”

“He only wanted to visit our haunted cabin.” Shane repeated with disbelief. “Hey, do you wanna come over to visit one of our cabins?” He put on a voice. “Uh, that depends, what kind of cabins have you got?’ ‘Well there’s one by the lake, one with a nice view of the valley, and one that’s haunted.’ ‘Oh, I’ll take the haunted one!”

“What gets me is he only wanted to visit the haunted cabin while everyone else was out of town. We’ve stayed in our fair share of haunted places, and it was bad enough staying overnight, just me and you, but there is nothing that could convince me to spend the night in one of those places all by myself.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure none of the places we’ve been to have actually been haunted, but I see what you mean. It’s not fun to go to a haunted house by yourself. It’s kinda boring.”

“Um, we’re not gonna get into this discussion now, because we still haven’t even gotten to the theories yet, but you’re wrong.”

The case came to light again in August of 2012, when Federal agents arrested Stanford Pines, and detained him for several hours for questioning. By the next day, he had been released, and officials stated that his arrest had been due to a false lead. What exactly that false lead was, however, was never stated.

Now that we’ve gone over the extensive background of this case, let’s get into the theories of what really happened that 4th of July in 1982.

Theory #1: The theory put forth by the police, that Stanley Pines died in a fiery car accident.

“So then how do they explain what happened to the body?” Shane asked.

“It doesn’t say.” Ryan.

“And why were the breaks cut?”

“No explanation given.”

“That’s a stupid theory, those cops ought to be fired.”

Ryan stifled a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Theory #2: That Stanley killed his brother, made it look like his own death, and took over his brother’s life. This would explain the loss of his extra fingers, the sudden change in behavior that led him to open up the Mystery Shack, and his sudden acquisition of Stanley’s car. It does not, however, explain the lack of a body in the crash.

“He could have disposed of his brother’s body somewhere else, and then just like, left an ice block on the gas pedal and let the car run itself off the cliff.” Shane theorized.

“That’s possible. I was also thinking, maybe the body was gone. Maybe Stanley didn’t necessarily kill Stanford, maybe they met up in the woods, Stanford got eaten by a bear, and Stanley, who was already in trouble with the mob, took advantage of the situation, and faked his own death.”

“How--why did you work your fear of bears into this?”

“That’s just my variation on this theory.”

“Then why all the secrecy? Why not say that he was the one who got eaten by the bear? Why fake the car crash and then say his brother never showed up?”

“Because if the mob knew he’d talked to his brother before he died, maybe they’d come question him?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a possibility.”

Theory #3: That Stanford killed Stanley and made it look like an accident. People who support this theory say the psychological trauma and guilt of killing his own brother may have driven Stanford to change his appearance and behavior to more closely resemble that of his dead brother.

“That’s… kind of a stretch.” Shane said slowly. “I feel like, Occam's Razor, theory 2 is more plausible.”

“What makes you say that one’s more plausible?”

“I dunno, just saying ‘He killed his brother and took his place’ seems a lot more likely than ‘The other brother killed him and the guilt drove him to act like his brother. I don’t think that’s how psychology works.”

Theory #4: Both brothers are still alive. Stanley, on the run from the mob, came to his brother Stanford for help. Meanwhile, Stanford was worried about someone or something that was out to get him. They came to a solution that would solve both their problems: switching places. They would fake Stanley’s death, throwing the mob off of Stanley’s trail. Then, Stanley would take Stanford’s place in the public eye, while Stanford went into hiding.

This theory is supported by photos that surfaced on Facebook in 2012. Several photos of Gravity Falls after a series of earthquakes did extensive damage to the town show what is supposed to be Stanford. However, another man that looks just like him is seen standing in the background. Interestingly enough, both mens’ hands are obscured in all of these photos.

While the photos haven’t been analysed by any professionals to definitively determine if either of the men are Stanley Pines, it has been determined that the photos are not edited.

“Would the whole photo recognition software even work on identical twins?” Ryan wondered.

“I don’t think so?” Shane answered unsurely. “I mean, my Facebook facial recognition auto-tag doesn’t even recognize my mom half the time, so I wouldn’t be surprised if twins throw it off.”

“Just looking at some of these photos yourself, what do you think?” Ryan handed a few print-outs from his folder to Shane.

“Oh wow, yeah, they do look alike.” Shane nodded. “Alright, yeah, I’m convinced. We solved it, guys! Video over!”

“We actually do have one more theory.” Ryan informed him.

Theory #5: Stanford was abducted by aliens.

“Oh for f___’s sake--” Shane threw his hands up in frustration. “We have four perfectly good, plausible explanations, and you have to throw that in!”

“This one actually does have some evidence behind it.”

“Bull____, but go on.”

Stanford was a professional paranormal researcher. Although he was very secretive about his research, even to his grant committee, some of his research notes do list looking for proof of ancient aliens visiting the valley before European contact. Could it be the thing he was afraid of was aliens?

“... That’s it?” Shane asked. “When you said this one actually had some evidence behind it, I thought you meant there was a UFO sighting in the same area around the same time.”

“The negative space between the floating cliffs kinda looks like a UFO” Ryan pointed out.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean a random researcher in the 80’s was abducted by aliens! That’s like, if I found a ransom note for you in the office, but I said ‘Well, Ryan was afraid of bears. Bears used to live in California, there’s one on the state flag outside our building. He must have been eaten by a bear.’ That’s the kind of leap in logic we’re talking about!”

Was this a case of fratricide? Or is this the longest and most elaborate twin switch of all time? For now, this case remains… UNSOLVED.

* * *

“It was really hard for me to stay on topic while I was researching this one.” Ryan admitted as they wrapped things up. “There is a lot of weird stuff related to Gravity Falls, we should go there for an episode one of these days.”

“I’d love to do that, it looks like a beautiful place to visit.” Shane agreed. “Are you sure you wanna do that though? It seems like the place is crawling with haunted cabins and bears.”

“Well, one could argue this entire series is about me conquering my fears, so… Why not?”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Buzzfeed Unsolved #Stanuary 2021 #Stanley pines #My Writing

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wizkiddx · 3 years

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unusable faces

i have exams hence why i needed to write something exceptionally cringe :)

PSA: this is completely inspired from one of my fave writers own blurb @blissfulparker --> completely recommend u go read hers its much better than anything i could ever write!!!! (and just her whole account) = link

Summary: pure exhaustion and mutual pining, Tom Holland x actress!reader

^(just thought this was cute, doesn't really fit aha but full credit to op!!)

A scheduling nightmare would be putting it lightly. Perhaps almost unavoidable but that didn’t make it any less of a hellish form a torture. Harry had very helpfully said it actually was a form of torture, that is sleep deprivation. Y/n loved her job - it was all she’d ever really wanted - yet that thought was quickly becoming not enough to get her through the day. Not when it felt like an interrogation tactic used by the CIA.

To give a quick timeline of the past few days may give a little context:

Thursday - filming the fight scene all day plus an evening-turned-half-the-night-shoot due to some technically difficulties delaying the process.

Friday - flying to New York while doing read throughs of scenes for the next few days; followed immediately by getting glammed and filming the tonight show with Fallon; then a dash across town to the late late show with James Corden; then straight back on a flight to Atlanta that landed at stupid o’clock in the morning

Saturday - a full day of shooting in a mock grand central station set

The press trip to NY had been unplanned… to say the least. But the star of their studios other new release had taken ill - meaning they had slots booked on some of the biggest talk shows in America that would just be abandoned (angering the shows bookers too). It was a waste of perfectly good promo time and since the studio had their two other stars together doing a block of reshoots - it wasn’t a conversation. Much more a call demanding the two of them to be on the plane.

Normally this wouldn’t be such an unmanageable ask either, except the reshoot block was really rather time pressured. You see, the promo tour wasn’t far from beginning meaning they really needed the final film in the can. So really it was a bit of a mess. Just to free up that single day the two were in New York the whole schedule had had to be rejigged - in doing so they’d lost a rare day off too. It was just typical.

The joys of success hey?

Well, that’s at least what Y/n was making herself think whilst her incredibly talented SFX artist was in the process of crafting a deep wound onto her upper arm. The reason why she would be ‘dripping with blood’ whilst at a train station was beyond Y/n to be honest - she hadn’t been allowed to read a lot of the script so even now as filming was drawing to a close, the story arc of the movie she was headlining was still a little ‘fuzzy’.

“So I watched your ‘spill your guts’ thing on YouTube” Ellie giggled whilst reaching over for more prosthetic putty- a technical term apparently

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed the experience” Y/n replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the mischievous smirk on her face - no doubt Ellie took great joy out of seeing her suffer through eating a thousand year old egg. Which Y/n swore the taste of was still in her mouth… and it seemed as though it’d never leave.

“Oh don’t worry darling I did too” Nelli called over from the next chair along, where she was doing Tom’s makeup for the day of shoots. “Between that and the animals on Fallon, you made a hell of a lot of people laugh last night” Tom’s artist was referencing the fact one of Jimmys other guests was a zookeeper, so at the end of the interview he had you and Tom join in trying not to scream at the snakes and spiders.

“You mean laugh at us?”

“Well of course darling!” Nelli exclaimed back in an overdramatic bronx accent making all three of the women burst out laughing, Ellie’s unceremonious snorts echoing through the trailer only egged them all on more.

Tom in response, who had otherwise been absent from conversation for the majority of the morning, exclaimed a curse and jumped up in his chair. While you and Ellie collected yourself, Nelli apologised to him.

“Oh sorry love, I’m interrupting your snooze with my uncontrollable comedic gift” She spoke sweetly, even if still taking the moment to flaunt to the other women, as she squeezed his shoulder compassionately.

“No no” Tom waved off her apology, attempting to rub his eye before Nelli swatted his arm away - a stern look for the risk of ruining all her hard work she’d put into making his face look half presentable.

“I’m impressed you can sleep while they poke you with all these er instruments” Y/n added in, having only just realised Tom had been in a light sleep for god knows how long they’d been in that chair. It did seem a bit unlikely, being able to fall asleep as you were dabbed, prodded and brushed.

“Maybe you should try though Y/n… your purple eye bags are proving a struggle even for me” Ellie quipped back, now it was Y/n’s turn to give the stern look. Tom took the explain though, shutting her off from whatever kindly meant insult she was about to throw back at her friend.

“No normally never, I just….” He was cut off by an ear splitting yawn, appearing almost powerful enough to crack his jaw - which would be a disaster, for no one should ruin such a beautiful and sharp jaw line. “…uh-sorry. I just think I ended up taking my NyQuil and DayQuil the wrong way round in the madness of yesterday.” Only Tom, the poor kid often seemed to lacking in any form of common sense - even if those closest to him knew just how intellectual and passionate he could be about the right topic. Affectionately, Nelli scalded his idiocy by jokingly swatting his head with a little tut.

“I can’t believe your still standing then! I’m barely alive and I don’t have any sedatives in my system.” It was true, Y/n was at that stage where every part of her body felt ridiculously heavy… eyes included … eyes especially.

“But I did sleep on the jet back while your stupid self was studying the script!” Tom replied with a pretty inarguable point - at the time he knew her actions were stupid; when their flight took off at 11 PM he was certain that the most valuable asset to his ability to act in the reshoots today would be sleep - rather than character development. And he’d tried to convince Y/n that briefly, but gave up. She was bloody stubborn when she wanted to be.

“Stop competing about who has it worse cos I think it’s me and Nell”Ellie announced - making Nelli agree empathically with her coworker, nodding her head as she looked first to Y/n in her chair then back at Tom.

“Yeh because we have to deal with your unusable faces!!”

After much sarcasm thrown back and fourth, the trailer slowly ebbed it’s way back into serenity and peace as both artists focused on their work. Once Nelli was done she excused herself, Tom staying in the chair in favour of studying (more like staring blankly) at the dialogue for this mornings scenes. His pretence didn’t last long though and while Ellie was busy adding the final touches of fake blood to the now almost completely believable gash that she’d crafted on Y/n’s arm - Y/n had her attention focused the opposite way.

At poor little Tom. He looked so childlike, his slightly puffy eyes looked as if they had weights tied to them - they way he was having fight against gravity to flutter his eyes open, before loosing the next second only for the process to repeat as they dragged downwards. The broad muscles of his neck occasionally seemed to occasionally let up a little, letting his head tilt slowly at first until it gathered enough momentum to throw him off balance. The then sudden movement of his head unconsciously pulling itself back in line caused his eyes to bolt open prior to the whole cycle repeating again. All Y/n wanted to do was let him lay down someone, her heart feeling a tug in her chest just seeing him like that.

Ellie proclaimed her completion of the wound, leaning back to admire her work before looking to get an affirming nod from Y/n. Yet instead, she was too preoccupied gazing at the boy slouched across from them. “Someone seems a little distracted.” Ellie smirked, finally garnering Y/n’s attention, only feeling more and more smug watching a light tint appear on the actors cheeks.

“I-well-no… we need to go.” Y/n ignored her words as though nothing had happened, instead rushing off the chair to get Tom out the chair and onto the awaiting set. They had places to be.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (bcos im lazy)

Honestly when the director, Ed, called for lunch break, it was pretty apparent to be purely as a compassionate gesture to Y/n and Tom. Both of them had tried so hard this morning to fully commit, even so they’d both been almost completely useless. Y/n kept missing cues whilst all Tom’s actions and lines where slow, dragged out and at times completely prompted from someone behind the cameras.

So when the lunch break was called there was only one thing on Y/n’s mind and what sandwich was available in the mess tent was not it. Still standing on the set next to her fake holdall bag she looked toward Tom, who was pulling himself up to standing from the train station bench - the pace of his movement making him look more like an old man.

“You good?” His answer was predictable.

“I’m so fucking shattered”

Tom swore he’d never heard anything sweeter come out of Y/n’s pink lips than her next statement.

“C’mon I know somewhere we can lie down.”

Without any sort of thought Tom blindly agreed, nodding as he took her outstretched hand in his. The gesture in itself brought a fresh wave of comfort to his aching limbs and as his feet stumbled to catchup with her slight head start he leant the majority of his weight into their connected hands.

Neither would admit it but they were ‘a thing’… whatever the hell that meant. It was clear as day to everyone and anyone that worked closely to the two but neither of them had ever broached the topic with each other. They’d worked on a few films together over the years; each time they got closer and closer to the point any job without the other simply wasn’t as good. It was scary though, especially for two actors in the prime of their careers. If they weren’t working the same film they’d likely be the opposite side of the world to each other most of the time - quality time together would be few and far between, Really their jobs didn’t suit dating at all, yet it would be perhaps easier if one half of it worked a ‘normal’ job. Something with consistency, a regular structure. A level of dependability that neither Y/n nor Tom could offer to the other.

So it was terrifying, acknowledging the growth in their magnetic attraction to each other. Both were acutely aware that doing that, confronting their feelings, would most likely signal the beginning of the end.

Although none of this stoped Y/n from returning the gesture, tilting her shoulder into Tom’s left side as they took slow steps through and then out the set building. She steered the two past the hair and makeup trailer and round into a store and extra equipment trailer. Tom tilted his head as she climbed the stairs whilst beckoning for him to follow - it didn’t seem like the most obvious choice. Rolling her eyes, Y/n explained.

“It’s where all the blankets and coats and kept for the raining scenes plusssss no one will disturb us in here.” Again Tom was not in a position to disagree, eyes drooping as his shoulders sagged to the floor. Right now he’d take anything.

So he climbed up the stairs and shut the door behind him, just as Y/n flipped the light on. She was right, it was well equipped and with an almost mountainous supply of red blankets that normally the crew and extra would all be wrapped up in after the freezing rain scenes with all the ‘waterfall machines’ as Y/n called them. However it was also um…. It was cosy. “Oh I don’t think I realised how small it was” She chuckled lightly, since now the door was closed her back was pressed up against the far wall of cabinets and still her front was mere millimetres from Tom.

“I…I don’t mind… if-if you don’t?”

“I’m too tired to care” She giggled in response, and Tom , now with her seal of approval, immediately started ransacking the piled shelves for all their worth creating a floor carpeted in the pale red of the blankets, in an attempt to make it more cosy. Joining in, it was almost remarkable how quickly their bodies suddenly agreed to move, with the new promise of rest mere moments away.

Once the trailer was fully drowned, Tom kicked off his costume shoes and threw his jacket off - it haphazardly landing by the doorway. Y/n copied him, leaving her stood up whilst he had the advantaged of already settling down on the floor, her standing and looking down at him.

The space between the two opposing shelving units was not close spacious enough for two people to lie down whilst keeping a respectable level of personal space. Suddenly feeling a wave of awkwardness, Y/n stayed standing, wringing her hands slightly - whilst fairly certain Tom could hear her heart running at 100 mph.

“You er… gonna stay there or?” Tom, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a complete idiot - he could see she was suddenly self conscious. He got it too - they’d never crossed this boundary of choosing to cuddle into each other. It had happened once of twice accidentally over there 2 years of knowing each other. Both of those times it was completely accidental, falling asleep watching a movie with a safe distance of space b between the two, only to find hours later their bodies almost completely intwined. Tom would be lying if he said that his heart didnt skip a beat when he had awoken to Y/n’s soft and gently breath fanning into his neck. He’d loved it, but understood that was unconsciously breaking down part of the wall they’d both been the constructors of.

For fear of getting hurt.

So now, as Y/n awkwardly bent down and lay on her side, he thought it was imperative to make her feel comfortable. Naturally then, his arm slid round her shoulders and pulled her down toward his chest, releasing a little breath as he felt her relax, her legs slowly wrapping round one of his.

“This okay?” He murmured, now into the crown of her head as she lay half on her side half on his chest. In reply she nodded into him and Tom couldn’t help but grin- unbeknownst to him but Y/n was doing the exact same thing.

The peace lasted all of 3 seconds until she groaned again.

“What?” Tom enquired as she wriggled out his hold and stood up. Instead of replying though she just leant over and flicked the one harsh light bulb off making Tom chuckle as she fumbled her way back onto the padded floor in the darkness, earning a few grunts from both as she accidentally kicked Tom’s thighs or banged her head on one of the now empty shelves. Fumbling her way back into a comfortable position, occasionally cursing when she stubbed her toe- or Tom did when she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs.

“Comfy?” Tom asked a little sarkily as he squeezed her a little more into his side.

“Mhmmmm… I’m gonna sleep for 100 years”

“Yeh me… me too”

And with that they both almost instantly and in complete unison sagged into each other and the blankets - the pent up stress and tension of the past few days ebbing away.

What the pair had neglected to remember was that sleeping for 100 years wasn’t really an option. The whole crew of 50 people, who wanted to restart filming after 45 minutes, had not been told about Y/n’s little hiding place. The pair were so completely safe in their own little cocoon of comfort they were completely oblivious to their teams calling there names more and more frantically. Completely oblivious to the game of hide and seek the situation had descended into, completely oblivious to Harrys natural annoyance as the director asked him for the whereabouts of the two stars - as though Harry was childminder to the pair of them.

It was Nelli who found them first. She’d and Ellie and Tom’s manager had all been recruited by Harry as part of the man hunt. Both girls, having seen first hand the state of the two this morning, were fairly certain they’d both crashed out somewhere. So Nelli, already with a sneaking suspicion, opened the door gently, her figure blocking the majority of the light from seeping through to the dimly lit inside. The sight she was met with had her actually pouting at the cuteness - and yes its a cringey word but also the only one appropriate.

Between bedding down and barely an hour later the two had managed to become impossibly tighter pressed to each other. Y/n’s face was pressed into the crook of Tom’s neck and his arms seemed to have pulled her on-top of him almost completely. Her left leg was hooked under his right, which was then sandwiched by his left too. They both looked so pure and innocent and god did Nelli know they both needed any extra time they could get.

Nelli cared a lot about Tom, she’d been working with him from the beginning, from the child star days to now. She cared about him like her very annoying surrogate son and she wanted to see him looked after. She also so completely wanted the two stars to stop pining after each other. Because frankly it was getting a little frustrating for everyone else.

So she chose to tactically forget about her discovery, sneaking a photo on the sly before silently pulling the door closed and leaving them to their sleep.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #fluff

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alldayangst · 3 years

Text

gold rush (Tom Holland)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Inspired by gold rush by Taylor Swift. Everybody wants Tom, but you don’t like a gold rush. WC: 2.7K words.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say again, thank you for coming in today and doing this for us.” Tom’s dad, Dominic, said as he displaced papers across desks, earl grey swaying like an angry lake in his mug. Approaching footsteps hinted that the star of the show was soon to be hold. In other words, Tom was running behind.

The door creaked and light from the corridor crept through like Sun peeping through curtains of the Night. It refusing to shut after Tom budged and pushed was maybe divine punishment for him being so late, and maybe provided the bit of laughter you needed after rolling out of bed at 6am for this, for him. When the door eventually did close, Tom turned around and saw you in all your glory; much taller than he remembered, more assured than he’d imagined, and more gorgeous than drowned out and half forgotten memories of you could ever fabricate.

You and Tom ran in the same social circles, but hadn’t seen each other since Tom’s career imploded when you were both nineteen. As much as Tom felt he owed his heart and soul to the UK, he maintained an almost permanent fixture on the States. It started to feel like his trips back to England were in fact actual holiday. At one point, you were in love with Tom, but meeting became a constant battle of ‘here, not there’ and your heart grew tired of the duck and goose chase. The gravity of the situation was too much for you, whom hadn’t even tasted their twenties yet.

“Y/N!” Tom launched at you and held you in tight embrace. You let go of the hug, but he didn’t. And his dad watched on in momentary awe as you wrapped your arms around Tom once again, who breathed in every part of you with unwavering adoration.

“Tom!” You rubbed along his back as he hummed. “When I was told we were gonna have a ghost writer, I had no idea it was gonna be you.”

Tom and his dad (being an author) were collaborating on a book, a million dollar idea that’d been years in the making. Tom had stalled it, his dad told you out of simple insecurity. Now that the world was a stage, he was worried people would criticise his dyslexia with every line he wrote, that every stroke of his pen would reveal him as a rare type of monster that lacked intellect, he pondered that he wasn’t insightful enough in some way. His dad may have written a book about Tom outfaming him, but Tom felt like he’d always live in Dom’s shadow in this respect. Fresh from Oxford with an English Bachelor’s degree, Dom employed you to get grease on the gears to commence writing. Tom had always come out of his shell when you were around.

Your writing session lasted from 8 til noon, when Tom had promo with LadBible or Entertainment Weekly or whoever had bid the highest from his presence that day.

The door swung open and three men in all black and mics saddled around their waists called for and led Tom out of the room.

“Tom, session’s over. We need to get you to your BBC promo in 30 and we’re already running behind schedule.’ One cloaked Tom in a jacket you were sure was more expensive than your own home and another whispered something into a walkie talkie: “Holland is on the move. Check the back entrance is clear.” With that, Tom rose to his feet and left completely opposite of the way you came in. Without a word, no goodbye.

You and Dom left the building together around ten minutes later, where ten men with large cameras stood, lenses focused on you, glaring at you, not sure what to make of you. One of the men screams “Hey! You dating Tom Holland” and after that all you hear is clicks and all you see is bright flashing lights and Dom clenches your hand and leads you to your taxi cab.

The next time you see Tom is sooner than expected. The Hollands were hosting a last minute dinner party and you found yourself sitting opposite Tom, feeling his hard, hot and heavy gaze on you. The tension in the room was so thick not even a chainsaw cut through.

“Next topic,” You picked up a card from the deck and read it aloud. “Politics!” You said devilishly as you sip on what was left of the white wine in your cup, and now that your thought process is blurred; Tom’s longing gaze puts you at dismay.

“Fuck!” Harry exploded, and you hear their mother hiss. “Fuck I hate politics, there’s no making it out alive!” he remarked as he drummed on the table cloth, drunken excitement brewing a new energy in the room.

You go on like this for hours until dinner party is dinner party no more. And while Dom, Nikki and all of Tom’s siblings have chosen to exit stage left, it’s 1am and you and Tom have yet to leave the scene.

Tom sets down your deck of debate cards in favour of a genuine moment.

“What are you doing these days, Y/N?” Tom’s not looking at you, he’s looking at your knee as he rubs circles on it. You want to look down there too, see what he finds so intriguing; but you decide against it in fear you might spontaneously combust. You don’t know if this moment’s supposed to be intimate or innocent and you’re not sure if you want to find out.

So you put up a wall.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Holland.” You say sarcastically. “What have you been doing these days? I haven’t seen you around.” Your eyebrows scrunched up together but you’ve got a big, idiot grin on your face that’s more than telling. Tom giggles at your facetiousness.

Tom scratches his head in mock thought. He never clocks out, always putting on a show. “I don’t know - uh.” You’re laughing before Tom has even told the punchline, ‘cause I guess anything’s funny when it’s said by the one you love.”I’m kind of -” He snatches an old Spiderman comic off the floor. “I’m kinda doing this acting thing at the moment. Playing, y’know, this guy.”

“Well I wish you better luck in the future.” Tom has stopped rubbing circles but instead places his two hands on your knees as you rock back in laughter.

“I’m serious, Y/N. What do you do now?”

“Um.” You suddenly forgot your entire career as Tom, with no shade of subtlety, stares right into your soul. “I got my degree. I write like little stories, y’know? Have you ever heard of folklore?”

Tom shook his head.

“They’re like these little, old beautiful myths. And I write them for a living. And if I’m lucky, they get published in The Times. If I’m even luckier, I get to work with my old best friend - ” You feel your world stop temporarily as you call Tom your ‘best friend’ and you pause for all of 0.3 seconds to register Tom’s reaction but his face doesn’t flinch. “-Writing a book with him and his dad.” And that makes Tom smile. So he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you, you just know.

‘Undivided appearance’ and ‘undivided attention’ don’t necessarily mean the same thing in Hollywood as they do in real life, and you learn that the hard way in your writing session.

Tom may have been sat right next to you, but he was miles away. He was doing press with Cosmo, who hadn’t stopped tagging him with blue hearts on his Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat stories, causing his phone to go off every two seconds. You looked at the phone and then at him who then got the hint and put it on silent. Then there was a knock on the door. Tom rushed to open it, expecting that Dom had sent down a food delivery to egg you on finishing this chapter. You rehashed his childhood like a million times - in fact, you were part of it - so when it came to writing the parts that hurt, where you took a more supporting role in his life, you needed his help. The fact is, the knock at the door had come from one of Tom’s men (Tom liked to call him Man In Black no. 3) who hadn’t said as much as a ‘hi’ before he made his announcement. “Tom, you’re on the line with Cosmo in 10.” The man stepped back and pulled out his walkie talkie, “Holland knows he’s on the line with Cosmo at 10.” And then continued to pace around the hallway.

Cosmo called as he said they would and you almost felt for. second like tom might enjoy an entertainment magazine’s company more than yours. The interviewer made glaring comments and passive flirts at Tom who just blushed and chuckled and sipped his water like the woman on the phone calling him ‘hot’ was just too much to handle. At one point, she says: “What must it be like to grow up that beautiful, Tom? With your hair falling into place like dominoes.” You’re not expecting it when Tom tilts the phone so you’re in view. “Well I’m with the most beautiful being on Earth right now so..” Tom looks at you as if to ask ‘is this okay?” and you know it’s too late for these kind of questions, because that moment is headline fodder, so you smile not to make him feel bad for opening Pandora’s box. But Tom is merciless and likes to rub salt in the wound. “This is Y/N! Y/N’s helping me write the book with my Dad! We go way back.” He covers his mouth as soon as he says it. “Shit! They’re not supposed to know about the book yet.”

This is the moment, you think, where you believe when they say your first love is the one you never let go.

And you can’t think of anything purer than the love you have for him.

Tom thinks being on land is boring. He likes being strung from chords 30 feet in the air, and drowning in despair through scenes of emotional turmoil. You want to tell him you’re an arrow from Cupid’s bow about to reach him, but you couldn’t recover from the splinters if Tom shut you down. After all, Tom was a gold rush. A treasure that everyone had discovered but nobody owned. How precious is a jewel that anybody could take home with them?

Tom had invited you to a visit to Brighton with him, a city near the coast, for some inspiration on writing his section of the book.

You accepted. And because you did, you found yourself at the beginning of the end, on Tom’s boat in Brighton. “We don’t have to talk about the book right now.” Tom throws a stack of blue tinted paper on the floor. His dyslexia meant that spelling and reading was so much easier when done on blue pages, and you could only guess that was the reason the body of water around you brought him so much peace. So when you saw that something might compromise your best boy’s happiness, you point it out. To give Tom a little bit of time to exit before things got ugly.

“Tom, I see someone in the bushes.”

“Yeah. It’s a pap.” Tom mumbled nonchalantly.

“They’re here to get pictures of me,” He turned to face you. “and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the fans ship us. Think we’d be a good couple after that Cosmo stunt. We would have been a good couple when we were like, 18.” He laughs.

“Huh, yeah.” You look down.

“The best one around.” And you can’t tell if he’s serious.

You rip off one of his blue sheets. “I’m coming. I got hit with inspo.” And you trail to a different section of the boat. A very obvious click of the camera from a shrub nearby coaxes your pen to write without a second thought, How is he so accustomed to this? Fake private moments, protected by sheer glass curtains?

You scrunched your paper, well his paper, into a ball.

Your mind had turned his life into folklore. You weren’t sure if that was crossing a line, so you just put the ball into your bag and hide it until he hits you with the spark again.

“Let me see it.” Tom says.

“No.”

“You ran off to write it and won’t let me see it?”

You held your bag at your hip in defence. “No, Tom. Drop it.”

Tom’s face drops a little bit, but then he reaches into his own bag and reveals a deck of your debate cards. “I know what will cheer you up, good ol’ Y/N.” He sets a card on the wooden table between you two.

“Do you believe in a higher power?”

You toyed with the pendant around your neck which revealed your faith. “Do you?”

“I don’t. But I believe in soulmates.”

You look to the left to really ponder on what Tom is saying, and a paparazzis captures another photo of you in the corner of your eye.

“And you don’t think there’s a higher power that manufactures our souls to make our soulmates?”

Tom feigns a scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

You scoffed. “How very contrarian of you.”

“What the fuck does that mean.”

“It means you contradict yourself, Thomas.” You laugh as he holds his chest in fake hurt.

“Are you implying I’m anything less than perfect?”

“Never.”

Never. Because you didn’t believe that to be true.

“Good. Cause you’d have to be punished.” Tom picks you up and throws you in the water below before jumping in with you.

On your way home you stop at the yours and Tom’s writing booth, scavenging through your bag to drop off Tom’s notepad, some scrunched up blue and white papers you and Tom thought could still help you write his book. You’d made an addition to your love-hazed scribblings about Tom and reckon you’d die if he found it. You managed to throw the other in the water, excusing yourself with “It’s utterly awful.”, to which you and Tom agreed you wouldn’t throw any more paper in the ocean cause the poor fish already had it hard enough.

You and Tom had a session the next day. Tom was excited for the day, and you could tell because he’d given his phone to one of his big babysitters for the time he had you.

“I think that’s all of yours.” You and Tom made a business out of unscrunching your paper balls to see if they had any useful ideas. You were certain you reached the end of Tom’s. All of his notes had ‘T.H’ written on the back in big and were scribed on blue paper. When it came to your little ‘secret admirer’ notes you weren’t worried - you had an English degree and were quick to think on your feet and was ready to make something up when it came to opening it.

“No, this one’s mine.” He’s confident, so you let him have it. He goes to pick up your tea and then realises it’s nowhere near warm, and was the one you made for yourself when you crept in yesterday evening. Tom has a smile on his face, and then he doesn’t. Before he goes to read it aloud, his eyes tell you he’s reading it again and again and again. “At dinner parties, I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit, and the coastal towns we wondered round will never see a love as pure as it.”

The look on Tom’s face gives you the splinters. He tries to look at you but you know he can’t. You don’t blame him. You can’t look at him either. “I really thought this was a good friendship.”

You hum and nod your head in agreement, pull your lips into a thin straight line as streaks of tears abandon your eyes. This was worse than Tom rubbing salt in your wounds. He’s rubbing dirt in your painful fucking gashes and you are reminded of why this didn’t work before, why it will never be.

And you wouldn’t dare to dream about him anymore.

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

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Slipping Through My Fingers

Read here on AO3!

When it comes to his children, Bruce has very few regrets. He loves them completely, scars and all. He wouldn’t want to change a single part of them.

But he can’t lie and say that he doesn’t regret the timing with which each of these beautiful souls entered his life. Bruce has six children, but he’s never had a baby, and isn’t that wrong? Isn’t that a pity? He missed so much of their lives—so many milestones that every parent wants to remember forever but that he’s not even had glimpses of. He wasn’t there for the first steps or the lost teeth or learning how to ride a bike. He missed all of his children learning to talk, missed watching Sesame Street with them in the morning and making soapy mohawks in the bathtub. Bruce missed everything. He missed moments that he can’t get back, no matter how hard he yearns for a rewind. Take him back. Return to him the moments he lost without even knowing it until they’d already slipped through his fingers. Bruce has a few mementos to get him by, but they only grant him glimpses of the years he missed. Dick has a bin of old tapes from the Flying Graysons’ best performances that he likes to watch on bad days. Occasionally he’ll let Bruce watch with him. There’s something magical about watching the young boy in the tapes swing on the trapeze and pull gravity-defying moves, all the while knowing what a strong man that boy will one day become. Jason came to the manor with very little, having to travel light while on the streets. There’s a shoebox under the bed in his old room salvaged from his mother’s things, containing a handful of photos from Jason’s toddler years, a stuffed animal or two, some loose possessions. Bruce used to go through them after Jason’s death, just to give himself something to hold on to. Tim had more than Dick and Jason combined: plenty of photos, report cards, baby teeth, and coloring books all saved in storage. But as much as there was, Bruce still only had glimpses of the real Tim. Every family photo was stiff, like an assortment of plastic dolls. The papers and drawings that have been collected are too crisp, like they were shoved into a childhood folder and forgotten about without a second glance, not even making it to the refrigerator. All Bruce has of Cass’ childhood are videotapes of training sessions. He refuses to watch them, for both her sake and his own. Duke has a photo album he keeps in his bedroom, compiling plenty of baby pictures and family vacations. He’s only shown it to Bruce once. Otherwise, he keeps it in his bookshelf, untouched but for the handful of times he’s visited his parents, showing them old memories in case it will miraculously jog something and put the shards of them back together. The longer it doesn’t work, the less he’s willing to tell. The League of Assassins has an entire storage room of files on Damian’s development. Bruce has seen it. It’s like every move the boy made was monitored and catalogued, detailed without so much as a lick of emotion to remind anyone that this was a child being discussed. There were no shiny milestones to celebrate, only completed stages. No one commemorated his first word or first time seeing a butterfly, but his first time using a wakizashi sword earned five entire pages. If Bruce could go back in time, he would snatch up every one of his children and give them the lives they deserve, right from the start. No pain. No dead parents. No neglect, no heartache, no scavenging on the streets just to survive the night. He would wipe their slates clean if it meant he could stave off their suffering, just for a little while longer. He would do anything to go back.

Back when Bruce was a child and tragedy hadn’t yet torn his family to bloody shreds, there was one Fourth of July on which his parents took him to the circus. Alfred had an open invitation to accompany them, but, being a Brit, he politely declined from the day’s festivities. “I’ll have you know, young sir, that I served as a spy for the British forces and mentored Alexander Hamilton during his teenage years.” Bruce was ninety-nine percent sure that Alfred wasn’t alive during the American Revolution. That day was the first time Bruce had been to the circus. It was a local one, small with very few extravagant spectacles, but his father bought him peanuts and afterward the three of them watched the fireworks in Gotham Park. It was a day that imprinted itself on Bruce’s memory, sticking with him long after they were gone. So when he sees a flyer announcing that Haly’s International Traveling Circus is visiting Metropolis on the same day Bruce has an interview with Lois Lane for some column on America’s wealthiest men, how can he turn the opportunity down? The air is warmed by summer rays, the entire field radiating Metropolis’ natural brightness. The scent of peanuts and popcorn wafts from all sides and the classic tinkling circus music fills his ears. The show doesn’t start for another half hour, so Bruce settles on walking around, unsure of what to do with himself. He should get some photos to bring home for Alfred. He’s always had a fascination with jugglers. After some perusing, Bruce pulls up under a tree, shaded against the thick trunk. He’s just pressed send on the pictures to Alfred when he hears a voice from above. “Hey, mister.” Bruce looks up to discover a boy perched on a tree branch two feet above his head. The kid looks around six years old with black hair that curls around his ears. He’s wearing a bright red and green costume—obviously one of the performers. How a child his age came to be part of the circus, Bruce can’t begin to guess. He’s missing his front teeth and his skin, tan with a honey glow, makes his nationality hard to place. Bruce blinks up at the boy. “Hello.” The kid drops down and catches on the branch with his hands, dangling with his bare feet kicking in the air. “Whatcha doing here?” Now that he’s paying attention, Bruce can detect the slightest accent. Romani, perhaps? “Why does anyone come to the circus?” The boy laughs. “You don’t look like the kind of person who goes to the circus.” “Then what kind of person do I look like?” The boy thinks, swinging back and forth like a cartoon monkey. How his hands aren’t scraped raw from gripping the rough bark, Bruce doesn’t know. “A lawyer, maybe. Or a president.” The corner of Bruce’s mouth lifts. “I’m neither of those things, unfortunately.” “Well, I’m an acrobat.” “I can see that.” “But I do other stuff too,” the kid tells him, “like I know how to juggle and how to walk on stilts and how to throw knives at targets. I’m getting real good at that.” “Are you sure a kid your age should be playing with knives?” The boy laughs. “You think knives are scary? You should see it when they let me play with the tigers.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You play with tigers?” That can’t be safe. Maybe he should have a talk with the ringmaster and make sure someone is ensuring that no little boy heads are getting bitten off by mighty jaws. “Oh yeah, the tigers are the best.” The kid swings his body upward, letting go of the branch and pulling a heart-stopping somersault midair as he falls. He lands on his feet without a wobble. “I know all of their names and they’re huge, like they’re this big”—he stretches out his arms as far as they will go, which makes the tigers a whopping two and a half feet tall—”and sometimes I’m even allowed to ride them!” Bruce leans back against the tree trunk, crossing his arms with a smile. “Is that right?” “Yeah!” The kid then launches into a string of chatter, so fast that it takes all of Bruce’s focus to keep up. He tells Bruce all about the circus’ tigers: what breed they are, how many they have, what they eat, what their names are (their actual names and the names the kid gave them; Marshmallow is his favorite), and how his dad once gave him permission to hold a hoop while a tiger leapt through it. The entire time, Bruce can’t help but wonder, is this what childhood is supposed to be like? Swinging on tree branches and giving oral reports about your favorite animals to complete strangers? Is this what growing up is like for normal children? Bruce doesn’t know whether to be envious of this little boy or concerned. He’s so innocent; it bleeds from every grin. There’s nothing weighing this kid down—literally and figuratively—and Bruce finds himself silently praying to a being he doesn’t believe in that it never changes. Let this kid stay pure, untouched by the evils of the world. Let him go his whole life swinging on branches and talking about tigers without a single setback. After a good ten minutes when the boy’s tumbled into a handstand and has moved on to tell Bruce about his favorite elephant Zitka, a feminine voice rings, “There you are, Dick. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” A beautiful woman approaches the pair, wearing an identical red and green leotard. She’s got matching black hair and blue eyes—too spitting of an image to be anyone but his mother. “Come on, sweetheart, we’re supposed to be backstage.” “Sorry, Mom,” Dick says, turning right-side up, but he hasn’t lost his grin. Now that he thinks of it, Bruce doesn’t recall it waning once in the entire time they’ve been talking. She takes in Bruce, suit and all, and plasters on a stage smile, sticking out her hand. “Mary Grayson. You’ll have to forgive my son, he gets excited easily. He’ll talk your ear off for hours if you let him.” But the glimmer in her eye gives Bruce an inclination that she has no problem being an audience for her son’s happy rants. Bruce shakes her hand. “Bruce. I take it you’re the Flying Graysons I’ve been hearing so much about?” “The very same. I hope you’ll be seeing our show tonight.” “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He winks at the littlest Grayson, who beams. Mary ruffles Dick’s hair. “Well, this little robin and I should be getting ready now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bruce.” “Likewise.” He leans down and shakes Dick’s small hand. “And if you ever come to Gotham, maybe you can tell me more about those tigers, eh?” Dick looks like he contains the sun itself. He’s sunshine incarnate. “Definitely!” He drags his feet when his mom starts leading him away, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Bye, Mr. Bruce!” He waves his hand like a windmill of its hinges, and Bruce can’t help but return it. Bruce hasn’t felt this content in a long time to the point where he has to stop in wonderment of it. It’s unlikely that Haly’s will end up coming to a place like Gotham anytime soon, but Bruce hopes for it anyway. After all, Gotham could use some sunshine.

Here’s the rest of it on AO3 because I don’t feel like formatting all 7,000 words on here lmao.

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endae · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged way way back by @fallen-gravity, and again by @novantinuum. Sorry for the delay, thank you so much Cindy and Jen! ❤️

How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently, 19, but there's still a handful I need to move from Tumblr over to AO3.

What’s your total word count on AO3

110,008!

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Well over a decade now, and surprisingly only 3! I started out in Resident Evil, moved to Pandora Hearts, and now Gravity Falls.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Just Keep Breathing comes in at number one (in no small thanks to fex's beautiful fanart of it, I'm sure). Following it is Aftercare, Rescind, Reset, Louder Than Words, and out and alive.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I really pride myself on responding to every single comment. It's so important for me to show my readers how much I value them taking the time to say something. I try to match their comments lengthwise, a small thank you for anyone that drops a few lines, and something much longer for the ones that really get into it.

(that being said, if you've sent me one and it's been months, I see it, I promise, I will get to it eventually,)

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

[spoilers for the fic but] It's definitely Before the Bridges Burn. With the premise in the summary, and the fact that I'm working on a sequel, anyone without a clue can probably draw their own conclusions. But you have my promise that Ashes will have a much warmer ending 🙏

Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever written?

I haven't yet! It's probably a mix I won't ever make an attempt on, but I was really piqued by all the GF-Undertale crossover content that was floating around back in 2015 when it first came out.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I'm fortunate to say I haven't, and hoping it stays that way 🤞

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I haven't, no.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, and I hope that's still the case.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet, but it might be on the horizon! A friend dropped a fic idea that I'm dying thinking about, and if they ever wanted to commit to it, I'd be on it with them in a heartbeat.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Link and Zelda :) nowadays I could go either way with them as friends or a couple, but it was probably my first ship ever.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

A soulmate AU that I was wavering back and forth on for a bit. I've got a lot of heart for it, and while the platonic interpretation of the trope has been embraced a little more in recent years, I still think it's just a little too daunting to put out in public.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I write tense moments relatively well. I put a lot of thought into buildup because the payoff means so much to me. I usually start with the wham moments and craft the rest of the chapter/standalone fic around it, so when it’s all said and done, those moments were truly the heart of the whole thing.

Related to that, I think I’m really good about weaving callbacks and red flags back through WIPs. My biggest goal for anything is for someone to think “I should have noticed that,” or, making the emotional volatile moments carry that much more of a punch because of things I laced throughout it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

brevity my detested,

I think I struggle just...getting to the point lol. I think my descriptions can get a little carried away, because in my head I want the imagery to match as if you were watching a movie, when the two mediums aren’t meant to translate together. I’ll finish something and scroll back and realize “oh. that got Long.” and then awkwardly try to shave it down.

Another that’s been particularly bad lately is just comparing myself to others. I don’t think my writing is as pretty as some of the other writers I follow. Sometimes I even feel like I read old stuff of mine that beats what I put out today and wonder what happened. (tbf life was simpler back then, so I’m sure that’s. half of it)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think if you're studying, fluent, or consulting with someone who is, go for it! So long as there’s translations or otherwise easy-to-follow notes of what’s being said somewhere else that we can refer to.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Resident Evil, back when I was about 12.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Still to this day, I’m most proud of Bridges. Even if it was a short multichapter, it’s the first I ever completed, across all fandoms. Nowadays It’s my little of beacon of hope that I can finish stuff even when it feels impossible. There’s a lot working against me these days, but my heart’s still in my writing and the people it connects me with. ❤️

I’m tagging @pinesbrosfalls, @fexalted, and @fordanoia informally if you guys feel like doing it. and you reading this if you haven’t yet!

#tag meme #gravity falls #long post

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magicalmarauder · 4 years

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Missing Piece

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x Reader

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 3k+

Summary: You and Shawn have been dating for about a year and share a beautiful relationship together. And a huge part of that relationship includes Shawn’s four-year-old daughter. However, when you are watching said daughter for the afternoon, she suffers from a severe allergic reaction and you must rush her to the ER. How will Shawn react? Will your relationship be able to survive this?

“Madelyn!” You called out as you placed the finishing touches on the apple pie recipe you had tirelessly been working on all afternoon in the efforts of getting on the good side of the sassy, yet sweet toddler you were currently watching.

“Coming!” You heard a small voice shout back, followed by rapid footsteps bounding down the hallway.

“No running!” You warned, shaking your head fondly at the little girl that you had quickly come to adore.

“Sorry!” A sheepish voice responded, followed by the sound of small, little footsteps carrying on at a much slower and safer pace.

This is what your life consisted of now. Pretending to be princesses while hosting tea parties for a company of very distinguished stuffed animals. Tickle wars in an attempt to tire out the little girl with an energy level that knew no limits. Wiping stuffy noses. Inventing bedtime stories out of the depths of your imagination in an attempt to entertain the toddler who already had every other storybook memorized. It was crazy and it was chaotic and it certainly was not where you envisioned your life to be at this stage, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Last year, you had no idea the adventure that you would be taken on when you met the one and only Shawn Mendes. Being a bit of a social recluse and definitely not up on the latest pop culture, you not only had no idea that the adorable, curly-haired boy sending butterflies straight to your stomach was not only an international pop-sensation, but the father of an incredible four-year old little girl.

Although you had learned pretty quickly that the boy that was quickly capturing your heart was no ordinary man, what with all the cameras that were constantly trailing him, it wasn’t until after the third date that he broke down and confessed that there was another girl in his life. A daughter. The result of an impassioned night a few years ago that had completely altered the course of his life forever.

You remembered that night quite vividly. You remembered how Shawn had barely been able to look you in the eye, too scared to see your reaction and lose what he could already see was the beginning of a beautiful and long-lasting relationship. He hadn’t wanted to do anything to risk losing you, but his daughter came first. She always had and she always would. And if you couldn’t get on board with that, it would absolutely devastate him, but you would have to let each other go.

So, it came as quite a surprise when you merely smiled at him and asked her name and what she was like.

Shawn had stared at you in shock, mouth slightly hanging open in disbelief, that not being the reaction he had prepared himself for. However, he had recovered quickly enough and immediately launched into a beautiful description of the little girl who held his entire heart.

Hearing him talk about his daughter had filled you with such an awe for the man before you. Obviously, you had seen the powerful bond between parent and child at play in the lives of many close friends and family members, but there seemed to be something special between Shawn and Madelyn. You weren’t sure if it was the fact that he had raised her himself and it had always been the two of them against the world or if it was because the two of them were so strikingly, shockingly similar that they connected and understood one another on a level that no one else could comprehend. Or maybe it was a combination of the two or something entirely different. Whatever the reason though, you found their relationship completely endearing and found yourself already falling in love with the little girl Shawn painted such a vivid picture of.

That night had ended with you placing a kiss on his cheek, thanking him for opening up and being honest about such a special, intimate part of his life and sharing your hope to one day meet the special little girl.

Shawn had grinned, a light blush dusting his cheeks, stating that he couldn’t wait for that day too. The day where his family would be complete. He didn’t know if he was jumping the gun, but he didn’t care. He could already see you fitting seamlessly into his life with himself and his daughter, the missing puzzle piece in both of their lives.

However, despite his confidence, it wasn’t until about a month later that you were actually introduced to little Madelyn. Shawn and yourself had both been extremely nervous for this moment, recognizing the gravity behind it. Nevertheless, after introducing you as his new friend, Madi had confidently grabbed your hand, dragged you over to her play room, and given you a role to play in the tea party she was throwing.

And the rest was history.

You and Madi had clicked instantly. There was never any discomfort or awkwardness. Madi felt comfortable speaking freely in front of you and would constantly ask Shawn when the next time she would be able to see you, claiming you were her favorite play mate and joking that the food at dinner was always a lot better when you were involved.

And now here you were, almost a year later, a natural part of their lives and neither Shawn, Madi, or yourself could imagine things any differently. They brought love and laughter into your life and you brought a peace and life into theirs that had been absent for so long. You fit so perfectly into their lives, just as Shawn had predicted all that time ago when you had first met.

So, as you had said, this wasn’t at all how you would have anticipated your life to play out, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. That little girl may not have been yours by blood, but she was yours in every other sense of the world. You cuddled her when she was sick, kissed her scraped knees and elbows, and played hour after hour of whatever made-up game she had created for that day. And you did it all with a smile on your face and love in your heart.

Shawn had quickly noticed the attachment formed between his daughter and yourself as well, which was why he trusted you whole-heartedly to look after her. With his job, he was constantly traveling to play shows, create music in the studio, do interviews, or attend award shows. Granted, he didn’t travel as much as he did before Madelyn, but he was still away quite a bit. Before meeting you, his parents had been the one to watch Madi while he was away, but as the two of you had gotten more serious, you had both talked with each other and with Madelyn and finally agreed that you staying with Madelyn would be best. Shawn had been nervous to say the least while away that first time; however, his nerves were quickly assuaged upon returning home and discovering a large fort set up in the middle of the living room, dolls scattered everywhere, and huge grins on both of your faces.

Things had been going so well ever since and you wouldn’t trade one moment of your crazy journey for anything in the world.

“Oooh!! Yummy!” A sudden voice squealed, pulling you out of your daydream and focusing your attention on the girl in front of you, messy curls flying everywhere, mismatched socks on her feet, and bright red lipstick painted messily on her little lips.

“Uh, uh, uh” you scolded. “This is for AFTER dinner.” Swiftly, you pushed the pie further back onto the counter where her grabby hands wouldn’t be able to reach. That girl had a sweet tooth like no other. You swore she had some sort of magnetic ability to sniff out sweets within a ten-mile radius.

“Aww, please, Y/N! Please!” She begged, jutting her bottom lip out and looking at you with those big doe-eyes. “Just one little piece, please!”

You looked down at her, biting your lip in consideration. Handing out dessert before dinner was definitely not a good precedent to set, especially with this little sugar monster, but you couldn’t deny that your mouth was watering for a slice of pie too. You were a nurse at the local hospital and lately your hours had been stacking up. Your unit was short-staffed and the patients coming in seemed to be sicker and more demanding than ever. You were exhausted. Not only physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. You felt like you were a zombie merely going through the motions lately. You huffed internally. Damn it, you worked hard. And if you wanted to relax with a piece of pie, you damn well would.

“Alright,” you finally relented, eliciting a wave of squeals and excited bouncing from the little girl. “But only one piece,” you stated firmly. “And your dad doesn’t find out,” you added on.

Madi nodded enthusiastically. “Cross my heart,” she stated seriously, bounces dying down as she looked up at you in an effort to convey the truth of her statement.

You nodded, exchanging a conspiratorial grin with the girl before dishing up a plate for her and yourself.

“Go sit down at the table and I’ll grab you a glass of milk.”

“Okay!” She agreed happily, taking a hold of her plate and walking over to the table.

Opening the cabinet, you searched for a glass before diving into the refrigerator for the jug of milk that had somehow gotten pushed all the way to the back of the shelf.

“How’s it tasting, Madi?” You asked, knowing her well enough to know that there was no way she was going to wait for you to join her before digging into her dessert.

“Madi?” You questioned, when you didn’t get the usual satisfied sigh and mumbled response through a mouth full of food.

“MADI?!” You screamed again as you turned and noticed her clutching her throat, struggling to take in a breath of air, eyes looking at you in panic.

“Oh my gosh,” you cried out, rushing toward the little girl, placing your hands on her shoulders and having to refrain yourself from shaking her in panic. “Madi! What happened? Baby, what’s going on?”

She tried to gurgle out a response, words failing to emerge from her mouth as her airway continued to close. Eyes dancing around the small kitchen wildly, everything clicked into place as you noticed the small container of cinnamon still sitting atop the counter, looking so innocent despite the fact that it was the reason why this little girl was suddenly unable to breathe.

“Oh my gosh, your allergies!” You exclaimed, the weight of the situation clicking in your mind as you began to panic even more. How could you be so careless?

“Your EpiPen!” You remembered. “Hold on baby, don’t move, I’ll be right back!”

Sprinting into the bathroom down the hall, you ripped the drawer out of its hinges in your haste to find the small pen that would reverse the effects of the cinnamon coursing through Madi’s body. Throwing random supplies out of the way, your fingers finally wrapped around the small EpiPen, grabbing hold of the object before rushing back into the kitchen, where you found Madi in the same position you had left her in.

“Hold on, sweetheart, it’s going to be okay, I got you,” you tried to soothe, swallowing down your own panic as you uncapped the pen and slammed it down into her thigh, allowing the medicine to inject into her system and reverse the action of the allergen.

Immediately, the medication seemed to take effect, as Madi’s breathing began to even out and her airways opened, allowing air to fill her lungs again. Tears rushing down her face, she reached forward and wrapped her little arms around you tightly.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I got you,” you repeated over and over again, tears running down your own cheeks in relief as you held onto the little girl in your arms for dear life.

“I’ve got you, I’m so sorry, Madi, I’ve got you.”

“I know,” her tired voice finally responded, face burrowing into your neck.

You squeezed her tightly one more time before pulling away. “C’mon, sweetheart, we’ve gotta get you to the hospital. Get you checked out. Just make sure everything’s okay.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around you and allowing you to pick her up and carry her outside and towards the car.

***

Once you got to the hospital, got checked in, and the nurses and doctors took Madi back to get her checked out, you dialed Shawn’s familiar number, steeling yourself for the hard conversation that was about to come.

“Hi beautiful!” Shawn’s cheerful voice answered after only two rings. “I’m finishing up in the studio right now and then I’ll be heading home. How are my two favorite girls doing?”

“Shawn,” you sniffled. “Shawn, I —“

“Woah, baby, what happened?” He questioned, the laughter immediately leaving his voice as he picked up on the seriousness of your tone. “What’s wrong?”

“It - it - it’s Madi,” you finally managed to choke out, another sob leaving your throat as you heard Shawn take a sharp inhale. “She’s okay now,” you stated hurriedly, not wanting him to think the worst. “But, she accidentally ate some cinnamon.”

Shawn cursed, his free hand fisting into his hair in fear and stress as he grabbed his keys and ran out of the studio without another word.

“I got her EpiPen from the bathroom,” you carried on, sobs slowing down into sniffles as you continued to relate the events of the afternoon. “It kicked in pretty quickly and she started breathing easier, but I still wanted to bring her to the hospital to get checked out. They just took her back to get looked at.”

“What hospital are you at?” Shawn demanded.

You gave him the name and instructions on where to find you within the crowded ER.

“I’m on my way,” he grunted, the sound of his jeep starting up over the other line before the line went dead.

***

About ten minutes later, you heard frantic footsteps approaching you. Looking up, you were met with Shawn’s panicked face. “Where is she?” He cried.

Standing up, you placed your hands over his in order to calm his frenzied movements. “Shawn,” you stated, his eyes coming down to meet your own. “She’s going to be okay. The doctors and nurses took her back to get her checked out and give her a breathing treatment if necessary, but she was doing okay. She’s going to be just fine,” you urged, hoping your words would sink in and calm his anxious nerves.

Shawn slowly let out a breath, closing his eyes and nodding to himself as he allowed your words to permeate the panic that had been clouding his every thought since he had first received the news.

“She’s going to be just fine,” you reiterated, thumb stroking his palm soothingly.

After a couple more deep breaths, Shawn finally looked up and once again met your gaze, this time with a hardness in his expression that you had never once seen directed at you. “What happened?” He asked, pulling his hands out of your grasp and crossing his arms over his chest.

You gulped, the nerves returning to you as you could see the direction this conversation was going.

“I – I don’t know,” you murmured brokenly, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. “ I really don’t know, Shawn.” You shook your head as if trying to clear all the jumbled thoughts in order to seek out an answer you know you didn’t have. “I’ve been so tired and stressed with work, I wasn’t thinking. I must have added cinnamon to the pie I was making without even realizing it. I’m usually so, so careful though. I just – I - Shawn – I’m. . .”

Your words broke off, unable to form a coherent sentence as the events from earlier came crashing back to the forefront of your mind as well as the very real possibility of what could have happened if there hadn’t been an EpiPen available.

Shawn closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before looking back down at you with that same hardened gaze. “How could you have let this happen, Y/N? How could you be so careless? And with my daughter’s life of all things!”

“I – Shawn!” You cried, tears flowing more freely down your face as you received the full brunt of his anger and blame. “You have to know I never meant to cause any harm! I would never, ever knowingly risk Madi’s health or safety, she’s like a daughter to me!”

“But she’s not,” Shawn growled.

You recoiled as if you had been slapped. “What?” You whispered brokenly.

“She’s not your daughter. She’s mine. And you just proved to me that you’re not worthy of being in her life. You were way too careless and it could have cost Madi her life.”

You stared at Shawn in disbelief, unable to even comprehend the words leaving his mouth right now. You opened and closed your mouth, struggling to respond, heart breaking at the accusation laced in Shawn’s tone and the words that were ripping you apart.

“Shawn, I –“

“Don’t,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just go, please. I don’t want you here right now and I’m sure Madi doesn’t want you here right now either. You’ve done quite enough.”

“But, Shawn, you – I –“

“Leave!” He demanded, eyes flashing, fists clenching in anger.

Jumping back, sobs escaping your throat and tears coating your face, you began murmuring “’I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” over and over again as you turned on your heel and ran out of the emergency room, trying to escape the curious eyes that followed you and the words that cut into your soul like a knife.

What did you think? Part 2??

Update: Read Part 2 here

#shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes imagine #reader insert #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes drabble #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #dad!shawn #magicalmarauder

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coffeecomicsgalore · 3 years

Text

Navigating the Chaos

Ao3

@adrinetteapril

Chapter 23: Sunset

“Calm down.”

“I can’t calm down.”

“You need to calm down.”

“I. Can’t. Calm. Down.” Marinette finally yelled out, annunciating every word carefully and slowly so Alya could understand the gravity of the situation.

“Marinette. You can’t control anything right now. I know he didn’t go to school. I know he’s not answering your calls. And I know he’s not answering Nino’s either because that boy is just as frantic as you are. But you need to calm down enough before an akuma comes after you.”

Marinette stilled. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, before letting out a long, stress-filled exhale. She did it two more times before Alya stood up and placed her hand on her shoulders, getting the frantic girl to stop breathing too deeply.

“You’ll pass out if you keep doing that.” Alya pointed out, getting Marinette to groan out in exasperation.

“I just know his dad punished him for our date last night. Adrien would have told me if he wasn’t going to be in school. He would have said something, found a way to tell me something, anything just so I know he’s okay. But I know he’s not, Alya. I know something’s wrong and I can’t go over there to check on him. I-I’m afraid.”

Alya frowned as she watched her friend break down into pieces. The tears were falling slowly, but the weight of her pain could be felt as every second passed.

Marinette had gone to class that morning with a little pastry bag full of Adrien’s favorite treats. Adrien didn’t arrive at the bakery to walk to school together, so she had to walk over alone before she was late. Nino and Alya had walked in sometime before her, and Nino was puzzled when Marinette had walked in alone.

It had puzzled Marinette just as much when Adrien wasn’t in class, and when she reached for her phone to text him once more, that’s when the notifications began to wreak havoc on her phone. When she looked to see what was causing the influx of dings, that was when she realized there was a photo of Marinette and Adrien together at the pet shop, their gazes screaming “madly in love” while also holding the kittens in their hands. What made the situation so much better was what the caption had stated: Adrien Agreste talking marriage and adoption with girlfriend. Is 15 too young to talk about life long plans?

Her phone had finally stopped buzzing by third period that morning, but that was only because Alya had stolen her phone and turned off all the notifications before hiding the device in her bag. Marinette had spent most of the morning worried about Adrien, while spending the rest of the day teary eyed and frantic when she realized he wasn’t going to answer even Chloe’s messages.

Now it was close to dinner time, and Adrien had yet to answer any messages. The class group text had confirmed that his phone was completely inaccessible, with Max and Marcov verifying that his phone was deactivated for the time being. They even went a step further and scanned his scheduling applications and noticed that his schedule was filled to the brim with photoshoots, modeling, interviews, and additional extra-curricular activities. It left very little room for a teenager to breathe and focus on himself.

“Hey.” Alya finally said, wrapping her arms around her best friend in comfort. “It’s going to be okay. He’s going to find a way to talk to you and tell you that everything’s okay.”

Marinette turned to Alya with a sad expression, trying her best to nod in agreeance at her words. But from what Adrien has told her, she knew this wasn’t going to be good. She just hoped that he would be able to escape and visit tonight to at least let her know he was okay.

“Listen. I have to go. Take a hot bath and try to eat something. I know your mom made your favorite dumpling soup. He’ll call you. But if you need me… just call me, okay? Don’t worry about how late it is or if I might be sleeping. Just call me. I’ll answer.”

Marinette sat on her chaise and brought her knees to her chest, curling her arms around them in a form of comfort. She nodded into them before hiding herself from the world, a small sob escaping her lips as she tried to make sense of the world. She could hear Alya leave down the steps and talk to her mother before leaving the apartment completely, and that was when Marinette stood up and walked to her balcony to get some fresh air.

Stepping onto the rooftop terrace, Marinette could already feel the breeze wrap around her like an old friend. The blue skies had turned to a purple and orange haze, with pink hues dancing across the skyline. It was a gorgeous view. If only her heart wasn’t completely shattered from the loneliness.

“Adrien.” She hiccupped, her voice hoarse and dry from the lack of use. “I just wish you could be here to just tell me you’re okay.”

“How about if I tell you that this sunset is as gorgeous as you are instead?”

#adrinette #adrinetteapril2021 #ml fanfiction

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 3 years

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Superhero part three

Summary: I swear this is the last time I ask for something, but could you make one where Richie protects Freddy from bullies? Please?

A/N: I hope you enjoy anon! Let me know what you think.

Warnings: this is about bullying so please don’t read if that triggers you!

At first, the rumors aren’t so bad. Freddy is aware of them, it’s hard not to take them in when his classmates don’t bother waiting to start gossiping until he’s out of ear shot, but he can deal with that.

He convinces himself that the whispers behind his back are about more than his physical disabilities. That they reference how cool his shirt looked or something, but Freddy knows that’s not the case. Everybody who sees him limp but can only focus on his disability, it’s like that’s the only part of him that matters. His mom shared that sentiment along with the rest of the world, but prior to attending school -he wasn’t allowed to at first, his mom said he was too fragile and that he may trip and injure his leg further-, Freddy held out hope the rest of the world would indicate his mother wrong.

It didn’t, but Freddy was still happy to be out of the house, so he refused to tell anyone near him about the whispers that follows him like a bad scent. It’ll go away some day, he told himself as he laid in bed, equal parts eager to go to school and learn, and disheartened about the tattles he’ll have to endure.

He was proven wrong again. Instead of evolving past the childish glee he invoked, the bullies became braver, more outspoken about how much they enjoyed to see Freddy suffer. The careless whispers were barely there anymore, but they shuffled to the background as violent offences now became Freddy’s primary concern.

On the regular, his crutches would get kicked down from under him, so that Freddy, with no other way to balance himself, stumbles to the floor. Sometimes, that was enough torment for the day, and they would walk away satisfied, other times, the would proceed to punch him again, or wait until he was almost scrambled back up before again sending him flying to the ground.

Freddy had a lot more issues ignoring that sort of bullying. He never tells anyone still, he’s not a little kid that needs his dad to come rescue him, and either way, the only thing he would gain from that is more attraction from his bullies.

He has a new routine now, one where he hides during school breaks and avoids being the laughing stock as much as he can.

His dad always drops him off at school at precisely 8 am, and comes to pick him straight after school. Freddy can’t walk all the way home, nor can he bike, not with the state of his leg, and riding a buss without a guaranteed sitting spot isn’t a stable option either. That’s all fine by Freddy, taking the buss would mean more time for his bullies to go after him.

As soon as he gets out of the car, he waits until his dad has turned a corner, and then walks around to the back entrance. By the entrance, there is a second door that leads to a supply closet no one barely uses. The school has pretty much abandoned it, and that’s why it’s the prefer place for Freddy to spend his breaks in.

Don’t get him, he does try to socialize, in the five minutes before class starts, but everyone finds him both piteous, and a huge nerd -Freddy can’t help that he’s really into superhero’s-, so everyone ignores him.

It’s not the glamours life he’d imagined himself living, but it’s better than being couped up inside of the house all day.

After the final bell of the day rings, he’ll rush to get out before anyone can stop him, and jumps in the car which Eddie is driving. Eddie has never witnessed any bullying, but he’s never been late either. Not until today.

Under normal circumstances, his dad would be awaiting him in the car at the parking lot, standing ready for when school ends. Today, Eddie’s black SUV is nowhere to be seen. Freddy’s eyes float across the parking lot three times, hoping every time that he just somehow missed him, but he ends up empty handed.

‘Shit’, he curses, knowing full well that that is not going to have a happy ending for him. He tries to back out and walk into school quickly, but before he can, his arm is gripped tightly, while another set of hands rips his crutch from him. Freddy flails you grab it again, needing it o balance himself, but it’s useless, he watches in helplessly and in shame as his crutch goes flying over the side walk.

There are other people outside too, but they don’t pay attention. Or maybe they do, but they don’t have the gal to speak up.

Trent, his number one bully and the only one offering him ‘support’ right now, begins to sway them dangerously.

‘Stop’, Freddy protests, but his pleas are ignored. Trent and his posse laugh at him, and push him to the ground.

Freddy angles himself so that he falls onto the grass instead of the concrete, to safe himself from bruises, but now he has green stains on his pants that he knows his dad will question. It’s the lesser of two evils.

‘Oops- sorry about that Fred, I though you would be able to fly, you know with that superpower you so love’

Freddy understands he’s being bated, but physically, he’s not match to Trent or his other bullies - not only because of his leg, but also because they are two years older than him and taller-, so he can only defend himself with words.

‘My favorite superpower is Invisibility, but I’m guessing yours is stupidity?’

Trent’s smirk falters, and he punishes the comment by pretending to stomp on Freddy’s leg. He stops last minute, but Freddy flinches in fear regardless.

‘Oh’, Trent coos, fist bumping his friend as they smirk. ‘What’s wrong little Freddy’, he starts talking in a baby voice, ‘can’t you get up?’

‘Your voices really suck,’ a voice coming from the opposite side reproaches. It only takes a second for Freddy to identify who the voice belongs too, it being so distinct he doesn’t need to conform it with his eyes. It’s Richie, who for some reason is picking him up instead of his dad.

That’s not too bad, Freddy resigns. He figures Richie is going to chase them off but will let the issue rest, and maybe with some tinkering Freddy can avoid Richie telling his dad about it all together.

Trent, unbothered by the unexpected witness to his behavior, snorts and flips Richie the bird.

‘Why don’t you move along old man? There’s nothing to see here.’

Freddy scrambles to get back up, seizing his opportunity to escape his doom, but one of Trent’s friends forces him back down. Freddy can’t bring anything against the gravity force, and lands on his back again. ‘Oof’, he breathes, winded.

Richie’s eyes flash with something Freddy has never seen before. Richie is the equivalent of a man child; goofy and energetic – sometimes-, and friendly to every person he meets. The glint of pure anger that is now flickering in his eyes is something Freddy would have never associated with him ever before. He looks like a different man.

‘Get the fuck away from him.’

Trent wants to laugh again, the corners of his mouth already quirking up in a sneer, but then his demeaner changes and he stops. ‘Wait, are you Trashmouth fucking Tozier?’

‘I’ll say it one more time, step away from him.’ Richie’s voice is calm, serious, cool and collected, and Freddy would be a little bit frightened if that was directed at him.

‘Hey man we were just having some fun. No need for such a big fuss.’

‘Yeah I’m sure it’s really funny for you jerks. You know what I find funny? Calling all your parents and letting them know what their kids have been up too lately. You know what else I find hilarious? Getting some assholes expelled after I threaten the principal with bad publicity. Do you find that funny?’

He could technically do that, Freddy reasons. Richie has a lot more influence now after his breakdown and miraculous comeback, such as appearing on SNL and doing a lot of interviews. He could, but Freddy is sure he would never go that far.

‘Fine, whatever. This nerd isn’t even worth it.’

Trent and his friends walk off fast, their dignity only intact because no one else was their to see them get on their asses by a forty year old man. It could be Freddy’s imagination, but he’s pretty sure he saw Trent blush in shame.

Freddy reaches for his crutch, and Richie rushes to bring it over and help him get into a standing position.

‘Little shits’, he mutters under his breath.

‘Ow, dude. You shouldn’t have done that, now I’m really in for it next week,’ Freddy complains as he watches the group march away. Richie pulls him in for a sideways hug, and Freddy forgets what he was so apprehensive about. During the hug, he’s just happy Richie was there for him, again.

‘They can try’, Richie accepts, but the way he protectively glares when Trent glances back proves he’s not going to let that slide.

‘Are you gonna tell my dad about this?’

‘I have to Freds, he’s your dad.’ Richie tells him honestly, and begins leading the two of them to his car. He drove his red sports car, notable to everyone. ‘But’, Richie says amicable, ‘I’ll compromise. What do you say to a good old fashioned round of bragging. I’ll drive you to school on Monday?’

Freddy grins elated. He couldn’t be happier with the pick his dad chose.

#reddie #My writing #richie tozier #richie and eddie #adult Richie #freddy freeman #freddy freeman imagines #eddie x freddy #richie x freddy #eddie as a parent #eddie as a dad #richie as a parent #RICHIE AS A DAD

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lilydalexf · 4 years

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with VivWiley

VivWiley has X-Files stories at more archives than I could list, but you can find the biggest collection (30 stories) at AO3. She's been prolific and around the fandom for a long time. I've recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Autumn's Threshold and Equilibrium. Big thanks to VivWiley for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It does and it doesn’t. As someone who is always discovering new shows and new fandoms, I know that one of the first things I do is go hunting for the related fic. I love the ways that fanfic can fill in missing gaps, give us other POVs, and just generally help us see characters that we love (or are growing to love) in new lights. The X-Files, in particular, left so many freaking plot holes and jumps in logic, that I suppose it’s logical that people newly discovering TXF would gravitate to the fic.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

First, I should say that my “fandom” experience was really limited to the fanfic for TXF. I didn’t get involved in discussions about the actors, the show runners, etc. Nor did I go to any of the conventions. But, from the fanfic experience, I remain astonished by how many smart, funny, wonderful women I met (sorry, guys, I know you were out there, but I mostly didn’t get to know you), and how many of them are still close friends. My life would be infinitely less interesting and rich without all those friendships.

I also took away from that experience a confidence in my own creativity that I didn’t previously have. I have done a great deal of professional writing throughout my career – policies, reports, protocols – but TXF fic writing allowed me to exercise a whole other part of my brain and heart. It was fun and also felt like another way of learning and building a skill set I’d lacked.

Finally, I say that it was an early exposure for me to both the good and ill that online communities can foster. There so many amazing acts of kindness and support. One of my friends organized the Beta Readers Circle, a group of volunteer fic editors who would read and help you with stories on everything from grammar to “is this character acting in character” questions. I both used and volunteered with the BRC. On the flip side, some of the discussion threads on the email lists could get a bit ugly. Forerunner to the comment threads on today’s posts. So, humanity in a nutshell, right?

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I initially discovered XF fic through a Washington Post article that was trying to drum up interest in the World Wide Web (as it was then talked about). Every week, they featured a list of “hey you might find this cool/interesting” sites, and one week one of the sites they listed was the Gossamer archive. I dove in and emerged utterly hooked. I also discovered one of the early fic mailing lists (the name of which now escapes me), and from there I began sending feedback, which allowed me to start building relationships with authors, etc. I later joined other mailing lists like Scullyfic, Sparky’s Doghouse, etc. I never connected with atxc or the message boards, really.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

The characters! Particularly Scully, at first. It was clear from almost the beginning that the “story arc” (or the notion that there actually was an arc) was pure fiction, but I loved the relationships between the characters, the nuances that so many of them had, and the interplay of the notion of skeptic-believer could have. And, of course, later on, Skinner was a personal favorite. [Lilydale note: VivWiley wrote a number of really great fics featuring Skinner.]

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

In many ways I think about TXF and TXF fandom in the same way I think about fond memories from high school or college. Something that helped shape who I am today, in ways that aren’t always straight-forwardly apparent. I still don’t really get involved (or care TBH) about the lives of the actors, the politics of the show construction, etc. I keep in touch with a large number of fandom alumni, and we will still occasionally reference the show, but our real-life connections have long-since overtaken TXF as our common denominator.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I read and wrote in several other fandoms post-XF, but nothing ever grabbed me in the same way, and I certainly never found the kind of real community that I did through XF.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I think I’m drawn to characters who are human – flawed, nuanced, neither purely good nor purely evil – and who are ultimately driven by higher principle or purpose, even as they make mistakes along the way. From early days, King Arthur was a particular favorite, as are Raederle from the Riddle Master of Hed series (Patricia McKillip), Sam Vines (Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series), and Codi Noline (Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver).

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I did watch the most recent reboot/seasons of XF (and try not to think of them too much as I don’t need that kind of stress). I do think about Mulder, Scully and Skinner on occasion. Sometimes when the news reports something particularly weird or absurd, I wonder how Mulder and Scully would react to that, or amuse myself by thinking about how Skinner would be clenching his jaw and subtly undermining the current misuse of federal law enforcement resources.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I still read a lot of fic. I kind of cycle through fandoms. I read a lot of Marvel stuff, but have gone through other fic cycles. I tend to find an author I like and then follow them into other fandoms. That is, if I can find characters and stories in those fandoms that call to me.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I’m a really old school XF ficcer, so some of the folks who drew me into the genre were writers like Madeleine Partous, Parrotfish, Meredith, MustangSally, Rivka, etc.

There are so, so many other writers and authors I could mention, so I think I’ll just stick to some of my early favs.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

In XF, my favorite is Equilibrium. It was the most plotting I’d done, and one where I wrote from several POVs and where I had to really let the characters tell the story. In order to avoid spoilers, I’ll just say that there was a moment where a character did something I thought was really stupid, and I actually quit writing the story for about a week during which I argued with the character. Then I had to go back and just let the story unfold. It’s the only time I’ve ever actually shed tears while writing a scene, but at the end of the day (end of the story?) it was the correct decision for the story I was writing.

Of other fandoms in which I’ve written, I think Fieldstripping (Farscape) and Gravity is not Responsible for your Fall (Firefly/Serenity) are ones where I felt I got it most “right.”

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I actually have a long Skinner-related story that I’ve been threatening to write for about 10 years. I have it 80% outlined and a very clear picture of the first and last scenes…. I just need to find the energy and focus to sit down and start writing. I think I finally tracked down all my old fic and it’s posted up to AO3.

What's the story behind your pen name?

Which one? Ha! I’ve had a few. Viv Wiley is a weird one – it just sort of came to me while driving one day. Not entirely sure where it came from, just settled into my brain while at a stoplight in Northern Virginia (where I was living at the time). I ultimately consolidated all my fic under that name.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

Some friends and family know. I’m judicious in who I tell. I think people find it surprising, and of course, up until 5 years ago or so, I’d have to explain what fanfic is to most folks. Now it’s so mainstream that I think if I were to tell someone new about it they wouldn’t be that surprised.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Everything is on AO3 under VivWiley

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

At the end of the day, what I care about is stories. I think about the Doctor Who quote: We’re all stories in the end, just make it a good one. I am so grateful for all the nooks, crannies, and giant chasms of plot holes that the XF writers left for us to fill in. Through that filling in, I discovered so many other wonderful stories, and wonderful writers and people.

(Posted by Lilydale on September 8, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #vivwiley #xf fanfic author interviews

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sunlightwoo · 3 years

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interview game ☼

rules: answer questions and tag 20 blogs you’d like to know better!

tagging whoever sees this, (just say i tagged you heheh but thank you for the tags: @elcie-chxn @chaoticdeobi @sankyeom @jaehyvnsvalentine )

name/nickname:

gina + sunshine because of my native birth name :)

pronouns:

she/her

star sign:

pisces-aries cusp, but i’m the most emotional pisces you’ll ever know

height:

... next question- (5′2/157 cm)

time:

12:30pm

when is your birthday:

thursday on march 18th :))

nationality:

vietnamese+chinese american

favourite band/groups:

my ults are ateez, the boyz and seventeen, but i also like nct, stray kids, bts, gravity, oneus, pentagon, etc. and i casually stan most of those groups and others + in terms of english songs, i really like five seconds of summer’s discography lol

favourite solo artists:

iu, chungha, taeyeon, heize, gummy, + more

song stuck in your head:

hurts like hell (acoustic version) - madison beer

last movie you watched:

hmmm i honestly do not remember to be honest, cause i rarely have times to watch some, but i think it was alive on netflix when i watched it with @viastro

last show you binged:

supernatural LOL

when you created your blog:

january 2019

last thing you googled:

looking for any asian markets close to my house for my mom

other blogs:

@starnightwoo - the main @babiesanshine - archive for my works and old fic recs @haokyeom - collab blog w @viastro for future collabs @shuanoot - i liked the name @sunoot / @sunflowersohn - i will cry over them if i remember to reblog on there

why i chose my url:

i like sunlight and i like sunwoo and puns

how many people are you following:

uhhh 261 but tbh i don’t look at my tumblr dash a lot to see what’s happening-

how many followers do you have:

268 away from my next milestone which is 3k

average hours of sleep:

HA... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA...... maybe 3 a week-

lucky number:

hmmm sometimes it’s 17, sometimes it’s 18, depends on how lucky i am with those numbers really

instruments:

i cannot play correctly for the life of me please

what i’m currently wearing:

joggers and a t shirt i got from catching it from one of those t-shirt cannons at a hockey game

dream job:

a music performer where i can be able to sing and dance and not look or sound dumb

dream trip:

i really want to explore europe and see why people fall in love with it, but i also wanna go anywhere like my mind is open to anything

favourite food:

i am a sucker for junk food

favourite song:

i’m biased but sunwoo’s photosynthesis, stay here by gah, sam smith’s discography-

top three fictional universes you’d like to live in:

i’m not sure where i’d want to live in, but hmm the percy jackson universe is my first pick for sure

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gophergal · 3 years

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Hooooo Boy! This took longer to write than I though, but with the help of @bucketofcowboys , I did it! (Encouragement from @bisexual-horror-fan was also a major motivator) enjoy this second chapter <3

I’m Not Lonely - Chapter Two

Word count:4 000+| Rating: M | Michael Myers x OC | M/F

Morning came, with all that entails. In the midst of her freshly awakened delirium, Jean was sure that the previous night's events had just been a strange dream. She'd been known to have dreams like that, especially when she was stressed. The paranoia induced by the news I listened to on the way home must have been the basis, she told herself. She had been exhausted and what she did in that dream was absolutely ridiculous. Never in a million years would she be so stupid as to do what she did. That would be like one of those foolish horror story protagonists that Jolene liked to tell her about. With a light chuckle, Jean changed out of her pajamas into the brown sweater and jeans she liked wear on cool mornings like this. There were plenty of things to do today, but none of them could be done on an empty stomach, so off to the kitchen it was.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room came into view, and suddenly her train of thought came to a screeching halt. The coveralls, with their dark stains and tears, lay on the floor, mocking her for her stupidity. Their owner, however, was absent, with no sign of his presence. Jean's heart began to beat far too fast in her chest as her mind raced with all the things that could go wrong. She turned suddenly to leave the room and crashed into a solid mass, stunning her for a moment. At once, she was hit with a wave of embarrassment as she was pressed against the chest of her uninvited guest.

“Oh! Excuse me, I didn't see you there,” She exclaimed, taking a step back from the man. Now, in the daylight, she could take the moment to realize how tall he was. He was about a whole foot taller taller than her, built like a football player, and, when she'd been pressed against him, solid muscle. “Um, I, well, I'm going to be making myself some breakfast. Would you like to join me in the kitchen?” He didn't answer, unsurprisingly, but she could feel his presence as she moved toward the other room. Her mind was a storm as she flipped an egg in the skillet. What am I even doing? She wondered, I don't know who the hell this guy is or what he did last night before he broke in.

Jean set a plate of eggs and toast in front of the stranger, then sat across from him with her own steaming plate. The air was heavy with tension as they sat, the man staring at Jean as she struggled to force her mouth to form words. Neither of them reach for their food and Jean feels the need to squirm in her seat. She spots her notebook and pen.

“Ah, I- Um, I never caught you name,” she pushed the paper and writing instrument toward him gently, “Mine's Jeanette. Jeanette Parrish. Well, I just go by Jean, because that's what everyone calls me.” She stuttered out. She would almost feel embarrassed if he weren't watching her in such an intimidating way. Like an owl watching a mouse scurry across the forest floor, waiting for the moment to swoop down with its talons bared.

Stop that, she thought to herself, you're working yourself up over nothing. The little voice of common sense returned, Or not. He very well could be dangerous. After all, how many good men just break into a person's home covered in blood, refusing to speak? Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the thoughts racing in her head, Jean pushed herself up from the seat a bit too forcefully, nearly knocking her half eaten breakfast off the table. She needed air. Somewhere without his eyes on her, forcing her mind to spin wild thoughts. She went outside to the utility shed, a basket of dirty laundry (she'd grabbed the filthy jumpsuit without thinking on her way out) pressed to her hip as she exited. The washing machine was set up to cycle and she leaned against it as it filled with water.

She let out a shaky breath, tapping her fingers against the cold metal as she calmed. The machine hummed and shook as it worked, the rhythm of it lulling her into a sort of relaxing trance, broken by the buzz signaling the cycle's completion. On autopilot, she removed the garments from the washer's drum and took them to the line, performing the repetitive motion of hanging them up to dry. When done, she went back inside, seeing no sign of the man when she did. He wasn't in the kitchen, where she had left him, the only sign of him being on the table, where his empty plate sat beside the notebook. Jean was amazed to see a name written down on the paper in a childish, unpracticed scrawl. “Michael,” she read softly to herself. Well, that answers one thing, she thought, but leaves a lot more for me to wonder about.

Michael watched from threshold undetected as the woman, Jean, flit around the kitchen tidying things up and washing the plates and silverware. She moved with purpose and care, reminding him much of the few nurses who cared for him in the sanitarium. One question kept coming to him, however: how stupid was this woman? When she first saw him, she did not scream or beg, or even run away. No, this one stood her ground against him, a thing of pure evil, silent and horrific. Admittedly, it intrigued him, her strangeness. He realized that she lived alone, yet appeared no older than his escaped prey, Laurie. Young women didn't tend to live alone, only old women and men did. She would have been an easy kill, had he chosen to do so.

Why hadn't he? Well he hadn't wanted to, of course. Why hadn't he, though? Enough. He wouldn't waste time on this line of thought for longer than he needed to. Only because you have no answer, The Shape spoke. He supposed that was true. He felt the same urges he had when seeing those girls Laurie surrounded herself with. The same urge he felt when he was young, seeing the life leave Judith. Jean was beautiful, and there was only one thing a devil could ever do to beautiful things: destroy them.

Jean felt eyes on her back as she put the clean, dry plates in the cabinet. She twirled around to see Michael in the threshold, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. She started to move again, not even noticing the pause she made in her movements. She walked past Michael into the living room, deciding to straighten the book shelves and sweep the floor. The usual intense focus she would fall into refused to come, the presence of another body too distracting for her to push from her mind. Why won't he leave, she wondered quietly.

Eventually, she gave up on the endeavor, choosing to flop onto the couch, frustrated. She picked up the book on the end table. Well, I could always start that book Jo recommended to me, she considered as she opened the book. She'd only gotten a few lines in when she felt breath on her shoulder, causing her to hesitantly look to the source. Michael stood, head tilted like a confused pup. She swallowed and pointed to the book, “Have you read this one? My coworker said it was good, but I'm not very fond of scary stories,” she said, “but, if you wanted, I could read it aloud and we could experience it together? You might want to sit down if that's the case.”

Truthfully, she just wanted him to stop hovering uncomfortably behind her like a cat ready to pounce. To her surprise, he did, though a bit closer than she was comfortable with, a closeness which was increased by gravity pulling her to the low spot made by his superior weight. She cleared her throat, “Well, I suppose I should start then,” a pause as she readied herself to read, “Chapter one: Job Interview. Jack Torrance thought: Officious little prick...”

She read until she could read no more, Michael sitting as still as a cold marble slab next to her on the old couch. When she looked up, throat scratching from the use, she noticed that it was quite dark outside and, upon looking at the clock, realized that she had missed dinnertime and her stomach was quick to confirm. Dog-earring the page she was reading, Jean set the book back on the table, rushing to the kitchen to get something to eat. She eats a plate of leftover meatloaf that had been in the refrigerator, and left a plate for Michael, should he decide to have some. With a yawn, she turned off the light in the kitchen, slinking up the stairs and looking over to the couch where Michael still sat.

The bedroom door was shut firmly behind her and she turned the lock to give her peace of mind while she slept. Are you so sure that will keep you safe, her common sense questions, when he's so close by? She pushed it from her mind, it's all she could do if she wanted to sleep. Besides, becoming paranoid wouldn't serve her well either. The bed wasn't comfortable enough to counter her stress and confusion over the situation she'd gotten herself into.

Jean awoke abruptly, horribly aware on this morning that the previous day and night were not, in fact, dreams. She was also horribly aware that she would have to leave her room at some point that day. Oh shit, she thought, I have to work tonight. Snuggling further into the soft comforter on the bed, she grumbled internally. She didn't hate her job, but she sure as hell didn't like it. Annoying, entitled customers weren't the only thing she disliked about it, but they were a big part of it. The next man to call her “sugar tits”, “babydoll”, or anything overly familiar was going to have to get her fist surgically removed from his face. She was a waitress, goddamnit, not a whore! And even whores deserved more respect than that. Both she and they were just working women, after all. How could that ever be undeserving of basic human dignity?

Rolling out of bed, she hissed at the cold hardwood under her bare feet. The weather is cooling rather quickly, she noted as she put on slippers, unlocked the door, and braced herself as she tiptoed down the stairs. There was no sign of Michael, which seemed to be the norm with him. She half expected to run into him again as she had the previous morning. He wasn't in the kitchen either. Or the bathroom. Or the closet. Not hiding behind her like the shadowy creature in an old monster movie. Finally, she checked the backyard, only to see that the man's coveralls were missing and in there place the clothes he'd borrowed had been lazily draped over the line.

It was- surreal in a way. He was gone just as abruptly as he'd appeared. It was almost sad to have him gone, in a strange way. The house felt emptier, like it was missing something. She shook her head. No, this was the way it was meant to be. She could only hope that he didn't decide to return. That settles that, she thought to herself, now I can just live my life in peace. All that left for her to do was get some breakfast and enjoy some time to herself. Same thing as every day. Eggs and toast. Get dressed. Tidy the house. Sit and read. She felt odd picking up The Shining again. It's rude to read ahead when you're trying to share a book after all. She put it down without a second thought. Picking up an old favorite, she began to read it all over again. It must have been the- what? Tenth time? Something like that. It was a comforting book to read, after all.

Soon enough, it came time to ready herself for the long shift ahead. Her clean, wrinkle-free pink blouse and black skirt reflected back at her in the mirror as she pulled her hair into a half ponytail in the back. She dragged herself to the car, an old gray clunker that had to be from the last decade or so. Jean didn't really know. It was granddad's from when he was a younger man, but she remembered how her brain would shut down every time he tried to talk cars at her. At least she knew how to change tires and oil, the mechanic could worry about everything else.

The door to the diner section of the truck stop swung open as Jean walked in. There was only one patron sitting at a table, a plate of meat and potatoes set before him. He looked up at Jean and gave her a friendly nod, which she returned with a smile. At least he wouldn't be a nuisance tonight. She walked back into the kitchen where Jolene leaned against a counter top as she chatted with Gus, the cook. He was a big man who's heart was as big as his biceps. He was an amazing cook too and, oftentimes, it made Jean wonder why he hadn't become a chef at some big fancy restaurant. He noticed her and grinned.

“Hey Jean, did you have a good day off?” he asked, deep voice carrying over to her. Jolene seemed to light up, turning to look at Jean.

“Yeah, it's never as fun around here without you!” she said. Jean smiled.

“Oh, y'know, same old, same old. I started reading that book you recommended to me though!”

“Really? What do you think? I know you're not one for scary stories, but I thought you might like this one.”

“Pretty good so far, actually. I didn't think I'd like it, but I've enjoyed it quite a bit. I like the atmosphere the author's set.” Jolene smiled at that.

“That makes me really happy, Jean. Now if only you'd just-”

The redhead was cut off by the jingle of the door as a customer stepped into the establishment. Jean flashed her a small smile as she made her way over to where the man sat down. She knew exactly what Jo was about to say next and felt as though she'd dodged a bullet when she got away. Now she'd just have to be sure she wasn't hit by the ricochet when they took their break. “Now sir, what can I get you?”

Finally, a quiet moment came where no customers sat in the dining area. Jean took the moment to join Jo as she left out the back door. Jolene stood in the light of the small bulb that flickered above the back door. She puffed away at a cigarette that she clenched between her peach toned lips. A grin quirked up to her lips when she noticed Jean, who sighed as she prepared for the usual lecture Jo liked to give her.

“Oh Jean, you wouldn't believe the guy that came in here yesterday,” Jo began, taking a pull off the dwindling white stick, “guy waltzes in like he thinks he's hot shit. Couldn't be any older than, what? Sixteen, I'd guess. Just some dumb fucking kid. And he says to me Ay, dollface, how's 'bout you get me a beer?”

She throws her hair around, “As if he thinks we won't card him, ha! I tell him about as much and say I'll bring him a soda, so Mr Tough Guy gets pissy, but agrees. When I leave to go get it though, the little bastard grabs my ass! What a pig, am I right?

Well, I know he's lucky that you weren't here because you would've been on him like that!” she snaps for effect, “well, Gus just threw him out and made sure I was ok, but still, what a little creep!” She finishes, throwing her hands up in the air as she did.

“Wow,” Jean began, a bit confused as she always was when Jo would go off on a rant like that, “the nerve of some people! You're right, I would've taught him some manners right then and there. Little bastard.” She swore.

“It's no big deal, I guess. It's not like I'm hurt or anything.”

“That's not the point! You know I can't stand when people like that act like they can just do whatever the hell they want.”

“I know, but there's no need to worry about it. Gus took care of it.”

“Not as harshly as he should have.”

“Well, you know that's just not how he rolls.”

“I do.”

“Now-”

“Oh no.”

“Don't you Oh no me! You didn't call my buddy Robert back!” She threw her hands to her hips, her brows furrowed.

“Jo, please-”

“You promised me that you'd give him a chance, Jean.”

“I did. We just didn't hit it off, I guess.”

“Ugh, that doesn't mean you get to be rude to the guy. The best thing to do is tell him up front.”

“I'm sorry,” and she was. Jo was just trying to help her, in her own way. This was the third guy she'd set Jean up with. It was sweet of her, but the help was unneeded and very much unwanted.

“I'm just- Well, I'm just worried about you. I don't want you to end up a lonely old woman, bitter because you never found anyone.”

“According to you, I'm there already,” Jean said, chuckling.

“Laugh it up, but when that happens you'll think: Oh, how I wish I listened to Jolene! She's always been so smart, why did I disregard her advice!” she danced about dramatically as she said this, throwing an arm over her head with the last word, making Jean snort-laugh.

“Alright, alright, you have a point.”

“Yes, I do! Now do you promise to keep an open mind?”

“Of course.”

“Pinkie promise?”

“Yes,” she said, holding out the finger, which Jo hooked with her own. The door opened gently and Gus stopped it with his foot.

“Something I missed?” he asked softly.

“No, no,” Jo laughed, “nothing at all!” Gus rolled his eyes.

“A'right then, well your break's up, ladies,” he said, holding the door open more so that they could enter.

Jean felt light as she drove home from work. Her shoulders were relaxed as the blackness surrounding her passed by. Talking to Jo and Gus was like therapy for her. She could almost push Michael and his intrusion from her mind. Almost. She was still a little worried that he'd show back up in the night. Thankfully, there was no figure on her couch when she unlocked and opened the door (making very sure to lock it back after her). There was no man sat at her table, no towering mass in her corner with intense black eye holes that made her feel weak and small. And that was how it stayed for days. That's how it stayed when she woke up to eat eggs and toast. That's how it was when she went to work and when she got home. For about two weeks.

She got home after a late shift, more tired than she had been in a long while. It had been the stress, she guessed, of Jo reminding her that she had no plans for the holidays that were rapidly approaching. No loving husband and in laws to fill her home with joyful voices and good memories. Being alone had its downsides, it seemed. She flopped straight into bed with a muffled groan of annoyance, then fell asleep with ease. It was also with ease, however, that she was awoken. First slowly by the creaking of her window and the cool breeze that came through it, but then abruptly by the sudden presence at the end of her bed.

The foreboding black shadow just stood there, the moonlight obscuring the figure in silhouette. She at once felt panic rush through her veins as she kicked her legs out. They connected with the figure's abdomen, forcing a deep strangled grunt from it. She flipped out of the bed, staggering to her feet as they tried to carry her to the exit. Her arm was grabbed, causing her to slip and nearly fall, had she not been pulled roughly to the figure's solid chest. She struck out with her free hand wildly, which was caught in a vice-like grip and, using the leverage gained from having her hands in its grasp, the figure pushed her roughly against the wall, pinning her and knocking the air from her lungs. The figure breathed heavily.

Jean squirmed helplessly against the wall, her torso bared vulnerably to her attacker. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away and holding her breath as she waited for the inevitable. When nothing happened she opened her eyes and looked back, catching the sight of a telltale white mask and blue coveralls. “What the hell, Michael?” She breathed through a clenched jaw. He responded with a head tilt, as though he saw no issue with the situation at hand.

“You can't just do that!” She yelled, which amused him because he could, and he did.

“Can I at least have my arms back?” She asked, as he pretended not to hear her, keeping her arms in his cruel grip.

“I'm sorry I kicked you, but you have to understand that I was afraid I would really be killed- Or worse!” Were he any other man, Michael would have chuckled. Not yet, Jean, the Shape supplied for him. That would have to wait. Regardless, he released her wrists, which she rubbed gratefully. She left the room, pausing to look over her shoulder expectantly, almost like she was waiting for him to follow her. And so he did, down the stairs and into the living room where she plopped herself down on the couch. He sat beside her, feeling as she leaned against him at first, then readjusted herself on the couch.

“It's been a while, huh?” She said softly, peering at him nervously. “Well, I'll admit, I can't get back to sleep with all this excitement. I'd like to read our book. Would you like that?” He tilted his head, first to one side, then to the other, which she took as a yes of sorts. She cleared her throat, then picked up the book, “Alright-y, where were we? Aha! There!” And she began to read.

Michael didn't pay much attention to what she was reading to him. On occasion, he would tune back in to her words to catch bits of the plot. Not that it interested him, but her voice, on the other hand- It was mesmerizing. He'd heard women's voices before. Obviously. Usually they held the tone of disinterested disgust, much like the nurses at the sanitarium. Sometimes it was in the midst of a pleasured moan, much like his sister, Judith mere moments before her life ended. Best of all was their fear, their pain, their death. The sound of it intoxicating, filling him with a sense of control and satisfaction. Something about Jean's voice, however, was very different.

When he heard her voice, regardless of what he would think on first seeing her (that being the desire to snuff her out like a candle), he would begin to feel a sense of calm wash over him. He felt like a child again, hearing his mother speak to him in soft tones. Mother. She wasn't quite like his mother, this woman, but it was a closer comparison than to either of his sisters. She was caring. Not like the nurses, with their fake chipper tones and needles filled with numbing drugs. No, she was real. For a moment, when she bandaged his wounds, he remembered Sunday school and the stories of angels he was told. Is this an angel? He asked the Shape. No, it responded angrily, this is flesh and blood. This is for you to rip and shred. To break into a million pieces. But not now, not yet. Now you wait. Now you remain patient.

And so he did.

#michael myers #slasher x oc #slashers #michael myers x oc #gopher writes #I'm Not Lonely

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whump-only · 3 years

Photo

Just Another Interview -- BTHB Betrayal

It’s been a while since we last checked in on Six, our ghost seeing friend who’s the unlucky captive of an organized crime network that finds his talents... useful

tw: physical abuse/manhandling, murder, bleeding nose, choking, captivity

----------------

Six was terribly bored. Gus was doing his lecture about not screwing around, best behavior for the customer.

Six tapped a quiet rhythm on the underside of the interview table with his handcuffs. The light was way too bright and would surely soon tip his headache into a migraine. He shared an exasperated look with Delaney.

Suddenly, Gus grabbed Six’s hair and jerked hard, making Six face him. “You’re not listening, jackass. What did I just say?”

Oops, Gus had him there.

Delaney bailed him out, like a champion. “He was telling you to be serious for once.”

“Uhh. Be serious for once?” grinned Six.

“I saw you glancing at your ghost friend, dipshit. For the love of god, find your single brain cell and use it. Please,” replied Gus, and after a final jerk, let go of Six’s hair.

Six slumped over the table as Gus walked out.

“You think I can get him to slam my head into the table hard enough this time? He just needs to put his back into it,” said Six.

Delaney just shook her head, frowning. She didn’t like this running gag.

Gus walked back in, leading a nervous looking middle aged lady. From the look of her suit, she was expensive, but all the visitors were. She sat down in the folding chair across from Six.

“Welcome, welcome,” said Six, “Make yourself comfortable. Did you get to sample the cucumber water?”

He didn’t have a moment to enjoy the lady’s confused face, as Gus wasted no time grabbing him by the throat. Gus muttered, “Don’t fucking start. Just don’t,” and held the bruising grip until Six was flailing so hard he nearly kicked the table over. Gus let go.

Six coughed violently for a moment, then cleared his aching throat. “He’s got a choking kink,” he rasped, winking at the lady. Gus growled in rage and Six nearly fell out of his seat dodging a punch.

“Sorry sorry, I’m done, I’m doneImdone,” Six said, holding up his cuffed hands for protection. Gus backed off.

“Please excuse us,” Gus said, settling back into his corner. “Like I said, we haven’t figured out how to cure whatever’s wrong with him. Go ahead, show him the first object.”

“Ok. Sammy kept this with him nearly always so maybe...” The lady fumbled with her purse.

A “watch out,” barely tumbled out of Delaney’s mouth before the woman slapped a large switchblade onto the table. It was visibly warping the air around it. Six could feel the pull of it’s hot gravity from a few feet away. Definitely haunted but the spirit energy was... weird.

“Who’s this?” Six said, scooting just an inch away from it.

The lady cleared her throat. “Who? This is my son’s hunting knife. Will it work?”

“Misfire,” said Delaney, as a swath of ducks began twisting and writhing out of the knife. They squawked, rained feathers as they flapped into the air before crashed down, others keeled over right away, gushing blood from their necks, twitching horribly.

“Ugh.” Six made a face. Some of the birds began to fade away on their own. He couldn’t help animals find peace, unlike humans. Some animal spirits dissolved right away, while others stuck around. Six didn’t mind animal spirits, usually. But it was awkward when they materialized in gruesome form. Six was a staunch vegan since he was nine years old.

“What is it! Is he here? Sammy!” the woman said.

“No. Shut up. A bunch of birds were bonded to the knife that I’m assuming ended them. What a cheery little hobby your son has,” Six said, shaking his head.

“Less attitude, medium,” Gus warned.

Six sighed. “Anyway, what else you got?”

The lady rustled around in her bag again.

“Wait! Six. Look,” Delaney said. “Someone’s there.”

The air was warping around the knife, in an agitated swirl.

“Fuck.” Six gave Delaney puppy dog eyes, like maybe they could skip this one and tell the lady it’s nothing?

Delaney looked at him sympathetically. She didn’t have to say it.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Six said, standing up. “Back up, lady.”

The lady gaped at him, but Gus, in a rare moment of clarity, stood and took the lady by the arm, getting her to back up.

Six looked to Delaney for support. “Five minutes only.” Delaney nodded.

Six took a couple deep breaths, then pounced onto the knife with both hands.

A nerve shredding current surged through his body, knocking him back. He heard himself scream distantly, in the physical world, while he was tipped back into electric blackness and dark static.

The Subconscious. He didn’t really know what it was, but that’s what he called it. He felt the intruder clawing itself into control, shedding sharp memories that crackled, struck, and dissolved. He avoided touching them. Getting lost in any one of these memories was dangerous while he wasn’t in control of his body.

Suddenly a screen materialized. It was deep in the dark static, far away. On it was the unmistakable interview room, with the lady and Gus in frame. The spirit had opened Six’s eyes.

A voice echoed, from all sides in his brain, and also, distantly, in his own voice, out there. “Where am I?”

Six pushed toward the screen. The lady was speaking from outside but to Six it was all warped and heavy.

“Sammy. Sammy! Uuuuuurrhhh. Don’t say that name to me!” the spirit roared deafeningly and a gale of hot wind battered Six. Not the woman’s son, thought Six. Who is this guy?

“Sammy...” the voice caught with a sob, “my friend... no...noooo. NOO!”

The blackness around Six began to tip and swirl and grow wet and thick, but Six swam and crawled forward, through the ink, finally getting up close to the screen.

Sure enough, there was the form of the man, curled up below the screen. His body was made of the goo that everything else was made of. He looked up with bright bulging eyes as Six approached.

“Who are you? Unnnnnn,” he asked.

“I could ask you the same question. You’re in my body,” said Six.

“Oh. Who am I? Uuuuung. I’m Dustin Polaris,” said the man, turning away, dully. “...I’m Dustin and I’m dead.”

“You’re stuck in the living world,” Six informed him. “You don’t belong here.”

Words were spoken out there, but by the time they made it down here, they were warbled and dimmed by too many layers of static. But Dustin was fixated on the screen, hearing it all directly from Six’s ears. Dustin howled loudly. “No. He did this to me. Uuuuugh. Look at me!”

Dustin suddenly turned around to face Six. Black goo gushed out of his neck, spraying ahead of him.

Six clicked his tongue. “Look at the screen. Think. Focus. Show me what I need to see.”

The man looked up at the screen. Six felt the hot winds swirling again.

The screen flickered to show two young men kissing, fooling around on a bed, one presumably Dustin. The screen flipped from one memory to another, falling in the snow, holdings hands, conversations, movies, sex, flashes rolling faster and faster as Dustin discarded them, threw them aside.

“I loved him,” Dustin said bitterly.

“I know,” Six said. “But he betrayed you, didn’t he?”

Dustin roared, “He took everything.”

The screen flashed and sizzled with fights, screaming, crying, crashing thing, pain. “He burned my life to the ground... I trusted him.”

Six became distantly aware that his fingers, his real life fingers, were locked around the hilt of the knife, that was flicked open.

“He took me on a trip. To patch things up, naturally... I was going to leave him after this. ha ha ha.” The screen suddenly stopped flashing, fixed on a single memory. Treetops rustling. A clearing, grasses. The image swung toward a duck, shot in the grass. Hands are working it, ringing its neck. The image twists, a turn of a head, to see a man, the man from the memories, baring down fast, stabbing down again and again. Blood.

“He cut my throat! He took my life! Do you see now?!” Dustin roared.

Six’s arms, heavy and slow, swung up. Oh shit, Six thought, and threw all his might into keeping the arms down.

The spirit’s goo body stood to face the screen, focused on the woman out there. “I know you. Unnnng. I ... hate.”

Six’s body lurched forward, bashing into the interview table. An electricity ripped through his arms, sparking and burning, tearing it in two directions. The dark space around them erupted into prickling static as Six pushed against Dustin’s spirit. Six felt like he was breathing splinters.

Suddenly, Delaney’s voice echoed through both them. “Dustin. Listen to me. Sammy is evil. You’re right to hate him...”

Between her words, Six strained to push his arms down as the screaming static wavered...

“He’s the worst kind of person and you got caught up in his spell...” Delaney’s voice, so even, almost like a caress.

Six finally wrenched down his arms as Dustin weakened.

Delaney continued. “But that’s ok. He ended your life but he didn’t take it. It’s still yours, your life. Focus on the people who treated you right. Who made your time worthwhile.”

With the static simmering lower, Six saw Delaney’s form, helping the man to his melting feet, directing him to look at the screen again.

“Focus Dustin. Who was good to you? Show us,” she said.

Six began to loosen his grip on the knife one finger at a time. Pinky up. Ring finger up. He could drop it now, just one more... finger...

The screen flashed again. Images of a dog. Friends laughing. Swimming. An older man, on a porch. A schoolroom.

Six felt Dustin’s presence growing calm. The knife fell to the floor, or Six assumed it did.

Six thought out loud, “You were loved Dustin. Deeply and truly. Your life was good.”

Dustin nodded and the room began to warp into a viscous, runny, goo. He was loosening his grip on this world. “I’m gonna miss them.”

“And they miss you. They mourn you...” Delaney kept talking...

Meanwhile, Six shuddered away. He lost his footing and sank into the floor, fell into darkness. He was falling through nothing but he knew he was dropping toward something. Whether Delaney was finished or not, he’d have to kick this spirit out before he hit the ground, or whatever it was down here. He didn’t know. Maybe there was no bottom.

Delaney’s voice, now far away. “Six. Wake up. He’s gone. Come back.”

Six suddenly felt very alone. Delaney had left. Maybe forever. Did he dream her? Or was it someone else’s memory... “Come back.”

Six let himself grow big, faster than the infinite space grew, until finally he finally reached the edge with himself, and felt his own body, his skin touching the ... floor. He was back. His head hurt.

———

Gus held out an arm to keep Ms. [last name] back, though she didn’t seem to have a desire to jump forward. She’d gone pale and silent, watching the medium twitch on the floor.

Six finally, went stiff, then, in classic form, shuddered, and went still. Gus counted five, four, three... Six rolled onto his back with a groan, raising an arm to cover his eyes. “I hate doing knives.” He was back. “It’s always something like that.”

Six smeared his nosebleed across his face with his arm.

“Lovely,” Gus said.

“Delaney, where are you?” Six whined. He always acted like a baby after possessions. “I wish I could kiss you, you know that?”

“I’m sure you don’t mean me,” Gus said, amusing himself.

Six seemed to ignore him. “Standing is overrated,” he said, and shifted himself under the interview table.

Did he expect to be carried out?

[Last name] found her voice. “Wait. It can’t be. My son... I— I don’t believe!”

“You heard it as well as I did, sis. Go home, get some therapy, and hand that murder weapon to the police,” Six mumbled, curling up, pressing his temples.

The lady was shaking, and Gus felt a little bad for her. She was in shock. “No, you’re lying. It’s a sick game for you, isn’t it?”

Gus groaned. That line of accusation never failed to get the medium agitated.

“What single fucking reason in the world would I have to pretend to be a jerking off little puppet for you?” Six said hotly, then winced.

“Six. Manners,” Gus said, saying it more for the woman’s assurance, rather than any conviction that Six would listen.

“Look, I didn’t pay to speak to Dustin as much as... It couldn’t have really been Dustin? Is... is my son dead? Can I talk to him— I just need to talk, to him, to my son,” Ms. [Last Name] insisted.

“Tough fucking luck. You brought the knife, I talked to the knife. I’m done. Come back again soon—“ Six snapped.

The lady looked to Gus. “Sir, I have more items, photographs, I came to summon my son—“

“—Ma’am. I’m very sorry. But we’re very clear, we don’t guarantee desired results, just a seance. You can always come back again for another session,” Gus said.

“What, and part with another $5,000? Where a dirty, rude, insane man lunges at me with a knife and screams for twenty minutes?” the woman stormed.

“While I agree with you, it’s not very nice to call Gus names,” Six said. The little shit was always testiest in front of customers because he knew Gus couldn’t snap his limbs off.

The woman turned to Gus, begging, “Please just check his photograph, check the other things. I need this, I need your help, please.”

Gus sighed. “Get up, idiot. You’re going to check the other things for Ms. [last name].”

“Like hell I am,” Six muttered.

Gus dragged the insolent shit out from under the table, threw him into his chair. “You will.”

Six groaned dramatically. “Fine. As long as I can eat after this. I’m starved. Gimme,” he stretched out his hands.

———

Six was sleeping (or something, it was hard to tell with him) on the floor when Gus returned from escorting Ms. [Last name] back up to the street.

Six shifted up to look at the door, blood smear now dried across his cheek. “What’s for lunch. Or dinner. Whatever time it is. We’re hungry.”

“Later. I have lentil soup,” Gus said, shifting the interview table out of the way.

“What do you mean later! I’m hungry! I did the thing, didn’t I?!” Six said, pouting.

“Don’t whine. But yes, you did the thing,” Gus admitted. He supposed it went about as well as could be expected. “Better control than last time. I was worried you’d let yourself jump knife first into the client.”

“Yeah but I didn’t...” Six braced himself against the table, got to his feet. “Delaney helped. She says Thai food would be sufficient reward for her services.”

Gus wasn’t out here rewarding anyone for their services, let alone ghosts. “Ghosts don’t eat. And you’ll eat what I have,” Gus replied.

“I eat for both of us, and Delaney wants Thai,” Six said, patting his stomach.

“I’ll think about it,” Gus sighed.

Six crossed his arms and glared, refusing to move. Gus twitched in anger. Twenty seven years old and still throwing tantrums.

“Do you really want to do this right now?” Gus said.

“I earned it. I played your game. It’s not fair,” he replied, “with all that money you make off me, can’t you—“

Gus couldn’t deal with this right now. He wanted to go home early. “Shut it. Shut it. You’re an idiot. Don’t throw away my good graces. If you can believe it, I’m not pissed off at you yet—“

“Oh, cool better have your worthless good graces. What do I care about that? What, you won’t punch me again?” Six said.

Gus growled and kicked the medium in the stomach hard enough to throw him a couple feet. “Exactly. Now you’re catching on.”

While the medium gasped with pain, Gus took advantage of the moment Six’s mouth wasn’t running itself into a deeper hole. “I hate giving you choices because you’re so unbearably stupid. Choice one. I go and get my whip, and we sit here until you can count twenty in a row. Then you get to stay here, without food, until tomorrow morning, at which point we’ll reassess if you earned soup. Option two. You get your sniveling ass up and back to your cell. You eat the fucking soup, or don’t, I frankly don’t care. Which will it be?”

“Ok, but what if—“

Gus stopped him. “No. No. If you open your jackass mouth and say something other than ‘one’ or ‘two,’ I’ll choose a third option, which I guarantee you’ll like even—“

“Fine, fine, gimme the stupid soup,” Six huffed.

“Atta boy, medium,” Gus said.

Six muttered something that Gus chose to ignore. He wanted to go home after this.

#six the medium #manhandling #whump writing #bhtb betrayal #bthb #physical abuse #tw blood #tw captivity #tw choking

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deidaratheartboi · 3 years

Conversation

Akatsuki Show Part 5

Kevin: Welcome baaaaccccckkkkk everyone today we are doing things different. We have decided to partner with Tobi Tea to host and fund these events. Now some of you may have heard of it and some of you may have not. But, either way it's gonna be a blast. Now as I said last time we are switching things up as in switching partners.

Kisame: I think the fuck not

Deidara: Tobi that weasel!

Sasori: I hate him

Hidan: Damn Tobi really do us like that.

Kakuzu: He's getting the money isn't he? Besides he said he'll give half to me.

Hidan: Oh how lucky for you

Kevin: If you guys look on the board you will see you and your new partner names.

Sasori: How did boss allow this

Deidara: I don't know

The board

Hidan is now with Kisame.

Deidara is now with Kakuzu

Sasori is now with Konan.

Pain is now with Itachi.

Hidan: Damn

Sasori: Hey what about Zetsu?

Kevin: He's Tobi's Co Host

Pain: That son of a bitch

Kakuzu: Never trust plants

Kevin: Now go and have fun guys.

Tobi: Yeah guys

Deidara: Don't talk to us Tobi

Tobi: :c

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At the hideout with Hidan and Kisame.

Hidan: I can't believe Tobi would do this to us!

Kisame: I mean he is succeeding shouldn't we be proud?

Hidan: No we shouldn't that ass hat practically sold us!

Kisame: Well the past is past. How about some tea and donuts?

Hidan: Your even more of a stick in the mud then Kakuzu

Kisame: Am not

Hidan: Then watch Gravity Falls with me

Kisame: Fine

After binge watching the whole ass show.

Hidan: GODDAMNIT BILL WHY DID YOU LOSE I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU! YOU LOST TO TWO DAMN KIDS AND TWO CRUSTY OLD MEN.

Kisame: If Bill didn't let his pride and his want for vengeance get in the way he might have won. When he had them he could have just as easily killed them and took whatever it was he wanted from the uncles.

Hidan: I guess your right but, damnit Bill. The bad guys always lose or turn good or some plot armor shit

Kisame: I think it was an amazing show.

Hidan: Really?

Kisame: Yes the characters were all interesting even the villains and minor ones, the buildup to the end is neat, and it kinda teaches you something about life.

Hidan: But, what gets o my damn nerves is Mabel. She says Dipper is selfish when all he has done is sacrifice for her. Like damn kid give him a break your worried about friends and he's worried about life as you know it.

Kisame: Yes she is a bit annoying. Who's your favorite chracter?

Hidan: Bill duh. He seems all nice and stuff but, before you know it it's too late. Notice what all is victims have in common? Desperation? All of them were so desperate to achieve something they would do anything to get it. He takes advantage of their weaknesses and exploits them. It's amazing he's so damn smart. And ya know what else is funny? Bill being a dream demon can only go into people's minds with the consent of people. He may be evil and shit but, without those people he wouldn't have gotten far. He brings out their flaws and weaknesses therefore they can't really blame him for it. I love him because he's such a complex character. (Not me making a whole speech on this nope)

Kisame: Wow your pretty smart to notice it too

Hidan: Heh thanks

Kisame: I get what your saying about Mabel but, she is a kid and kids are more likely to make more selfish choices then adults. But, when it come to character development she hasn't developed much like Dipper or Stanley. But, it's funny because when Bill brings it up about Dipper having to constantly having to sacrifice for Mabel that seems to be the main reason fans hate her. It's almost as if Bill is manipulating the audience watching as well.

Hidan: Woah that's some fourth wall breaking. Am I right author? Making us talk about Gravity Falls?

(I'm sorry back to the real story I just wanted to rant how good this show was)

Hidan: This wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be

Kisame: Yeah this was really fun

Hidan: Perhaps we can watch another one next later?

Kisame: Yeah

Leon walks in

Hidan yeets him out.

Kisame: Thank god

--------------------------------------------------------------

Kevin: They seem to be doing just fine. Let's check in on Deidara and Kakuzu.

Tobi: SENNPAAAAII

Greg: Team Bill

Jorge: I don't care what anyone says Mabel hella annoying

Rianna: But, Kisame did say she was just a kid. I like the way Kisame thinks new favorite.

Sofia: Bill is amazing regardless

Jorge: But Dipper is big brain

Sofia: Not too big brain to be easily manipulated by a flying dorito. The whole damn family fell for it

Rianna: It's just human nature we are easy to manipulate.

Greg: He's a smart flying dorito

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Deidara: ....

Kakuzu: ....

Deidara: So...

Kakuzu: What do we do? Sit here all day? And say so?

Deidara: I don't know what do you and Hidan usually do?

Kakuzu: Fight each other, argue, listen to drama.

Deidara: Your nothing like Sasori other then the argue part.

Kakuzu: I'm flattered

Deidara: You got any vide games?

Kakuzu: Yeah I have a gameboy

Deidara: Damn your a boomer

Kakuzu: -_- You wanna play or not

Several hours later

Deidara: Damn your good at this

Kakuzu: I play it when Hidan isn't bothering me it's been awhile so I'm a but rusty.

Deidara: I see

Leon struts in the room.

Leon: Hello darlings I am here to ask you some questions

Deidara: Dramatic much?

Leon: Hun you shouldn't talk

Deidara: What's that suppose to mean?

Leon ignores him.

Leon: So Kakuzu how do you like the new teammate switch?

Deidara: I exist too ya know

Leon: Oh I know I just wish you didn't

Deidara: Now your asking for it

Leon: What are you going to do? Blow me up like you did yourself?

Deidara starts to get up but, Kakuzu grabs him and pulls him back.

Kakuzu: Ignore him he's just trying trying rile you up

Deidara: Well it's working

Leon: Guess your nothing without your boy toy huh?

Deidara glares at him.

Kakuzu: Stop messing with him Leon and just ask the damn questions so you can go

Leon: Alright alright. Kakuzu what kind of relationship do you have with Hidan?

Kakuzu: We are only friends

Leon: Really because you seems to always be at each others necks

Kakuzu: Just take the answer

Leon: And I'm guessing you and Sasori are only friends too Deidara?

Deidara: Yes

Leon: Hmph of course why would I even ask he wouldn't be interested in someone like you

Deidara stiffens and looks away.

Kakuzu: Leon if you want to keep your arms attached I suggest not talking to him that way

Leon stiffens but, regains his posture.

Leon: Ok time for me to take my leave.

Leon walks away as fast as fuck.

Deidara: Thanks Kakuzu

Kakuzu: No problem kid

Deidara: Ok boomer

--------------------------------------------------------------

Kevin: Damn Leon is grinding and not in a god way

Tobi: How dare he talk to my senpai that way!

Zetsu: Next up we have Sasori and Konan

Tobi: Ew Sasori

Kevin: Damn Tobi

Tobi: Shut up Tom

Kevin: My name

Tobi: Tobi doesn't care

Jorge: I hate Leon

Rianna: For real

Greg: Damn even Rianna hates him.

Sofia: But, Kakuzu and Deidara are wholesome af

Greg: Mhm

--------------------------------------------------------------

Sasori: I hope Deidara is ok

Konan: Don't worry Kakuzu won't let hurt him or anyone else. He doesn't want to deal with you

Sasori: He better not

Konan: Stop worrying Sasori come and sit with me

Sasori sits down.

Konan: You know this a great opportunity to get to know you better.

Sasori: Yeah defiantly

Konan: So what kind of books do you like?

Sasori: Romance, Mystery, Psychological, and Thriller

Konan: Oh Sasori I never took you as the romance type. (Please don't look at this wrong she's only being nice. Like an older sister)

Sasori blushes a little.

Konan: So do you like tea?

Sasori: Who doesn't?

Konan giggles.

They talk for awhile.

Konan: So do you have a crush?

Sasori: No what is this a sleepover?

Konan: No just me being nosy

Sasori: What do you have one?

Konan: Yes

Sasori: Is it Kakuzu?

Konan: No he's too in love with money

Sasori: Deidara?

Konan: He's yours

Sasori rolls his eyes.

Sasori: Is it Itachi?

Konan: He's handsome but, he's too attached to Kisame.

Sasori: Me?

Konan: That's cute

Sasori: Ouch. Pain?

Konan nods and laughs.

Sasori: I knew it

Konan: Yeah

Sasori: So when are you gonna tell him?

Konan: When are you gonna tell Deidara?

Sasori: Touche

Leon: Hello lovebirds

They both jump.

Leon: So we talking about crushes? Wanna know my mine Konan?

Konan: Get out

Leon: Moody much

Sasori: Didn't you just interview Deidara and Kakuzu?

Leon: Yes and your bf is mad

Sasori: What did you do?

Leon: Nothing

Konan: L e a v e

Leon: Tough crowd

------------------------------------------------------------

Tobi: Senpai won't see this right

Kevin: Nope

Tobi: Good because Sasori better back off Senpai is miiiinnnneee.

Kevin: Heh ok

Rianna: Sasori cute

Jorge: He's like 35

Sofia: Love is strange

Greg: Just like your taste in anime

Sofia: Stfu

Zetsu: Last but, not least we have Itachi and Pain.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Itachi and Pain have been sitting in silence for awhile until Leon came in.

Leon: Hello there boys care if I join you?

Pain: ...

Leon: Ok so what have you two been doing?

Itachi: Minding our own business

Leon: Feisty

Pain: What questions do you have for us?

Leon: So you two are single huh? Maybe we could I don't know go out?

Itachi: No

Pain: I'd rather go out with Hidan then you

Leon: Damn that was low

Pain: You were disrespectful to Konan

Leon: Not my fault she was being a cockblock

Itachi puts him in an genjutsu.

After dah genjutsu

Leon: Fuck you both Leon

Leon stomps off.

Pain: He was annoying

Itachi: Mhm

Itachi: Don't see how anyone could be mean to Konan

Pain: Yeah she's sweet I hope she's fine with Sasori

Itachi: Tch Sasori wouldn't hurt her

Pain: Yeah your right.

Goes back to silence.

------------------------------------------------------------

Kevin: That was...interesting

Tobi: Leon can go suck a lemon

Zetsu: Amen

Jorge: Omg Konan is so wholesome

Sofia: Pain is ma boi

Rianna: I'm just glad Leon got what he deserved

Greg: Mhm

Kevin: And that's all folks

----------------------------------------------------------

#akatsuki texts #hidan #kakuzu #kisame #itachi #deidara #sasori #zetsu #tobi #konan #pain akatsuki

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