#I thought it might be a little overwhelming so I just kept it grey haha

[dwdxcz]

Okay so let's begin, main characters first, then I might do every other level- oh lord

Cyan: he is the leader of the knights/protectors of the treeangle, can do mostly well under pressure, but overwhelming pressure breaks him. He tries to think logically, but can go overboard.

:readmore:

He is prone to stress. He is an adult in this au, and has two siblings, diggy(strike the earth) and galactic (milky ways) and he's the smallest and youngest of the three.

Blixer: ex-monster of paradise, he's just a shy little boi, also yes he is in his small grey form. Is kinda afraid of most of the corrupt because "haha old boss is small". The other blixers try to get him to use the treeangle. He literally has no idea what to do. Also he has a pet spider

Cube/near:they are like a gentle giant, but annoy then enough and your doomed. They kept their claws and saws from near(close to me) and their overall a nice shape. Near on the other hand will absolutely body someone if needed, and is more quiet than cube.

Heli/jet:she is basically a loose cannon. She's chaotic and will rush into things. She cares deeply for her friends, and will do anything to help. Jet, heli's form, will sabotage anyone and anything to get what she needs/wants, and might have murderous thoughts-

Captain/kraken: captain is the navy leader of paradise, and is cautious of everything, especially in the seas. Is literally the only reason heli is alive. He is brave and is of course, captain of his crew. Kraken is like a traditional media pirate, rude and just awful. Like jet, he'll do anything to get what he wants, and usually harms others.

Tri/s.o.s(if you have another name thats better for s.o.s let me know please): tri, the second member in the protectors of the treeangle. She's the fastest and usually makes plans, most fail but when they do work they work wonders. She has a brother, being Baracuda S.o.s is more chaotic and almost all plans fail, but again, the ones that works is a nightmare for those who are against her

Penta/polygon(again, pleasehelp with a better name):penta is the bulk of the group, being able to easily deal with corrupts. He can get angry at times, but is usually calm. He also has a sibling, being spectra.Polygon though is always mad, and will crush someone just because they annoy him. He can pick up something like the spider dance boss.

Circle/Sly:Circle is the smartest one of the group, and trys to work with tri with her plans. They are the calmest of the group and usually calms the rest of the protectors. Sly can emotionally manipulate anyone, and uses that to trick others. They are the leader of the three when their corrupted.

Diggy/striker:cyans older brother, he loves to start chaos. Very energetic and rambunctious. Favorite weapon is a shovel and is very mischievous. Striker is more chaotic and mischievous than diggy, and will hit everyone he sees with the shovel.

Galactic/milky ways:Galactic is the smartest and oldest square siblings, and they usually deal with cyans stress and diggys messes. They are friends with logic and chronos. Milky ways leads them and corrupted, and is still close with striker. They are not a big fan of blixer or LA danse.

I will do the villans soon. This is just too much-

#just shapes and beats #jsab #jsab au #jsab blixer #jsab cyan #jsab circle #jsab boat #should i say them all? #i will only do some #jsab helicopter #jsab cube #unlikely friends fallen allies

[iamwhoami]

Sister Oh Sister (Grey’s Anatomy)

Grey’s Anatomy

   When Amelia has brain surgery to remove her tumor, her sister Y/N is with her the entire time, worried that she might lose her.

Warnings: None

Requested = Yes

Haha...finally got one done...

It’s been a while since I’ve seen the episode where Amelia gets her tumor removed so the facts might be a lil iffy.

You were the first person she told.

   When she paged you to the scan room, you definitely were not expecting this bombshell.

“Oh...Amelia...” You whispered and immediately pulled her into your arms.

“It’s okay...” Amelia said, almost as if she was trying to convince herself to, “It’s benign.”

   You choked back a sob at those words. It was a relief of course, but it was a tumor nonetheless and would definitely have to be removed.

That meant brain surgery.

   Over the next while, you were constantly at Amelia’s side. Yes, it was partially because you knew you had to be there for her, but in a way, you were also there because you were scared.

Scared that history might repeat itself.

   The few months before Derek died, you hadn’t really been around him much. Now looking back, you regretted not visiting him, Meredith and the kids more. You regretted now inviting them over for dinner more. 

You didn’t want to have those regrets with Amelia.

   Despite all your fear and worries though, you did you best to hide it from Amelia, putting a brave face on instead.

   The day of Amelia’s surgery, you had worked yourself up so much that you spent the first half hour of the day throwing up in the bathroom at home.

   You knew you were worried about her, but there really weren’t any words that would truly describe just how great that worry was.

   Pulling yourself together though, you forced yourself to eat some breakfast before heading to the hospital. It was a surprise that Meredith had even managed to get you to go home since you spent all your time at the hospital since Amelia was checked in.

   Parking your car, you killed the engine and was going to walk in when you realized that you couldn’t. You were so overwhelmed by everything that you just needed one moment by yourself so that you could break down without Amelia knowing.

   You didn’t realize how much you had been holding back until you finally let it all out. You were sobbing so hard, you didn’t even hear the first few knocks on the window to your car.

   Sniffling, you wiped your nose with the side of your hand before taking a deep breath and getting out of the car.

“You good?”

   You looked over at Meredith, debating what you should tell her. Should you lie even though you knew she would see right through it?

“I will be,” You whispered, “But that doesn’t really matter right now.”

“Of course it matters,” Meredith responded, “Y/N, you’ve been driving yourself insane with worry about Amelia and I know you have your reasons but how would Amelia react if she knew what you’ve been doing?”

“What am I doing?” You asked numbly as you and Meredith headed into the building.

   Meredith grabbed your arm, making you stop, “You’re not taking care of yourself Y/N. Your running yourself to the ground, you’re not eating, you’re not sleeping.”

“It’s going to be okay,” You whispered back, biting your lip as you felt the tears threaten to spill from your eyes again, “Right? She’s going to be okay.”

“Oh...Y/N,” Meredith reached out her other arm and pulled you into a hug.

   You choked back a sob, “She has to be okay Mer because I swear I can’t do it again. Not after Derek...”

“I know,” Meredith mumbled and put her hand on the back of your head, rubbing it up and down.

   With that, you nodded and Meredith looped her arm through yours before making your way up to Amelia’s room.

“I’ll go through the a sub frontal craniotomy, real clean, small incision,” Tom was saying as you and Meredith arrived.

   Amelia saw you and gave you a weak smile which you just barely were able to return.

“So I imagine you have questions,” Tom looked at everyone expectantly.

“Yeah uh...how many of these have you done?” Dr. Bailey pointed her finger at Tom.

   Tom shook his head slightly, “So...so many.”

“What’s the recovery time?” Richard added.

   You tried to listen. You tried to pay attention, stay engaged, but your mind just kept wandering, going through each of the possible scenarios. 

“See you at the afterparty,” Tom was saying when you zoned back in and without another word he walked out of the room.

“He’s arrogant and a showboat so DeLuca, make sure you ask him questions during surgery,” Amelia ordered, “Make him show off.”

   DeLuca nodded in response and you knew that he would do that.

“And if I make it through,” Amelia started to say but Owen cut her off.

“When you make it through,” He corrected.

“Early ambulation protocol,” DeLuca finished and Amelia thanked him.

   Amelia then turned to Meredith, “Meredith...if I die.”

“You are not going to die,” Meredith said.

“But if I do,” Amelia went on, “You call my mom...I’m sorry but she likes you.”

“True that,” You snorted, knowing fully that Amelia was very correct on that.

   Amelia then looked over at Maggie, “And you...take my room! I totally scammed you on that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous-” Maggie started to say but Alex cut in.

“She’s right on that, it’s way better,” Alex mumbled to Maggie.

“If I’m gorked after this,” Amelia took a deep breath, “Unplug me. Don’t think about it. Go on with your lives. If I need unplugging, April has been named my power of attorney.”

   At those words, everyone, including you, slowly looked over at April who had a very awkward expression on her face.

“What...was I supposed to say no?”

“I uh...I don’t know what’s me and what’s tumor talking,” Amelia looked you straight in the eyes before continuing, “But uh...in this moment, I love you people tremendously.”

~~~

   You were sitting in between Meredith and Maggie, watching through the gallery at the scene below. Amelia standing...leading the superhero pose.

   You watched as Amelia got onto the table and as she was preparing to lay down, she gave you a wave.

   Forcing a smile, you waved back.

~~~

   The entire time Amelia was in surgery, it felt like you were underwater. Not drowning, but just underwater. The sounds around you were fuzzy and even though you could see perfectly well, your eyes stung as if salt was irritating them. You were subconsciously holding your breath too, breathing only when Maggie or Meredith reminded you to.

   When the surgery ended, you were slightly relieved but now you were tasked with one of the hardest things.

Waiting.

   You refused to leave Amelia’s side, even though she was still unconscious. Meredith and Maggie tried to get you to leave for food, but you brushed them off, only leaving to use the bathroom.

   You talked a lot to Amelia while you waited for her to wake up, knowing that she couldn’t hear you. It brought you some sort of comfort though, speaking to her as if she were awake.

“I know you’d tell me that I’m being stupid,” You laughed, holding Amelia’s hand in yours, watching her face carefully for any signs that she might be waking up.

   You smiled painfully, “But I can’t leave you Amy...not after what happened with Derek. You can’t leave me...because I really need you Amy. Even though I’ve been annoying and you’ve been a pain in my ass at times, I love you so much more than I’ve ever told you.”

   You reached your hand out and gently stroked your sister’s face.

“Please Amy...” You swallowed hard, “Please don’t leave me.”

~~~

   Needless to say, when Amy woke up speaking French, you thought you were going to have a heart attack. When Meredith explained what was going on though...you quickly understood and calmed down.

A little bit.

   It was hard watching Amelia be in pain while she recovered from brain surgery but you always put on a brave face and made sure to be there beside her every step of the way.

   It took a while, and since you were with Amelia every day it was hard to see the tiny steps of progress, but you did. It felt like forever, but you knew it wasn’t, before Amelia was finally allowed to be discharged and head home.

“I’ll put the bags in the car first,” Owen said and looked over at you

   You smiled and Owen gave you a knowing look before walking out of the room, a few bags in his hand.

“You look like crap,” Amelia joked as you rubbed your bloodshot eyes.

“Right back at you,” You mumbled back but Amelia could tell it didn’t have your usual spunk.

“What’s wrong?” Amelia asked, clearly concerned.

   You shook your head, “It’s stupid...”

“Oh come on Y/N,” Amelia said, “It’s me, you know you can tell me anything.”

   You sighed and shook your head again but you didn’t stay quiet this time and told Amelia what was bothering you.

“It’s just...especially after Derek,” You felt yourself start to choke up and quickly swallowed hard, “I couldn’t lose you. I was so scared I would lose you too Amelia.”

   Amelia’s gaze softened as she realized what you meant.

“Come here...” Amelia whispered and opened her arms so that you could lean into her embrace, “It’s okay...I’m okay now. You’re not going to lose me.”

   You nodded and closed your eyes, “I know...but it was just hard...”

“I don’t even know how hard that must have been for you,” Amelia said and you felt her sigh, “But you know...you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

   You couldn’t help but shake your head at your sister’s attempts of trying to make a joke.

“I know, you’re like a barnacle,” You went along with Amelia’s attempts.

“Seriously though,” Amelia whispered, “I’m always going to be with you no matter what.”

   You nodded, “I know...I love you Amelia.”

“Love you too.”

#grey's anatomy imagines #grey's anatomy imagine #grey's anatomy x reader #greys anatomy imagines #greys anatomy imagine #greys anatomy x reader #amelia shepherd #amelia shepherd x reader #amelia shepherd imagine #amelia shepherd imagines

[thelastarchangelaskblog]

How to Pretend to be Normal

Last night we were joking about @heliocentricgeometric‘s Zira being absolutely terrible at people skills and how Tony might help her out with that. We spontaneously started a RP that just grew. @the-grey-hunt has already said it’s canon for one of the 2 nights we camped before ending up at the caves that we ended our Session 1 at.

There’s a mention about employers getting kidnapped by goblins at the beginning but that was said before we figured out when this was taking place. Tony and Zira are the only two awake as everyone else is sleeping and we’re on night-watch.

I’ve already decided I’ll probably fic this but that’s not going to be published for a little while because of spoilers on Tony’s background. I just really want you guys to know that Tony is literally plotting murder.

D&D Campaign RPs

**

(Read more for mobiles users!)

Zira ( @heliocentricgeometric): You mean people don't want to hear all about death??

Tony (me): I'm sure they do but there's a time and place for it, you know? Also depends on the kind of person. ...Actually just keep quiet on that until the other person brings it up. But the weather is always a good topic! And spells, too. But don't give away trade secrets

Zira: The weather can kill you if it gets bad enough though.

Tony: And smile; people like that. Yeah, don't mention that. Sometimes people don't like to hear the truth. Just think of happy, fun things! And fluffy.

Zira: Uhhhhhhh, happy things liiiike the approval of others?? The love of a family?? The overwhelming fear of failure pushing you to do better???

Tony: ...

Tony: Tell me your best joke.

Zira: Uh

Tony: Take your time. Best jokes are the ones that aren't five second afterthoughts.

Zira: There was this joke my friend told but it mostly made me uncomfortable

Tony: Yeah?

Zira: It was about this guy being tortured who thought he would be freed if he gave them the answers they wanted. The joke is that he died when he outlived his usefulness.

Tony: (thinking crap)

Zira: Haha?

Tony: Um...let's...not go with a joke. I'm sure that joke will find its target audience somewhere but it is not here. Actually, use that next time we fight some bad guys. It'll go down like a lead balloon there. For added effectiveness say it from behind Rhodey.

Zira: Ok, so here are the forbidden topics: torture, death, terrible happenings, crime in general--

Tony: Yes, yes, yep.

Zira: --murder? Is that a small talk?

Tony: No.

Zira: Jobs?

Tony: Definitely not. 

Tony: ...Yes! Depending on the job!

Tony: Don't talk about that time we almost got our employer kidnapped by goblins. That doesn't speak well for us.

Zira: It’s standard to not talk about assassinations so I got that down

Tony: That's great.

Zira: I mean if he got kidnapped then that speaks more about how he’s not good enough to protect himself.

Tony: That's...irrelevant to the topic but sure.

Zira: if I ever got kidnapped I know no one would come after me.

Tony: Aw, honey, that's not true. I know for a fact DJ would be first in line and I'd be right after him

Zira: ??? That’s just procedure

Tony: Definitely not our procedure.

Zira: What???

Tony: Yeah? We're a team, Zira. That means we stick together. And if you ever got into trouble or stuck somewhere you shouldn't be we'd get you out.

Zira: That seems like a waste of resources and time, if an operative can’t function solo then they have failed.

Tony: That's a crappy way of looking at people. No one is a waste of time or space.

Zira: If they have a purpose, then yeah.

Tony: And if someone says that, then they deserve a good kick in the head.

Zira: Huh.

Tony: No, you don't need a purpose to be valuable. You're valuable for being you

Zira: Does that mean I should kick Ms. Payne in the head?

Tony: I have no idea who Ms. Payne is but I guess? If she said that, then yes.

Zira: She’d probably kill and/or make me hurt a lot for disrespect. ...I find your advice suspect.

Tony: ...Yes, she deserves all the kicks in the head.

Tony: Actually, where does Ms. Payne live? Just out of curiosity.

Zira: I don’t know; she left after finishing the first stage.

Tony: Too bad; I would have loved to have sent her a card telling her all the ways in which she was wrong. Ms. Payne, huh? Tell me more about her.

Zira: That is one of the ballsiest things anyone has ever said to me.

Tony: I haven't even gotten started, buddy.

Zira: Ms. Payne was my caretaker!! She encouraged me in all the ways that I needed to be encouraged. She was very lenient, too, even when she caught me sneaking into the library.

Tony: Oh yeah?

Zira: And sneaking food.

Tim (aka Bo/Bill via @thechaoticwave): *wakes up* Sorry, what is this about?

Tony: Shhh. Go back to sleep

Tim: Oh okay, sorry.

Zira: I was hungry and so was my friend and she only smacked me a little bit, AND let me keep the food.

Tony: Um

Tony: How often did that happen?

Zira: Oh y’know. It was a training thing, we had to learn how to deal with lean times, or not having access to resources. So they kept us on the edge of starvation for a while

Tony: ...oh yeah.

Zira: Ms. Payne said I did a good job of being creative and fighting for my food.

Tony: That's...totally reasonable.

Zira: She said that willingness to break rules to do what needs to be done is good.

Tony: Creativity's a good thing. Depends on the rules

Zira: Honestly i was just hungry though, and I hated seeing Meri so sad. It was hard to dance when she was so hungry, and she loved to dance. So...

Tony: You got her food. That was a brave thing to do, Zira.

Zira: ... Thank you

Tony: But that must have been tough. And that definitely wasn't fair on you or your friends. You were kids. Kids shouldn't have to worry about that. No matter what you are or where you're from

Zira: We were special.

Tony: Aren't we all?

Zira: We were meant for something. And they helped us on that path.

Tony: ...yeah, I've heard that, too.

Zira: But I’m scared they were wrong. I saw things that weren’t right. But what were we doing, if not the right thing?

Tony: You were doing what you had to. Tony: I've only known you a few days now, but I know that you're a sweet kid. I know that you care for others and that you're trying. You wouldn't have done anything unless you had to.

Zira: ....

Tony: There was only so much you could do as a kid.

Zira: Thanks. You seem nice, too. And you seem like me. Kinda like you’re running.

Tony: I guess we all kind of are in a way. We're all similar like that. And nice? I guess I'll have to turn in my street cred cards

(DJ aka @doxblogsstuff rolls over in his sleep and snorts, then mumbles "Bombs" then starts snoring.)

Tony: (snorts) That kid over there? Blew up a few things at his school. Didn't quite fit in there either. I ran into him getting into trouble. You want to guess what?

Zira: Did he blow something up?

Tony: That was too easy.

Zira: He seems like the type

Tony: You think, huh? Yeah, and then he just followed along after me.

Zira: He blew up a library.

Tony: ...Wait, really?

Zira: Who does that?

Tony: I didn't see any explosions.The last library he blew up was his university's. 

Zira: He said he set off something in a library.

Tony: Ah, yeah. That'd be the one.

Zira: And supposedly murder is bad so I didn’t do that.

Zira: But seriously.

Tony: ...Okay, I'll be honest and say it depends on the type of murder and also DJ's school got used to his explosions.

Zira: A library?? That’s such a safe place, with so many areas to hide.

Tony: Or as used as they could be. Yeah, libraries are quiet, aren't they? Lots of places to hide; lots of things to do. Things to discover… Or blow up in this dummy's case.

Zira: Stuff to learn! Knowledge is power, the more you know the less they can hurt you.

Tony: Yeah, knowledge goes a long way in helping that.

Zira: Get everything right and everything will be ok.

Tony: Or as okay as it can be. I'm never going to say it'll be perfect, but it'll be okay somehow.

Zira: But a lot of the stuff they said was wrong, so can I ask: Is it normal to beat kids as encouragement to do better?

Tony: ...No.

Zira: Violence seems frowned upon, so I guessed so

Zira: Why? It seems to work fine. It worked on me.

Tony: Look, I'm going to be honest again and say sometimes violence gets you places. But what kind of places those are might not be good. But it's never okay to hurt a kid.

Zira: Huh. Ok. So there’s a lot to unpack there.

Tony: You say it worked on you. What do you remember about what happened?

Zira: I was a coward, or forgot things, or did something else wrong. And then they hurt me. Not enough to take me out, but enough to serve as a reminder to do better.

Tony: ...

Tony: Would it be fair of me to say that when they beat you, you were scared to have it happen again?

Zira: Of course. I was scared a lot

Tony: I bet you were. And when you're scared, sometimes you make mistakes. Especially when you're so scared you can't think straight.

Tony: But let's picture this. You do something wrong. Say you messed up in a spar. And instead of beating you, Ms. Payne instead tells you that it's okay. Everyone makes mistakes. This is what you did wrong and this is how you can do it better next time.

Zira: I...

Tony:  Would that have been better than what actually happened?

Zira: It would have hurt less.

Tony: And you would have learned from that mistake, wouldn't you?

Zira: I don’t know.

Tony: That's okay. You don't have to know right now. But please believe me when I say that you didn't deserve any of that.

Zira: Logically, the brain functions less efficiently when in pain, as it is dedicating most energy to handling that pain. So it leads to more mistakes, whiich is why torture is so effective. They’re more likely to let something slip out, or do anything to make the pain stop. But pain also imprints in your mind more.

Tony: ...yeah

Zira: It’s intense and ensures you never forget how to make it stop, how to avoid it. But I would have liked to not have been hurt.

Tony: No one wants to be hurt. But you remember that first thing you said? “The brain functions less efficiently when in pain.”

Zira: Yes.

Tony: How did she expect you to learn if you were in pain?

Zira: I don’t know.

Tony: I don't either, Zira. But I do know that you're something else to be sitting here in front of me.

Zira: I--

Zira: Thank you.

Tony: It's no problem, kid. And even if you don't believe me now, and you don't have to, I hope you think about it. And if you do ever happen to remember where Ms. Payne ran off to...let me know? I'll make sure we steer clear of her.

Zira: I will. I appreciate it, as if she ever knows where I am in light of some things that have happened it would probably be quite dangerous to go near her.

Tony: ...Thanks for telling me.

Zira: It’s no problem :), and I hope whatever you’re running from turns out ok, too.

Tony: I know you haven't known me long, and you've probably only heard whatever stories DJ told you, but trust me when I tell you that I'm not going to let anything happen to you.

Tony: ...Thanks, kid. I hope so, too.

Tony: By the way, you said you like libraries, right? You ever want a conversation with someone, books are a good way to do it. People love a good story. Just, er...tone down the murder and the facts about what happens to bodies.

Zira: I LOVE talking about libraries; that is officially my Small Talk.

Tony: Then that's what you'll talk about when you meet someone new, all right?

Zira: Yeah!

Tony: But after introducing yourself first. And asking them how they're doing.

Zira: (mentally taking notes)

Tony: I've been reliably informed it turns people off if you start talking immediately about something else.

Zira: But also, I’ve noticed that people have second names? That designate what clan/family they belong to.

Tony: Not everyone. Bo...or Bill, I guess, doesn't have one.

Zira: So if I introduced myself it would not be abnormal to not include a last name?. Seeing as I don’t have one.

Tony: ...I mean this in the nicest way possible, but the most abnormal thing about you would not be your missing last name.

Zira: Actually, can numbers be last names? I have an operative number that I could use.

Tony: ...what...is it?

Zira: Yes, i have been considered unfit for infiltration due to my appearance.

Tony: Unfit?

Zira: And inability to "shut my fucking mouth."

Tony: Well, you certainly stand out in a crowd, but that's a good thing! ...sometimes Actually, ignore that last bit

Tony: I've never heard of anyone with numbers for last names. It'd probably be a little unusual. But if you really want a last name we could come up with something.

Zira: I don’t want a number last name, so I will go to a library and look for a list of last names. The number makes me feel very small, and I don't know why.

Tony: That sounds like a great idea. Let me know if you want help with that.

Zira: Ok! It seems I have a lot of choices, which is nice. I may run some by you, if that’s all right.

Tony: Oh yeah. There are loads of options. And I’m here for you in that case. We all are. But for the love of God, don’t run them by Bo. Bill, I mean. That bird has no sense in names

Zira: He has so many names. I didn’t know someone could have that many names.

Tony: Neither did I and I have two.

Tony: By the way, DJ stands for Dummy Junior and don’t let him tell you otherwise.

Zira: It WHAT

Tony: Oh yeah.

Zira: (immediately lunges over to DJ)

Tony: No, no, don’t wake him up. Do you want explosions?

(Zira freezes in place)

Tony: You can ask him in the morning.

Zira: But I have to know. This is the best thing I think I’ve ever learned.

Tony: Well, he probably wouldn't tell you immediately. It took me several bribes of bombs and some candy to get him to 'fess up.

Zira: Who names their child Dummy?

DM ( @the-grey-hunt): (somewhere, in another universe, Tony sneezes)

Zira: And the junior bit implies there is a GROWN MAN WITH THE NAME DUMMY.

Tony: Honestly I have no idea but I'm sure I don't want to run into DJ's dad.

Zira: Ohhhh my god.

Tony: Or maybe he was just so small that they had to add the junior bit.

Zira: I would laugh in his face which would absolutely get me punched.

Tony: In your groin, probably.

Zira: Oh my god

Tony: He can't jump that high.

Zira: I called DJ a little man when we first met.

Tony: Ooh yeah.

Zira: Which he was not happy about

Tony: That would do it. I mean, he's small. But best not to bring that to his attention unless you want a lecture. Candy doesn't quite seem to do the trick...

Zira: Candy?

Tony: ...are you telling me you have never had candy?!

Zira: What is candy??

Tony: I don't have a simple answer for this other than really good food. I mean, it can be sweet and sour?

(Tony is rummaging around in his pack.)

Tony: So I guess it depends on what your preferences are. Me, I like sweet. But I occasionally go for sour, too.

Zira: Sweet?? I know sour is like lemons.

(Tony pulls out bag of candy, which is mostly chocolates but there are some rock candies as well.)

Tony: Do you like lemons?

Zira: I got some lemon juice poured on some wounds once.

Tony: ...god, why

Zira: It tasted terrible.

Tony: Nothing sour for you, then.

Zira: It might’ve been the blood though. Training of course.

Tony: Wait, did you taste the lemon or the blood?

Zira: Gotta know how to deal with torture and such. Something definitely tasted bad

Tony: ...I wish I didn't understand the reasoning behind that logic damn it

Tony: Okay, here's something sour. Since lemons can taste nice and I'm not having your taste of lemon be spoilt by blood, which definitely tastes nasty. Unless you're a vampire; I don't judge...much.

Zira: :o

DM: (Zira is handed a single Ye Olde Sour Gummy. It’s the blue and red one.)

Zira: (face kinda twists up) Why would someone want to eat this?? It hurts?

Tony: ...Definitely not sour, then. Some people like it. Try the chocolate?

DM: (the chocolate's a little melty; backpack temperature)

Zira: (lights up)

Zira: !!!!!! This tastes so nice!! Is it magic??

Tony: (laughs) Close enough, I like to think.

Tony: Okay, so chocolate is a hit. You're my type of girl. There's also this. It's a kind of rock candy which is great for sucking on.

Zira: :D! They should’ve just used this to get us to do good.

Tony: Just let it sit in your mouth and roll it around your tongue. Unless you have super tough teeth, in which case I guess you could just bite it in half. But the fun is in letting it sit on your tongue. It's great for long hikes. 

Tony: Yeah, chocolate goes a long way in bribery. Would've worked wonders when I was a kid.

(Zira has sharp teeth, and when she grins you can see how they shimmer like mother of pearl. She’s grinning and her face is covered in chocolate and every unearthly thing about her is in sharp relief.)

Tony: (entirely unfazed) Yeah, your teeth are super sharp. Let's not bite it in half. I have more where that came from but you need to enjoy it.

Zira: You are now officially one of my favorite people. I wish Meri could have some of this.

Tony: I would be significantly more impressed by that if I didn't know what kind of people were in your past.

Tony: You could keep some to take to her if we ever run into her? ...Or maybe not that bit in particular because it'll melt for sure.

Zira: I don’t know if that’s a good idea. She’s still loyal. I ran and left her behind and now she’s probably mad at me and under orders to bring me back dead or alive.

Tony: You were friends, weren't you?

Zira: I can’t believe I left her behind. God. I just ran.

(Tony slowly goes to sit next to her.)

Tony: How old were you?

Zira: I’ve lost track. Less than a year ago...so around 17. I received a sign and I panicked.

Tony: You panicked and you ran. You didn't think, did you? You just had to get out. You had to be somewhere else because where you were wasn't right.

Zira: Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. How did you know?

Tony: I know something about that kind of panic. It just grabs you and doesn't let you go. And you're left scrambling for what's broken.

Zira: I was afraid for so long, but I thought… I thought I could be brave, that I could be strong for Meri. But then...

Tony: But then?

Zira: I left. I went out on my first real mission, and we got deep into the forest, and I collapsed and woke up with the realization that I had to leave. And I did, unthinking and terrified.

Tony: There was nothing else? ...That sounds difficult. And your friend...she was still in the forest?

Zira: She should have finished the mission.

Tony: I don't know the details, and I'm not asking you to share everything. I know it's difficult. But your friend... She was your friend?

Zira: And continued taking orders, so. ...Yes

Tony: You two trusted each other?

Zira: She was everything. We protected each other. I stole food for her, and she helped me fight. I helped her with writing and reading when the instructors called her stupid. She defended me from our more sadistic classmates.

Tony: ...

Tony: (sighs)

Tony: I don't know Meri the way you do. I don't know if she would have gotten a sign like yours either. But from what you're telling me? Do you think she would trust the people she's with now, or do you think she'd trust you? Do you think that after everything you two shared that she'd just abandon everything?

Zira: I don’t know

Tony: I don't either.

Zira: She hated them. She fought back a lot at first and they broke her. And now… I don’t know.

Zira: She still tried to keep me safe, but she got worn down and down and down.

Tony: But she defended you.

Tony: That happens. But she had you. And I know - I know you said you left her behind.

Zira: Yes. I knew how worn down she was. I knew she needed someone to hold her up, keep her back safe. And yet…

Tony: I can't tell you what she felt when that happened. What she thought about it. But the kind of bond you described...that doesn't go away so easily. It can't. So if you ever meet her again...maybe...maybe things aren't as bad as you think they are.

Tony: And yet...

Zira: I think I’d like some chocolate.

Tony: Yeah, me, too.

Zira: Just in case.

Tony: Sure thing. It'll probably melt before, but I've got more

(Tony does hand the bag to Zira.)

(It's his entire stash)

(Zira lights up)

Zira: This is all for me??

Tony: ...Let me take the sour ones out first

DM: (there’s 2 slightly chocolate stained sour gummies left)

Zira: I didn’t do anything to earn this, why… (And she droops a bit)

(Tony pats her shoulder)

(Zira starts to kind of, push it back towards him)

Tony: Lesson 1, kid. You don't have to earn presents. You get presents for being you.

Zira: Presents????

Tony: This is a present. A slightly melted present but a present

Zira: :D!

Zira: Presents are great!!

Tony: That they are. Just don't give any to DJ. They're wasted on him. Bombs are the way to go if you want to bribe him. Also Rhodey likes a chocolate but you can't give them to him.

Zira: I will keep that in mind. ...It’s getting late.

Tony: Yeah.

Zira: We should probably hand the shift off. And, Tony?

Tony: Hm?

Zira: Thank you. Thank you so much.

Tony: ...you're welcome, Zira.

Zira: Goodnight, friend.

(Tony is rather speechless) 

Tony: ...yeah, goodnight. Sweet dreams.

Tony: ...Also, don't sneak too much chocolate before you sleep. It'll give you a stomachache.

Zira: Gotcha :)

#thechaoticwave #heliocentricgeometric #the-grey-hunt #d&d campaign #you can probably guess when exactly tony started plotting murder

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

A Glimpse of the Other Side

Alrighty, starting off Diptember with a huge angst fest. LET’S DO IT. Meant for Week 1: Dreams.

I’ve included this as the next chapter of this fic, but it also works pretty well as a one-shot, so here you go! Takes place in the Adrift AU, where Mabel went through the portal instead of Ford coming out, and it focuses - I mean, really focuses - on Dipper and Stan and the aftermath they face. 

AO3

Gritty grey dirt spilled and shifted underfoot, flecks flicking up into the air easily against a backdrop of an equally grey sky and spiralling away into the slipstream of the two running figures. Their boots thudded into the ground, sliding, unable to get a good grip on the soft silt. They tore across it anyway, into the distance, heading for an impossibly far horizon.

A great line of green fire split the scene.

It streaked perpendicular to their path across the grey field, the larger of the two figures raising an arm to cover his head as it shot past him like a bullet train, the eyes of the girl at his side wincing shut at the brightness in front of her, and it went on, the ground coming up to meet it before it could hit its far away target. A spray of dirt was launched a hundred feet into the air. The sound reached the figures not long after, a shriek of a whistle, deafening, the girl clapping her hands over her ears to block it out.

And another bolt came afterwards. It hit behind them in an explosion of black-flecked sand. Another screamed over their heads, from the opposite direction, a retaliation, the blazing trade-offs continuing up and down the field.

Mabel-!

She was getting tired, she was running out of breath, fighting to keep her legs moving against the uncooperative surface. Her eyes periodically widened with terror, reflecting green light, then clenched shut again as a giant jagged beam passed close, instinctively turning her head away.

Keep going you have to keep going!

Her foot caught in a particularly soft drift and sank into it. She stumbled and pitched forwards.

OH, NOW THAT DOESN’T LOOK GOOD!

A hand reached out and grabbed the back of her coat, six fingers fisting into the material and yanking her up again.

HAHA! GOOD OL’ SIXER TO THE RESCUE!

Please help her please help her please get out of there PLEASE!

The crossfire continued to rain sideways around them.

IT’S NOT LOOKING GOOD, KID! I WOULDN’T GET YOUR HOPES UP.

Another shower of ashen grains, the closest explosion yet, more or less a wall of dirt rising up out of the ground and dumping over them in a flood, catching in their eyes, their mouths, their hair, their skin, working its way into the smallest gap in their clothes. His sister’s hand came wildly through it, managing to latch onto his uncle’s by sheer luck, grasping it as tight as she could.

THERE’S NO WAY IT COULD GET WORSE, RIGHT?

The dusty particles cleared for the most part, hovering in the air, ready to breathe in. The lights and lasers ceased for a moment. The ground started to tremble, causing minute avalanches in the miniature sand dunes. The vibration was everywhere.

WRONG!

A sudden suction seemed to overtake the ground under them, the dead soil collapsing downwards like water through a drain in sections everywhere over the battle zone. His family’s shouts couldn’t be heard over a massive mechanical grating, whirring, whining permeating across the entire field, under the entire field.

MovemovemoveMabelmove!

She did, in unison with the uncle he’d never met, but it was far too late. An enormous machine broke the surface, spinning points rising up, uprooting the ground far more than the lasers ever could have. Mabel and Stanford were surrounded by a fortress of clanking grey towers, contorting with great thunks into the largest weapon he’d ever seen and no matter how secure a hold his uncle might have of his sister there was no way they could get away from whatever this was. They were caught in its inner workings, metal spreading in blocks, moving around them in chunks, closing and encroaching all around them, blocking out what little light there was section by section until there’d be none left and they’d be trapped in the darkness forever or crushed or burnt up in whatever the machine was designed to do –

“MABEL!”

Dipper snapped into consciousness already sitting up, breathing hard, sweating and on the verge of tears, the dream refusing to go away, every detail still present in his mind in horrifyingly high definition. Bill’s laughs continuing to echo loudly around in his head until he was fully awake. The monochrome colours washed away. The room was clear and silent and . . . empty.

He was awfully alone in the attic.

Sobs escaped him as he shakily pulled himself out of his bed and over to the other vacant one. He clutched at the sheets and pillows and cold stuffed animals that hadn’t been played with in about a month, wishing, wishing so hard his heart ached that his sister was in their place. It was dark, and the burning in his eyes made it hard to see, so he could almost pretend that she was still there . . .

. . . but she wasn’t.

Dipper buried his face in the sheets, slumping to his knees. He’d learned by now that he couldn’t keep it in. He had to let it out, or it would rip him to pieces and explode out of him at the worst times, these thoughts. These thoughts about how he didn’t know where Mabel was, how no one did, how she could be hurt, or worse, how anything could have happened, how he might never see her again, how the dreams Bill kept sending him could be true, how they might even be watered down versions of the truth: what if something much worse was happening? What if Stanford was dead after all? What if Mabel was alone?

It almost left him paralysed.

Gradually, the rest of the world filtered back into his perception. The feel of the sheets under his face, the softness of whatever animal he’d gripped. The snuffles and grunts of Waddles nearby. The wind blowing through the rafters, the woods, the night air. His own cries settling down into something more manageable.

But not completely.

He was wide awake, and determined to stay that way until it was unavoidable. Unfortunately, he’d been desperately – almost non-stop – pouring over blueprints for the portal with Stan and McGucket for the past few days/weeks, and even the insistent panic hovering over him wasn’t enough to drown his exhaustion.

Why couldn’t he just get a grip?

He gritted his teeth but the urge to move to do something to not be useless was overwhelming him again.

He needed to know that his family – or what was left of it – was still okay.

Wiping his eyes on the blanket, Dipper stumbled to his feet and made his way resignedly to the door, tracing a path that had become a habit about two weeks ago, around the time when the last of his residual anger had drained away, leaving him feeling little more than scared.

He walked quietly down the steps to Stan’s room, avoiding the creaking floorboards. When he blearily reached out to put a hand on the doorhandle, he realised he was still holding Mabel’s toy.

He stared at it, then shrugged, putting the smiling pink axolotl under his arm. I guess I could use a friend now. Even if they aren’t human. Or able to speak. Or even alive. He sighed, and squeezed it.

Usually, Stan would be snoring. Tonight, he wasn’t. As Dipper pushed open the door, sharp, quick grunts reached his ears. The curtains on the window were open, and by the twilight Dipper could see his uncle tossing uncomfortably, a deep frown on his face, the sheets twisted around him and his fingers clenching arrhythmically into fists. He was having a nightmare.

“Grunkle Stan?” Dipper said loudly, immediately coming into the room.

Stan eyes instantly shot open and one hand suddenly had a sturdy grip on the baseball bat he kept beside his bed and it was raised and ready to attack in a split second.

“Whoa! It’s just me!” Dipper exclaimed, holding up his hands and almost dropping the axolotl while he was at it. He recovered it just in time, though.

“Dipper?!” came Stan’s incredulous, hoarser-than-usual voice. His eyes went wide, and the bat fell from his grasp. “What’re you thinking?”

“Wh- I – I thought you were in trouble,” 

Stan went quiet at the simpleness of the answer, staring at him strangely. Now that Dipper thought about it, it was obvious what Stan had been referring to – there were concealed weapons all over this room, and his uncle had been extremely on edge lately. Add in a nightmare, and, well . . .

The baseball bat rolled to a stop by the foot of the bed.

“I’m sor-”

“You okay, kid?” Stan said at the same time, looking closely at him.

Everything he could respond with seemed to whoosh out of Dipper. Was he okay. Wasn’t that a thing to ask. It was such an enormous, overbearing question that he couldn’t even muster up the energy for a quick, instinctive lie right then and there.

Into the silence, Stan swung his legs out of bed and felt the nightstand for his glasses. He put them on, still intent on Dipper. It occurred to the boy that it might not be dark enough for him to get away with seeming like he was okay. It was a bright night, and if he could see Stan, then at this range Stan could definitely see Dipper’s most likely red, teary eyes and harrowed appearance. He should back out now. He should go back to his and Mabe- go back to the attic. This was most certainly not what someone looked like after a summer of being toughened up: of being slowly taught how to fight back, how to take a hit and dish one out right after. This was what someone at the exact opposite end of the spectrum looked like. Stan didn’t have time for that sort of thing, and Dipper wanted as little as possible to do with it too.

But he didn’t go. Maybe he was so tired that everything seemed awfully simplistic now, but he took a few more steps into the room because Stan had felt the need to reach in defence for a baseball bat a second ago. And Dipper didn’t like that something – or someone, he thought darkly – could make his uncle feel like that.

How was he supposed to help, though? He could barely help himself, he was failing at helping Mabel, at helping Great Uncle Stanford . . .

“I just-” His voice caught and he had to start again. “I don’t- do you ever think that we’re not making any difference?”

Stan looked shocked, but regardless was almost all the way through his reply before he stopped himself.

“Every damn day-”

He put a hand up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. As the eye contact was finally broken, Dipper came back to himself a little bit. His own words registered with him, and then so did Stan’s words, and he looked up at the ceiling and tried not to start hyperventilating and/or crying again.

“Is everything . . . I mean, did you need something, Dipper?”

Dipper kept staring upwards for a moment, and then wiped his nose and brought his gaze down to rest on his uncle’s hand on the mattress’s edge.

“Was it Bill?” he asked, and his voice was somewhat steady, like he was actually ready for the answer.

He could hear the grimace in Stan’s voice when he replied. “Yeah it was Bill, again. And before you ask, no, I did not make a deal with the one-eyed evil dream demon who’s been haunting us with the worst nightmares ever,”

“What do you mean ‘again’?” Dipper said, ignoring the sarcasm and jerking his head up to look Stan in the eye once more. “How long has he been visiting you for?” His breathing was starting to quicken. “What’s he been saying? Has he offered you anything? You know we can’t trust him, right? We can’t listen to anything he says, we can’t fall into his traps, he’s not going to help us get Mabel and Great Uncle Stanford back, he’s not going to do anything but make things worse, Stan please don’t make a deal, please you’ve gotta listen to me he’ll kill us if we give him the chance-!”

“Hey, didn’t I just say that I hadn’t made a deal with him?” Stan’s voice was alarmed as he knelt in front of Dipper and grabbed his shoulders to keep him upright. He hadn’t even realised he’d needed to be steadied. That lack of balance, of rightness, just seemed to be yet another thing that was missing from the world, that might never return (shutupshutupshutup).

“I mean, I know I’m not above doing some shady things,” Stan was saying, “but that guy doesn’t even try to hold up his end of the bargain. Not even a little bit. Even I can tell that that’s a bad investment,”

Bill Cipher: a bad investment. Well, that was just about the greatest summary of him that Dipper had ever heard. He laughed. It was mirthless, and more of a choke, and he was still reeling from the revelation that Stan had been having dreams too, but something inside him that had been corkscrewing out of control stilled. He made himself take slower breaths, his heartrate responding in kind, and let the grounding feel of the hands on his shoulders draw him back to the dark room.

“There we go,” said Stan, giving his right arm a squeeze as he finished talking about . . . something. Pugs and smuggling came to mind. The words had helped, that’s all Dipper knew.

The blank, oppressive urge to sink to the floor and start sobbing returned.

Oh. Hello misery, my old friend.

Stan was sitting him down on the edge of the bed. He felt the mattress sag a moment later, his uncle taking a seat beside him.

“I uh . . . I think he’s probably been coming at me for just as long as he’s been coming at you. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

It took Dipper a moment to remember the first question that had spilled from his mouth. He nodded at the floor, acknowledging the answer. It didn’t really help anything. He shouldn’t have bothered asking.

Something about it stuck out, though.

“Wait. How do you know he’s been visiting me?”

A shift of weight and the vaguest of shadows on the floor told Dipper that Stan was rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, you’re-” he sighed again – ��you’re not exactly quiet, kid,”

In other words, he’d been shouting in his sleep.

“So I’ve, y’know, done what I can,”

In other words . . . Stan had come and calmed him down before now? He didn’t remember that. He must have still been asleep, or close to. He wished he hadn’t been.

“Guess I haven’t really helped much, huh?” Stan muttered.

In other words, Dipper knew the feeling. But he also knew that that wasn’t true.

“You helped me just then,” he volunteered quietly. Stan didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been helping you,” Dipper continued in a cracked voice, still addressing the floor, and Stan turned to him, startled.

“What? Dipper, that’s not your job-”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so useless. I’m sorry I can’t do more. I’m sorry I tried to stop you from opening the portal the first time, and I’m sorry I ruined thirty years of your work and I’m sorry-” The list went on and on and Dipper hadn’t even realised just how much there was for him to be sorry about until the unstoppable litany of stifled distress started pouring out of him. Eventually he wasn’t even apologising to Stan, he was apologising to Mabel, and to his parents, and to himself, and to Stanford, and there was so so much to be sorry about and he just needed Stan to know that he was.

But Stan wasn’t having any of it.

“Whoa whoa whoa, Dipper. None of that is your fault, you hear me?” He said fiercely, putting one arm around Dipper’s shoulders in a way that would have been protective, if everything that Dipper needed protecting from hadn’t been inside his head. His other hand gently but firmly turned Dipper’s face away from the floor, making sure he was looking at Stan for what he said next and oh, great, now he was full-on crying on top of everything else.

“It’s not your fault. It’s mi- it just happened, okay Dipper? Yeah, it was the worst, most awful possible thing that could have happened, but it wasn’t your fault. It was just a stupid, cruddy thing that happened. And we gotta keep going until we fix it again. Ah, jeez,” Stan momentarily removed his hand to grab the box of tissues on the bedside table, handing them to Dipper, who grabbed a handful and used the excuse to hide his face again. Stan pulled him against his side.

“It just happened,” he impressed on him again. “And no one blames you for any of it, least of all me. And if anyone does, then that’s your cue to punch ‘em a good one, and then you come and get me so I can as well. And then Wendy’ll probably want a go, and maybe Soos could give them one of his glares while we’re taking turns at it.”

Dipper snorted wetly, using the last tissue and dropping them all over the floor. Stan seemed encouraged at this response, and went on, “And I don’t think there’s anyone who’d be stupid enough to get in between them and Mabel when she gets back,”

The sobs returned full force. “But what if she doesn’t?” he practically wailed into Stan’s shirt. He felt the arm around his shoulders tighten. It was something he’d been thinking about over and over, and since Stan had been doing this for thirty years longer than Dipper had, he was sure it plagued his mind as well. But neither of them had so far dared to say it out loud. “What if they aren’t there when we open the portal again? What if they’re really gone?”

Wordlessly, Stan rested his chin on top of his head. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

When he did speak, it wasn’t any of the blind reassurance with zero meaning behind it that Dipper had expected.

“You can’t think like that, Dipper.” He murmured. “I know how easy it is, believe me, I know, and I know that you can’t always avoid it. But those thoughts . . . they get really close to convincing you that you should just give up altogether. And that is not an option.” Stan pulled back, handing Dipper a few more tissues as he looked at him again. “Besides, I’ve seen you and your sister pull off some amazing things this summer, things that shouldn’t have been possible. So, I think if anyone can do this, it’s you two,”

The tissues were crumpled and allowed to fall to the floor. Dipper drew a shuddering breath.

“That’s it.” Stan encouraged. “I mean, it’s not as if the only things to have happened since then have been bad, kiddo,”

“It’s not?” Dipper said bluntly. That was honestly news to him.

The smidgeon of confidence that had accompanied Stan’s statement evaporated. Put on the spot, he cast around the room for inspiration: Dipper saw him look at the partially open door, where he’d found his uncle in the clutches of a nightmare, at the bedside table, where the photo of him and Mabel had been moved from the basement, at the floor, littered with his tissues, and then at Dipper himself.

Surprisingly, inspiration was found.

“Yeah, it’s not.” Stan removed his arm from around Dipper and reached down to the toy he was still holding in one hand. He ruffled the axolotl’s frills. “You found this little guy, didn’t you?”

Dipper gave a watery half-smile that lasted maybe half a second. “‘S’on Mabel’s bed,”

“And, uh-” Stan looked around again, but ended up turning back to the fluffy toy. “Well . . . he’s not covered in snot or something, so that’s a bonus.” He grinned as Dipper huffed out another shaky laugh.

“So, the only good thing to have happened recently is me finding this snotless axolotl?”

“Uh, no, definitely not.” Stan faltered again, and recovered with, “Y’know, it’s time for you to start pulling your weight kid, I’ve already come up with two things. You’re falling behind, yeesh,”

“Alright, alright.” The room was examined for a third time. Stan was right, it was pretty devoid of obviously positive things. Grasping at straws, he thought about what had happened before he’d fallen asleep.

“Soos finished fixing the control room,” he offered, wiping his nose again.

Stan nodded speculatively. “Did a good job on it, too. Don’t think I’ve ever seen it so tuned up,”

“And – and McGucket’s already got all the support structures set up,” Dipper said, warming to the topic.

“Rebuilding the thing the first time would’ve been so much easier if he was around to help,” Stan said with just the barest hint of bitterness. “Y’know how many first-aid kits I went through just from the support structures cutting me up?”

Dipper shook his head.

“Five. Five entire first-aid kits,” Stan said over Dipper’s disbelieving laugh. “Mostly from the tools, actually. Speaking of, have you seen Wendy use that hammer? Boy, and I thought she was good with an axe,”

“Yeah, she’s been amazing!” Dipper agreed enthusiastically. “The way she scaled the wreckage and got all those pulley systems set up? And she carried that huge piece of machinery like it was nothing! She looks really good in tank top,” he added wistfully, and this time it was Stan who laughed.

“And those girls, Candy and Grenda: you remember how they distracted that builder while we stole his forklift?”

“And that time Soos rigged up a way for Waddles to bring snacks down to the basement?”

One by one, the memories filtered in, shining against a backdrop of grief. Dipper could remember the exasperation on his uncle’s face as he argued with McGucket about the built-in racoon den, feel the lead and ink staining his fingers when he’d finished helping with hastily written assembly instructions.

“See? Not all bad,” Stan said during a lull in the exchange. “We’re getting there,”

It only took a few moments of reflective silence for all the pain to come back and hit Dipper, like it had been lying in wait for another opening. His tentative smile wobbled and faded. They’d been using the memories to distract themselves from the real issue, after all.

“We’ve got all the Journals this time,” Stan reminded him (or maybe himself), seeing the change. “And we’ve got help, too. Not to mention that both me and McGucket have already built this thing once before.”

“So how much longer?” Dipper whispered.

“At this rate? Not long, kid. Maybe another month.”

He didn’t know if he could do this for another month. Heck, he’d just had a meltdown, and they weren’t even halfway done.

“. . . you remember all that stuff you tried to teach me over the summer? About fighting back?” Dipper managed. He didn’t even wait for Stan to affirm it before continuing. “M’Sorry I couldn’t keep it up for longer,”

“Dipper . . .” sighed Stan. Dipper went back to staring at the floor. “For one thing, we just had a whole shebang about how you’ve got nothing to be sorry about, and that includes this.” He prodded Dipper in the chest with a finger, making him look back up.

“And for another,” Stan went on, “I don’t know what you’re talking about with this ‘couldn’t keep it up’ business. Far as I can see, you’ve never stopped,”

“That’s not true,” Dipper said, shaking his head.

“Oh yes, it is,” insisted Stan. “This is what fighting back looks like, buddy.” His voice softened as he tilted his head at the mounds of tissues on the floor, the childish toy in Dipper’s lap, the swelling around his eyes. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

Dipper shook his head immediately.

“Then you’re still fighting back.” Stan said simply. “There’s no middle ground with this. And hey, so what if you needed some help beating this one back? That’s what you’ve got me for: hitting all the things that wanna hit you.” He nudged Dipper gently, but there was nothing joking in the gesture. “No one ever said you had to do it alone, and believe me, you don’t want to. In fact, I’m not gonna let you. Ever. You’re stuck with me, you got that? You’re never gonna get rid of me. In fact, I’ll still be hanging around when you’re eighty, beating off the weak, elderly, pensioner bullies in your retirement home with a stick,”

His throat was closing up so much that it was hard to make any sound, let alone the laugh for which Stan kept speaking to him until it had croaked its way out, but Dipper still managed it. He had to shut his eyes tightly and bury his head in his hands for a while to try and keep the sheer, roiling surge of various emotions in him contained, but Stan kept rubbing his back and didn’t seem to care when it spilled out for the umpteenth time that night.

More tissues, more tossing.

“I’ve thought – thought of another good thing,” Dipper said, straightening up again. “You. I’m glad you’re still with me,”

Stan made an involuntary little noise and spent some time facing the bedroom door and adjusting his glasses, fingers frequently ducking underneath the lenses.

“Sap,” he muttered after a while. Dipper wordlessly shuffled closer on the bed and wrapped his arms around his uncle’s torso as far as they would go.

“What is this, a hug?”

Dipper nodded into his shirt.

“Good,” Stan mumbled, holding him back just as tightly.

“There’s one more thing I want you to know,” Stan said. “Sheesh, hope I’m not gonna turn into one of those wise old mentor types that haveta go off and be hermits - wait, that’s not it.” Dipper felt him shake his head. “Don’t listen to that part. Listen to this, ‘cause if you’re anything like me – and I know you are – you’ve definitely been thinking it.” He paused, making sure Dipper was really paying attention. He was. He could feel himself tensing up in preparation for whatever was coming.

Addressing him seriously, one hand on his shoulder pulling him back to look him in the face, Stan said, “Don’t you ever wish that you’d been the one to fall through the portal instead – as if you deserve to be here any less than she does, okay? No matter how much I want your sister back, I would never trade you out for her, understand? I would never take that deal,”

All the strength went out of Dipper in one fell swoop, like some great emotional vacuum in the sky had suddenly been aimed directly at him, sapping all his remaining energy, and he slipped forwards against the hand holding him upright, forehead thumping again into his uncle’s shirt and a by-now familiar embrace encircled him and soothing words washed over him and he – he couldn’t even speak with how many things were tumbling through his mind that he wanted to say – denials about how he hadn’t thought that, cries about how he had, insistences that he was fine, assurances that Stan didn’t need to feel that way either. It was all stammered out in a jumble of half-sentences and disjointed words that were all patiently taken in and smoothed over like the rhythm of Stan’s hand through his hair.

Eventually, he woke up again, even though he couldn’t remember falling asleep. Gravity was shifting slightly, which was probably why he’d stirred. A pillow met his head, and the softness of a duvet was pulled up over his shoulder. There was a pause, and then a cuddly, frilly thing was placed carefully near his face. Even in his dreamlike state, Dipper knew it was important, so he tucked it in closer. Before the passive nothingness took him in again, he felt the mattress dip, something substantially heavier than he was sinking into it in front of him. He felt insulated, sheltered, the harbour of safeness only growing around him as a large, warm hand settled on his shoulder.

He couldn’t imagine the dreams reaching him here.

But they did.

But they were different.

The room was small, dark, and warm. A few figures shuffled around inside. Two were in quiet, serious conversation, but the most negativity that could be gleaned from it was due to some worry, which was being assuaged. The discussion drew to a close, and one of the figures left, warm light shining briefly through the crack in the doorway. The other bent over the cot in the corner, lowering a shape into it and then sitting on the edge after pulling up the sheets. Methodically, a coat was hung up on a post, and a small pair of boots placed at the foot of the bed.

Mabel?

The third shape shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He went to say something, but the person – the conscious person – by the bed cut him off curtly. He left soon after, the atmosphere relaxing slightly as he did, even though there was no reason for it to be tense in the first place. Nothing bad was going to happen tonight.

His sister’s hand rested on top of the sheets, and the thumb of a larger, six-fingered one traced over her knuckles. Ever so slowly, the movements stilled, the breaths in the room evening out moment by moment. The upright figure’s head drooped.

Mabel? Dipper asked again.

With a start, the man woke up again, looking around the room. Seeing nothing, he sighed and rubbed his eyes, standing. He made his way to the door and reluctantly left, sending a last glance back at his niece. A presence that Dipper hadn’t been aware of until it moved followed.

Mabel was sleeping, but something was holding her like that, so she wouldn’t be able to hear anything he said. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it didn’t worry him. This didn’t feel like one of Bill’s tricks, where there was too much information firing at him from all angles, harsh sensory inputs assaulting him at all times, nothing but terror filling him up. This was real, processable, and for now, safe.

He wanted more than anything to talk to his sister, to hug her again. And he could, but she wouldn’t remember it. More than that though, he needed to let her know that he was coming for her, that they were still fighting to get her – and Stanford – back. That it would be okay.

He curled up next to her on the cot. A lump in his side kept him from getting comfortable, and drawing it out, he found a smiling pink axolotl, its frills waving friendlily, its tail swaying. He placed it between them, watching as it nuzzled his finger and rested its head on Mabel’s arm.

Not long now, he promised her.

#i'm sorry dipper i really do love you #i don't want for you to suffer #i promise #but at the same time #you and stan bonding are my weakness #gravity falls #fanfiction #adrift au #diptember2018 #dipper pines #stanley pines #bill cipher #mabel pines #stanford pines #sadness and grief #hurt/comfort #cuddles and crying #help feelings #my writing

[tvfanatic]

Okay I wanted to make a post about rep Tour Denver last night, but I’ll put it under the cut cause it might be long and I know not all of you care so. But if you wanted to read a superfan review @taylorswift or @taylornation here it is :)

So the day of I woke up at like 8 am cause that’s 9 am my time and I was just super excited. I held off on getting ready until I checked into my flight around 1. A little 1989 tour throwback for ya!

Okay so I got to the stadium around 2pm. My Lyft driver had asked me if Charli aka Charli XCX was her boyfriend. I set him straight don’t you worry. Anyway he had no idea where to drop me off at the stadium so just sort of let me out and I started walking toward the Merch bus, but saw her fleet of tour semis along the way.

I get closer to the Merch bus and some lady stops me and asks me where I’m headed so I told her and she told me I was in a restricted area so I apologized and told her my Lyft driver got lost. Oops. So I ended up buying the Grey tour hat, how could I not after the the TS Merch account retweeted me saying I wanted one. haha There was a little throne and I had some nice random people take my photo with it.

So I go find the line for field seating entry and Taylor Nation comes by and takes a video of us in line, so I made it on to their Insta and Twitter!!! I’m there for like 2 seconds maybe but I’m there. It was so HOT in the sun I was dying in this jacket but after I took it off for a while, I felt my shoulders burning so back on it went. I planned to go buy a water once I got inside, but I was just so overwhelmed, I had already started tearing up, that I just went straight to my seat and then I was too afraid to leave it for fear that I would miss something idk?? Anyway my seats looked fabulous, but I spent most of the time staring at her back and/or on the giant screen. Right next to the stage, but actually behind her with the layout

The video they played with her home videos and story up til now montage BITCH I CRIED. I sat there watching the rest of the videos wishing I had cash on me to buy water from the guy coming around with it, and then Charli XCX came out and she was fabulous. I was happy to finally actually know her opener, I knew most of Charli’s songs and sang and danced along she was fab. Camila came out walking right by that silver gate up there and waved at me so I waved back. The only song I know of hers is Havana so I just kind of swayed to her set, enjoying it. I had been warned that Tequila, Obsessed, and Bad Reputation would play before Taylor came out so I started freaking when they started. 

I immediately started crying when that opening video montage started playing, and kept saying leave her alone @ the lame-o rude media people featured, and basically bawled while singing through all of Ready For It, while still managing to do some of the choreo from her SNL performance that didn’t change. I managed to sing along to the tour version of IDSB pretty well, guess I’d watched that video on Twitter more than I realized. haha The crowd was so loud on the line “If a man talks shit then I owe him nothing!” incredible good job team. After that song though holy shit the crowd went insane. We were all yelling SO LOUD Taylor couldn’t even speak. She kept lifting up her microphone to try and would just smile, and laugh, and adjust her earpiece. We were really blowing her away I’m so proud of us. She told us several times throughout the night what a great, and loud crowd we were, said we were the best crowd she’s ever had at Denver. Said she loved that we were all just YELLING the words to every song. 

She was kind of on my side of the stage for LWYMMD and did the choreo from the music video, that iconic end part anyway, just modified cause this time she’s holding a mic, but I did it with her from the crowd it’s fine. It’s probably so good I was on the end of my row I needed the dancing space. I literally ran into the lady behind me during You Belong With Me when Taylor told us to jump. Guess I jumped backwards? LMAO I was too busy holding up my Fearless style hand heart. hahaha

Um so did she go to B stage after that or sing Don’t Blame Me? Listen I’m not a religious person AT ALL but Don’t Blame Me was a religious experience like I can’t even explain it. And when she fell to her knees on “I beg you on my knees to stay” like !!!!! stop girl you’re killing me it’s too much too much (don’t ever stop Taylor not ever)

Anyway so B stage acoustic set. DWOHT is my favorite on the album so I was singing it loudly but I felt like no one around me knew it?? So I could awkwardly hear my terrible singing voice the whole time?? Stop sleeping on my song people. But she said something like it’s been forever since I’ve played this song AND FUCKING SANG TEARDROPS ON MY GUITAR. Listen I screamed and doubled over and couldn’t stop crying, I like sob sang my way through the entire time and my legs were shaking. It was the first Taylor song I ever owned and she was singing it all these years later. Every time I thought about it for the rest of concert I started crying again.

After she was done at the second B stage, she took the snake skeleton thing back to main stage and I swear we made eye contact when she went past me while singing Bad Blood. And then during Getaway Car, she was on our side of the stage again. And again people around me weren’t really going crazy for the song so I started jumping up and down and waving at her and SHE POINTED RIGHT AT ME HI TAYLOR I LOVE GETAWAY CAR...AND YOU. 

Where did the piano acoustic set fit in this? It was somewhere and it was amazing and there was more crying from me I looked like a raccoon. Waterproof my ass, Tarte. Um so Long Live has always been special to me ever since I heard her sing it during the Speak Now tour (the night we first made eye contact, it was during Love Story) and I LOVE New Year’s Day so holy this mashup can I own it? Taylor release a tour album I want all of the mashups from this show. But she pauses toward the end of the song for whatever reason and we all went nuts again and she did THE ABSOLUTE CUTEST LITTLE EXCITED DANCE SHE WAS SO HAPPY I CAN’T STAND IT. WE DID THAT. WE CAUSED HER HAPPINESS I’M CRYING AGAIN HELP. 

I was in between two different confetti canons for Call It What You Want and I’ve never sat close enough at a Taylor show before to be showered in confetti so it was magical to have it swirling all around me I caught so many I couldn’t stop smiling. 

I started crying again during her finale cause I knew it was the last song and it was about to be over. Her and the dancers playing in that fountain though it looked so fun I wanted to join them. hahaha

I seriously can’t believe I get to experience it all over again three more times at Gillette. The only thing that could make the show even better, would be to finally get my Taylor hug at one but idk if that will ever happen, so many of us want that opportunity. I’ll just continue to dance my ass off and sing and cry from the crowd. Still makes for an epic night. 

xoxo,

Emily

#taylor swift #rep tour denver #reputation stadium tour #wow this got long #for taylor

[citrusratz]

We Can Make It

A Wreck It Ralph fanfiction from five years ago Chapter Two

The first minute or so of the sluggish little train ride was spent teetering left and right like a cradle. Gears whined, wheels squeaked, and tracks clicked. It was obnoxiously relaxing in the most perplexing and illogical way.  

A good portion of the ride consisted of Make-It testing her theory that she would be able to pry the rockets off the bottom of her shoes if she painted a particularly sturdy pry bar. A chipped cart, dozens of whispered cusses, and two ruined shoes later, she decided to just make herself a new pair of shoes. It was remarkable, she thought, how many encounters with her cousin had cost her a perfectly fine pair of footwear.  

She reached the boarding station with a sour face and freshly painted shoes, clasping her mangled scraps of rocket leather in one hand and her wicked pry bar in the other. It was a fairly small, quiet, and ugly room, but all of the muted colors flattered each other far too well for Make-It’s taste. Sickly-looking fluorescent lights hummed in the upper corners, making the air look less than healthy to breathe. A great, golden hall was gaping open straight ahead, little figures scurrying about in the world on the other end.

A springy hop brought her out of the train car and her eager, curious heart tugged her forward, but she flinched to a stop. The walls spoke to her. Cried out in pain at how ordinary and dirty they were. They wanted their own voices. They did not want to be walls anymore.  

The low hum of the lights escalated into pleading cries. All of them shone the same terrible, boring, ill color. They did not mean to be so ugly. It was not their fault. It was the way they were made.

But Mavis, oh, Mavis! She could save them from their horrific fate. She, and only she, could give them what they truly wanted. Turning around slowly and gripping her brush, she cracked her joints and rolled her muscles. Time to make their dreams come true.  

Several needless acrobatics and hundreds of garish colors later, Make-It rubbed her hands together and left her impromptu project behind for the next passenger to enjoy. If the glaring contrast did not blind them instantly, that is.

A literal hop, skip, and a jump cleared the golden hallway instantly, and she skid to a stop at the sight that hit her.

The great, shining hall opened to an even greater, grander, shinier, taller, wider, overwhelming hall. The meticulously waxed floor shone as if it were a vast, stretched light bulb. Creatures of every clime bustled about, sat on benches, headed for any of the dozen metallic gates that could only have led to other games. Walls of plastic that were easily six or seven Ralphs high wrapped around the mouth of each gate. Strange, artificial, yet beautiful light poured in through rows of windows high on the far end walls. Almost as impressive as the environment was the crowds.

A honking flock of ducks fluttered past overhead, followed directly underneath by an ecstatic-looking dog. A towering, bronze-armored figure strode past. A little boy with a green wind sock on his head sat expectantly on a bench, kicking his feet about. Baseball players, soldiers, astronauts, fairies, princesses, snakes, dragons, and creatures that Make-It could not even name were shuffling about, each on their own casual way. There were definitely too many bodies mulling about for Make-It to count and identify, and certainly too many for her comfort.  

Any number of people in a crowd meant double the eyes, and the more eyes there were, the less naughty she could be without getting caught. She gulped hard, reading the huge scrolling red signs above the gates.

“Frogger, Pong, Space Invaders, Super Mario, Pac-Man…” she muttered to herself, stepping forward gingerly. She had told Felix that she was going to Turbo-Time, but that was just a cover. Now that she could see all of her choices, she had absolutely no idea where to go.

She supposed that a good place to start would be throwing out her ruined shoes and her pointless crowbar. Spotting a garbage can was easy enough, but getting to it was another story. Shouldering through the crowds, apologizing to anything she happened to bump, nearly stepping on a little frog, her heart began to pound uncomfortably. Any second now, she knew she would be tempted to mess something up, and she was very poorly armed against temptation.  

Just a stride away from the garbage, she was knocked on her behind by a huge, lumbering brute passing by.

“Augh, watch it!” She snarled, pushing herself up and rubbing her bum. “That didn’t exactly look like an accident!”

As soon as she spoke, she felt an overwhelming need to put her foot in her mouth. The brute was, in fact, an ape that was easily ten times her size, hauling an enormous barrel over one of its bulging shoulders. It paused, turning to glance back at her, its hideous teeth bared and its eyes shadowed over by its jutting brow.

“…Well pushed, my friend! I never saw it coming!” She put in every bit of jovial tone that she possessed into her mouth as she backed towards the garbage, dropping her trash in it. “Wouldn’t want you to drop that barrel though! Not that you would, mind you! You’ve got a great grip on it! Haha!”

It glared holes into her head as she stumbled back, waving her arms in an attempt to seem double the normal amount of friendly. “Have a good day! Night! Happily ever after! Huzzah!”

It was a good fifty feet away by the time she stopped talking, and it finally rolled its shoulders and kept along on its way. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Make-It glanced around frantically. That was entirely too close. She had to get into a game before she irritated another hulking mass. Choices did not entirely matter to her anymore, so she darted to the first one that she could remember. Perhaps in Turbo-Time, she could find somebody remotely friendly. They were plugged in just around the same time, after all. Maybe they would have something in common.

She watched the glowing letters scroll by as she bolted for the gate. “Turbo-Time.” Yes. Good. Perfect. A whole-hearted leap sent her soaring to the scratched and scuffed golden hall, but a flash of red and a mild shock surged over her skin as she flew through, zapping a shriek out of her and making her topple and roll on landing.

“What in the cussing—” She pushed herself back to her feet, and a low, droning voice caught her attention.

“Name.”

“What?” Glancing back, she saw a blue, translucent figure standing and staring at a clipboard. Apart from the odd, swirling light fixture above his head, everything about him was nauseatingly business-like. Button-up shirt, tie, dress pants, the works.  

“Name,” he repeated.

“Uh…” She stepped over to him cautiously, ready to make a break for it. “Am I under arrest..?”

“No.”

No elaboration came. “Okay… uh…”  

“Name,” he repeated, his tone slightly firmer.

“Make-It Mavis.”

“Where are you headed?”  

She blinked. Could he not read the sign? Pressing her lips together, she gestured up.  

His eyes lifted from the clipboard only to give her a bored, exasperated look.  

“Turbo-Time,” she sighed, putting her hands on her hips and rocking on her heels.

“Where are you coming from?”

“Fix-It Felix Junior.”

“Have any food with you?”

“Negative.”

“Anything to declare?”

What a weird question. “Bankruptcy?”  

“Carry on.” And with that, he disappeared like a light going out.  

“Hm,” she grunted to herself, stepping backwards slowly. Hoping very much that an encounter like that would not happen every time she tried to visit other games, she bounced jubilantly down the hallway and reached a boring, sterile station not unlike the one leading to her own game. However, when she cleared the tiny stairs with one hop, she found that the train was not there. Only rickety wooden tracks.  

Her shoulders slumped, crestfallen. “Well, cuss. I really thought it was Time for Turbo.” As she turned to leave, however, the approaching sound of a train clicking brought her back around. Gruff voices echoed out of the tunnel.

“Just how hard did he hit you?”

“Harder than usual. Better aim than usual, too. He usually gets me in the helmet.”

“Little swine. Next, they’re gonna give him two trophies. One for each hand, so he can dual-wield ‘em.”

“Don’t jinx yourself. Just be thankful your ugly face is still intact.”

A train almost identical to Fix-It’s rolled in, only the carts were painted to look like little red race cars, the cartoon visage of a creepy racer with an unnaturally huge smile drawn on the sides. In the back cart sat two grey-skinned men that were a fair bit taller than Felix, each clad in an identical blue racing jumpsuit and helmet striped with white. The only difference that Make-It could spot between them was that the one on the left had a bloodied nose.

They stepped out and shoved their hands in their pockets in eerie synchronization, striding with a slouch in the direction of the golden hall. “Gonna have to ask Tapper for extra napkins…” the bloodied one muttered.

“And you might want to go easy on the root beer. Haven’t got a whole lot of blood left in you to balance out the alcohol.”

“If you ever tell me to go easy on the root beer again, you’ll have a nice bleeding honker of your own.”

“There’s no alcohol in root beer, fellas.”

Both of them stopped and looked at each other, and then slowly turned to Make-It. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Since you rolled up.”

“Why didn’t we see you?”

“Maybe you can’t see past your swollen nose?”

The non-bloodied one snickered, but the other just snarled. He looked as if he were about to mouth her off, but his twin spoke first.

“And just what do you think you’re doing in this neck of the woods, sweetcheeks?”

“Taking the train to Turbo-Time,” she droned flatly, quirking a brow. “Which is why I’m in the Turbo-Time train station.”

He laughed warningly. “Ah, yeah, you don’t wanna be doing that. Not now, anyway.”

“Hm, no, I think I do. I came all this way and almost got eaten by an ape. I’m going to Turbo-Time.”

“Mmhmm. Why?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because Turbo is having a party.”

“Sounds bombastic.”

“Sure,” he hissed, strolling towards her, closely followed by the other, “if you’re Turbo. Or a brainless NPC. But for everyone else, it’s just a nightly worship of the almighty ruler of the track.” The last words seemed to taste terrible on his tongue. “Turbo shows off his trophy, everyone goes nuts, and he goes to bed with his ego stroked raw.”

Make-It turned on her heel and slowly strode along beside the racer, and they began circling each other as if they were about to be at each other’s throats. “So, Turbo’s your ‘good guy’, is he?”

“The game is called ‘Turbo-Time’. But the last thing I’d call that little slime is a ‘good guy’.”

“And you are?”

“The ‘bad guys’,” he growled, his yellow eyes glowering. “We’re the ones who were never meant to win a single race. Nobody’s happy when we win a trophy.”

“So, the gamers can only play as Turbo.”

“You got it.”

“Well now,” an impish grin pulled over the side of her face. “Does that not make you two ‘brainless NPCs’?”

Both men stepped forward harshly, their yellow teeth bared. “Watch it, stranger. We’re nothing like the NPCs in the bleachers. We actually have minds of our own. We don’t devote our very existence to watching Turbo leave us in the dust.”

“AI, then. Artificial intelligence. Hmm.”

“I know where you’re going with that,” he growled, “and you’d better stop now before you say too much.”

Make-It blinked, her eyes half-lidded and her arms behind her back. “Well, boys, not that it hasn’t been fun talking to you, but I have a crappy party to attend.” She did not make it one step away before a hand roughly gripped her arm.

“Don’t! Just, God, don’t go encourage him! We’ll be hearing about it for days!”

Make-It glared into his sunken eyes and tried to wrench herself free, but he was not letting her go. “Hearing about WHAT?”

“That a female from another game went through all the trouble to come and bow down in his glory. Trust me, you do not want to go to that party.”

“Hm,” she hissed, “sounds a lot more like YOU don’t want me to go more than I don’t want to go. And maybe I would co-operate if you weren’t being such a rude cuss about it.”

“You’re calling ME rude?!” His grip tightened and he dragged her closer.

“Let me GO, NPC.” She dug her heels into the floor as hard as she could. “I won’t ask you nicely again.”

His eye twitched and a smile of restraint flashed. “Not if you’re planning on going to that party.”

“Augh, why in the eight bits should I care if this Turbo cuss annoys you?”

“Look, just,” he drew in a sharp breath, “look. If you don’t go, if you come with us, we’ll buy you some root beer at Tapper’s. Deal?”

“Why would I want to sit around drinking supposedly alcoholic root beer with a snarky NPC who can’t keep his hands to himself and a loser who got the snot beat out of him by a trophy?”

The restraint in him audibly snapped as he snarled a few foul words, yanking her closer and tensing his free arm. Just as quickly, Make-It whipped out her brush and sliced a silver knife out of thin air, pointing it straight at his face. His bloodied twin leapt into the fray just as they broke apart, both men staring at the glistening blade.

“DON’T. TOUCH. ME.” She growled through gritted teeth.

The twins merely stared, dumbfounded. The bloodied one was the first to speak. “How did… you do that?”

“What?”

“That knife,” he gestured, “how did you make that knife?”

“Hmm,” she stepped back. “We didn’t properly introduce ourselves, did we. I’m Make-It Mavis, and your answer’s in my name.”

“So… you just make things… out of thin air?”

“What of it?”

Both of them grinned in unison, letting out one short, amazed chuckle. Make-It tilted her head.

“You like that, do you?”

“Well,” the non-bloodied one stepped forward a bit, “yeah, of course. That’s incredible.”

“Trying to flatter your way out. I see.”

“No! Really!” His eyes were oddly sincere. “If we had something like that… oh, yes.” He laughed outright, putting his knuckle to his chin. His twin watched him, seemingly reading his mind, and joining in the laughter. Make-It could not help but let her lips twitch. They sounded like demented clowns.

“And just what is so funny?” She relaxed from her readied stance, but still gripped the knife just as tightly.  

The bloodied one’s shoulders shook as he tried to calm his laughter. “Oh, sugar, we would prank the ever-loving pixels out of Turbo. Ah, would that be sweet.”

“Well, now,” she twirled the knife, “I’m up for a good prank as much as the next character. Probably even more so.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cause if you are… If you want to cooperate…”

“Sure.”

“And if you’re not going to stab us…” he gestured to her knife.

“Brother, I just wanted you to let me go. Don’t you know to let a lady go when she says so?”

“You don’t seem entirely lady-like, sweetcheeks.”

“That’s true,” she nodded, smiling and stepping over to them, “but I’m enough of a lady to slash up strangers who call me ‘sweetcheeks’.”

They looked at each other. “Do all ladies do that…?”

“Wow,” she raised a brow, “you two… you haven’t seen a woman in a long time, have you?”

Again, they looked at each other, whispering. “What’s she trying to say?” “Is she hitting on us?” “Maybe.”

She spluttered out a very wet laugh. “No! I’m just observing.”

“Well… no, we haven’t. Other than…Turbo’s fans.” He shuddered.  

“Well then, here’s the first thing you ought to know. Ladies and men are pretty well exactly the same, except one’s scared of the other. I’ll let you figure out which.” She winked.

Once again, they looked at each other, mouths hanging slightly open in confusion.

“Fellas,” she cleared her throat, “what was that you said about buying me some root beer for not going to the party?”

The bloodied one piped up. “Yes, right! Of course. Right this way.” He awkwardly put a hand on her back and turned her to face the golden hall, leading her forward. “Make-It, we are going to introduce you to an angel.”

“Oh. It won’t try to exorcise me, will it?”

“No, no, no! Listen, let me tell you a story.” They passed into Game Central Station and he redirected her to a gate diagonal to their own. “One day, the heavens created an angel, and they sent him down to the world of this lowly arcade. They granted him the power to fill keg after keg with the sweet nectar of the gods, and they commanded that it shall be called ‘root beer’. Because his E rating wouldn’t allow him to call it ‘beer’.”

“Ohhh. That would explain the alcohol, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Hush, I’m not done! This was no ordinary beer. This is a very unique blend of the very secret, sacred ingredients that only the angel was blessed with the knowledge of. And then, out of the charity of his heart, the angel opened a bar in which characters from all games could come and buy this divine drink.”

“Wouldn’t it be more charitable to give it away for free?”

“And the gods called him… Tapper.” They reached Tapper’s golden hall and climbed into the longer, sturdier looking train. She supposed that since this place was so frequented, a better mode of transportation would be necessary.

He kept his arm around her shoulders as they sat down, but she lightly poked his hand with the knife. He took the hint.

“By the way, I never did catch your names,” she reminded them as the train rolled into the tunnel.

They groaned. “What’s the use? No one can tell us apart anyway. We’re blessed with nearly identical coding.”

“Well then. For as long as I can tell the difference, I’ll just call you Nose,” she elbowed the one next to her, then peered over her shoulder at the other, “and you Grabby. Sound good?”

“God, no.”

“Too late. Nose and Grabby it is.”

“No! Listen, our names are—”

“I am CALLING you Nose and Grabby. Better learn to live with it.”

They sighed in unison. “Fine.”

The train pulled into a fairly homey looking room. The walls were lined with blue patterned wallpaper and warm, honey-colored hardwood was practically everywhere. Signed portraits hung on the walls and led into a hallway lined with even more portraits, supposedly of any of the ‘good guys’ who came to visit. Make-It thought it funny that her cousin was not up there, but then she also wondered if he drank at all.

Make-It popped out of the train like a loaded spring. “So this is the terrestrial dwelling of the angel, Tapper.”

“The one and only,” Nose confirmed, leading her down the hall, Grabby in stride. Make-It found it quite remarkable at how quickly the twins had gone from thugs to bodyguards, flanking her and escorting her like a precious gem, and all it took was the possibility of getting back at Turbo. It seemed that these particular ‘bad guys’ had a vendetta against their ‘good guy’ that went far beyond mere code.

Passing by a bathroom and a utility closet, they came into the main room, and the scent in the air was very peculiar. It was terrible and wonderful, depressing and welcoming, bitter and delicious. An eclectic sampling of characters sat hunched over long tables, pondering their drinks as if they were holy scripture. At end of each table, jutting out from the wall, were huge beer kegs and taps. And at the very far end of the room, absent-mindedly stroking a pint clean, was the supposed angel himself. Well groomed, wide-eyed, dapper, and thoughtful.  

“Hm,” Make-It hummed. “This is… hm.”

Grabby nudged her shoulder. “What’s the matter, pint-size?”

Glancing back at the man that was not a whole lot taller than she was, she continued, “I was going to make a comment about this place being heavenly. But I can’t decide if I would be sarcastic or not.”

“Just wait ‘till you’ve had a few,” Nose kicked a stool out for her, but she took the one next to it. Pausing only a moment, he went on, “You’re on your way to revelation, sugar.”

“Maybe we could drop the celestial metaphors now,” Make-It took a napkin between her fingers, rubbing it together and crumpling the edges. “Just get me some of this magical drink and tell me about this little ‘Turbo’ cuss that you hate so much.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Grabby saluted with two fingers as he took the seat next to her. “’Ay, Tapper! Three root beers, over here!”

It seemed near impossible how quickly and professionally the little bartender moved. Without one unnecessary step, he strode over to the keg by their table, three glistening mugs in hand, filled all three in one fluid motion, and slid them down the table to the waiting hands of the trio. And as swiftly as he had come, he was back to his station again, slowly cleaning whatever his eyes rested on.

Make-It whistled softly. “Impressive.” Glancing down at her drink, though, she had second thoughts. The frothy, dark beverage did not smell like sunshine and happiness. “Little darker than most beers, aren’t they..?”

“What did I tell you?” Nose gestured to her with his mug. “It’s a secret recipe. Completely unique and one of a kind. And flawless, of course.” He kissed the edge of his mug tenderly, then tipped it back to slurp down a mouthful. A satisfied rumble and a shudder rippled over him as he leaned back forward. “If the law would allow it, I would marry this drink.”

Grabby snorted into his mug. “You’ve made love to it enough times by now, they oughtta let you just go ahead and say you’re married.”

“It’s not fair,” Nose grumbled against the rim.

Their disturbing obsession was not making the liquid any more appealing, but curiosity sealed the deal. She had to know just what these two were babbling about. “Alright,” she shrugged, putting the mug to her lips and knocking back a sip.

Her mouth and throat fizzled and burned. “Oh my land,” she slowly lowered the glass. “Is it supposed to feel like that?”

“You’ll get used to it. It’s hard to taste it the first couple times,” Grabby reassured.  

“This is so bizarre,” she shook her head, but took his word for it and swallowed another gulp. And another. And another. And another.

By the time her glass was empty, her mouth had practically gone numb. Her body tingled with strange and soothing warmth, and the world seemed softer all around, almost as if everything was very slowly, contentedly melting.

She smacked her lips and stared at the bottom of her mug. “Am I drunk?”

Nose snickered. “You’d have to be a real lightweight to get drunk after one mug of this.”

Make-It tried licking her nose. “I’ve never drank before.”

“That much was obvious,” Grabby muttered. “How are you feeling, kid?”

“Not a kid,” she frowned. “But I am feeling.”

“…Yes?”

“Feeling bizarre. And nice, I guess. And about twice as stupid as usual.”

Grabby nodded. “You’re getting there. But let’s not get you wasted tonight. You’ve got a job in the morning, after all.”

“Wait,” she leaned back, realizing too late that the stool had no back support, and tumbling to the floor, “wait.” It took a moment or two for her to get back in her seat. “Wait. Wait. Turbo. You never told me about this Turbo guy and what I’m supposed to be doing to him. And what’s in it for me, of course. I want stuff for this.”

“I don’t recall that being part of the deal,” Grabby hissed.

She prodded her temple. “Beer’s gettin’ to your head.”

He sighed. “Clearly. Alright, out with it, then. What do you want?”

“Ay, ay, wait a sec, okay? I wanna hear about Turbo first. And all this racing junk. I can’t know what I want ‘till I know what you’ve got.”

The twins glanced at each other, seemingly deciding who should speak first. Nose won. “Well, every day it’s the same thing. We get up in the morning to have a warm-up race once around the track, and Turbo’s already begun to piss us off by existing. He leaps out, fanfare blaring, and honks out that god-forsaken catchphrase…” He pinched his brow. “And of course, the freakin’ crowds go wild. ‘Turbo! Turbo! Turbo!’” His whole body shuddered and lurched. “He misses no chance to play himself up and compensate for what a little worthless slime he is by soaking up all his undeserved attention. And if he loses the warm-up race, augh. You’d think you had denied a kid his favorite toy. A very violent, obnoxious, loud, and ugly kid.”

“Is that what happened to your nose, Nose?”

“Hah, no. I wish it were, actually. I’m getting to that part. The arcade opens soon after our race, and here come the quarters. And who wins every single race? Well damn if it isn’t Turbo. Because if it ISN’T Turbo, the gamers aren’t satisfied, and they just keep throwing quarters at us until he wins. And when he does… he gets a huge, heavy, shiny trophy. It’s not as if he even earned it, being controlled by the gamer the whole time. We’re actually doing real work out there. But, no, he’s praised as the greatest hero to walk the earth, literally placed on a pedestal above us, where he strikes a magnificently stupid victory pose. And more often than not, with that pose, he hits one of us with that trophy. On purpose.”

Make-It snorted.

“What, you think that’s funny, do you?”

She giggled a tipsy, wobbly giggle. “I never considered using a trophy as a weapon. Little swine’s clever.”

“NO, no, no, he’s not. Trust me. Hardly a word comes out of his stinkin’ mouth that isn’t gloating over something he didn’t even earn. And then he goes and gets treated like royalty by these dorky little NPCs…”

“Ssshhh. So. You need this guy put in his place,” she stroked her chin. “Because he gets undeserved glory and is a little cuss about it. And you guys actually do work. Or. Whatever you consider racing.”

“That sounds about right, yeah,” Grabby piped in. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to cut him up with that fancy knife of yours…”

“Mmm. I was bought drinks for pranking, not shanking. No cutting up involved.”

Grabby swore into his mug, turning away a bit.  

“Oh,” she sat a little straighter, taking care not to fall backwards again, “I know what I want.”

Both twins watched her expectantly.

“When you win the race due to my pranking,” she put her hand down against the table, pausing for effect. “I want that trophy.”

Grabby and Nose flinched in unison. “What?!”

“Trophy be mine.”

“No way,” Nose brought his mug down harder than he seemed to intend. “We hardly get any of those. They’re a lot more precious to us than they are to Turbo. And, God, they’re worth a good fifty thousand points each!”

“Mmm,” she licked her lips, “that sweetens the deal for me, now, doesn’t it?”

“Your asking price is ridiculous,” Grabby snarled. “It’s completely unrealistic. Fifty thousand points for one prank?!”

“Just the most potential for the best prank ever,” she twirled her brush in her hand. “Believe me when I say I can do whatever I want to that little cuss. By the end of the day, he’ll be so embarrassed, he’ll be pink as a baby’s bottom.”

“Granted, that sounds fantastic, but fifty-freakin’-thousand?”

She shrugged. “Okay then. I guess our deal’s off.” She stood up, definitely overestimating her ability to stand straight while impaired. “Looks like it’s time for me to go to Turbo-Time. Better go make love to Turbo’s tire tracks. They’re getting awfully lonely without me.”

“You can’t be serious,” Grabby growled, shouldering in front of her and blocking her exit.

“A girl gets lonely sometimes, you know, and she has to explore her options.”

“Not about that! You—How can you just… Augh, my god. Hold on, just sit down, will you. Keep your purple pants on.” He sat her back down with a little push, crossing over to Nose and staring at him, arms folded. Nose held the gaze for a good, solid five minutes.

They sighed together, closing their eyes. “Fine.”

“Aha,” Make-It leaned on the table and pushed her fingers through her hair, a deeply smug grin on her face. “Turbo-tastic.”

Both of them practically screamed.

“DON’T YOU EVER SAY THAT AGAIN! AUGH, GOD, HOW DID YOU EVEN KNOW--?!”

“SHUT UP, JUST, JUST SHUT UP RIGHT NOW OR THE DEAL’S OFF.”

Make-It had no idea what she had said to set them off. “What… d’you mean ‘Turbo-tastic’?” Another agonized chorus of moans. “Crap, guys,” she laughed outright, “I didn’t even mean to say that. It’s just a drunken slur, sheesh. It just kinda fell out of my mouth.”

“Just…” Grabby hissed and shuddered. “You’ll come to hate that phrase in ten minutes of being around Turbo, I promise.”

“I dunno,” she chuckled, “I kind of like it already. It’s got a nice ring to it. Your screams are particularly musical.”

“Do you want that freakin’ trophy or not?”

“Alright, calm your bits. I’ll keep that one zipped up. For now,” she extended her hand to them. “Now, let’s make this official, shall we? One humiliated racer in return for one shiny trophy?

A synchronized sigh. “Agreed.” They put their hands in together, resting them on top of Make-It’s.

“Turbo-tastic,” she purred. Enraged snarls were the last things she heard before she blacked out.

#wreck it ralph #wir #fanfiction #fix it felix #make it mavis #turbo #writing

[artificialqueens]

orange is the new drag (group fic) - comeapart

a/n: the title is incredibly misleading this isn’t a oitnb au it’s just prisonfic. this is the kind of fic you shouldn’t read when you’re already sad. please read the warnings before reading. please leave feedback if you want to see more, because if it bombs i’ll just drop it and write something else haha

Rupaul Charles Federal Correctional Institution had a reputation. Between the few personal items the inmates were allowed and the standard issue grey and orange, it was the only talking point left. Everyone had different reputations, but there were a few that stood out, even between the similar groups of the prison blocks.

Danny Noriega was the baby of the B-Block. Nobody had figured out how he had managed to achieve universal likeability, but it was clear in the attention he got from others and even guards that he was one of the lucky ones, visible in eyes that hadn’t quite lost their colour yet. Sutan Amrull was essentially the Charles Manson of the B-Block; the cult leader with a following ready to brand the sign of the Gemini into their skin with whatever they could find. Willam Belli was the unofficial king of the B-Block; the only person who had dirt on every single inmate and was fucked with by no one. These reputations came with power, the kind that attracted people to follow at beck and call. These reputations drew crowds.

Manila Luzon had a different type of reputation.

“I heard that fag killed a guy,” tended to be the way conversations turned when he walked past.

“I heard he tried to hang his ex. Hung and quartered or some shit. That one is real crazy, you can see it in his eyes. Fucker would probably kill you and leave your guts on the floor for the next guy to come and see, damn tranny exhibitionist,” someone said, correcting the other. The story was always somewhere along the right lines, but it wasn’t ever correct. The ambiguity of the whole situation gave Manila a little power, because the crime had been planned. Manila was a perfectionist, which was something that his boy persona had always lacked in the best of situations.

The reality of the crime had been that Manila had killed his boyfriend after he admitted to cheating and attacking his sister. The cheating wouldn’t have phased him, but Manila was always big on family values, and didn’t hesitate to spike his drink the next day after supposedly making up with him, putting to use the knife skills that boy scouts had once taught him. Everyone loved a story, but Manila didn’t doubt that if people knew the truth that he would lose some of the protection the secrecy gave him.

What people did know was that he killed, and he had succeeded to the point he had almost been able to prove herself innocent. If she hadn’t been seen by her neighbour, she probably would’ve been walking on the other side, with nicer clothes than the uncomfortable greys she was so used to. For someone who was constantly referred to as a fag, he generated an impressive amount of fear, especially because nobody could really figure out what had actually happened. Inmates and guards both tended to keep a little distance, and even the inmates who could have beat him in a fight tended to give him space when he walked past.

That was okay for Manila, though. He spent most of his time in the library, when he wasn’t allowed to be in his cell, reading up on the donated textbooks that left little to the imagination. There was no point in reading fiction in a place that had an overwhelming feeling of death in the halls. It was probably more dangerous, either way. Everyone took it as just another coping mechanism, just like how they had taken the fact he had used to be a drag queen. It was safe.

He had managed to spend most of the first six months keeping entirely to himself, buried in books and his cell, without actually starting any conversation. When it finally happened, once the books were starting to get old, it was none other than Willam Belli.

It hadn’t been a surprise to anybody that Willam had made the first move. People had their stories, but Willam had worse, and the theories that floated behind him hung heavy in the air. He was the kind of crazy that nobody could really understand, or fuck with, and he was a genius. Manila thought they were actually more similar than he wanted to believe, but there was no way he was set to have the same reputation that Willam held, so he kept quiet.

Willam had walked into the library as if he owned the place, and he might as well have, sitting on the desk and kicking his feet up onto one of the nicer chairs and staring at Manila. He pulled the book from in front of him, picking it up and reading over the first line before looking down at him and raising his brows. “You need all this math to figure out where you hide the bodies, or is this for fun?”

When Manila looked up, Willam had a grin full of teeth that looked too nice to be real. If he didn’t have a reputation which Manila was pretty sure could get him killed he would’ve ignored him, but because he wasn’t stupid, he looked up and answered. “This is for fun. If I was going to hide bodies, wouldn’t I be reading about gardening?”

“Oh nurse, that’s sick. You buried the body?” Willam laughed, shaking his head before putting the book back down in front of Manila.

“Yes. What else are you supposed to do with a dead body?”

“There are rumours that you ate it,” Willam grinned wider, and Manila wanted to laugh purely on how ridiculous it sounded coming from him. Who asked questions like that? It wasn’t exactly a normal conversation topic, and it wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

“I don’t think there are many health benefits in eating internal organs. Sorry,” Manila said quietly, looking back down at the book and turning the page. “I’m sure you can find someone who’s into that, though. I’ve heard there are plenty of killers here.”

“I guess, but I’m interested in you. Did you like it?” Willam was either a genius or a complete idiot, and Manila hated that whatever he was playing was working on him.

At the time, killing had been the best and only possible option. It was okay, because it was protecting others. It was protecting his family and it was good because it was stopping someone dangerous going back into the world without any punishment for the torment they had caused on another living creature. At the time, he hadn’t thought of what came after, other than the feel of flesh splitting under gloved hands and knives.

Manila just shook his head. “It isn’t that simple.”

Willam took the answer for what it was, eyes not straying once from Manila. “You wanna kill anyone else? You wanna kill me?”

“No,” Manila answered. It was simple, because if anything happened like that ever again, he wasn’t going to stay to let the feelings manifest into violence and destruction. Instead, he would see a therapist, or get a pet cat or something. If he avoided situations where it seemed reasonable, there was less of a chance of wanting to kill again.

Willam seemed to be happy with the answer, and with the fact he hadn’t hesitated. He nodded, reaching to touch Manila’s hand. Manila pulled away, but Willam still had the same grin as before plastered on his face. “So, I’m going to go. But I have a proposition for you.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“If you see me around, and I nod at you, nod back, ‘kay? Don’t need any sissy fags thinking you’re neutral. You want to be on my team, ladyboy. I’ll owe you one.”

“What?”

“If I nod to you, you nod back.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And that’s it?” Manila wasn’t buying it. Whatever Willam wanted, it was more than just nodding, and Manila wasn’t about to get in a war with the white supremacists for a favour from Willam Belli. Most of his vices weren’t the kind you could trade for in prison, anyway.

“That’s it. Man, for a killer, you’re fucking dumb. People are freaked out by you, ‘cause you killed a dude with one of those pocket-knives or whatever, or maybe you didn’t but everyone thinks you did. And if you look like you’re on my team, people will think I’m scarier by proxy. I need it before the next batch of inmates transfer.”

“Oh. I guess I can do that, okay.”

“Awesome. See you around, Luzon. And stop looking so sad. You didn’t hear it from me, but I hear Sutan has a soft spot for boys who look like girls. Maybe you want to get in on that.”

“Isn’t he like… A cult leader?”

“I didn’t know you were picky with your violent, fucked up felons. Take what you can get,” Willam rolled his eyes, getting to his feet before smiling at him and adding, “You’ll do fine if you don’t let yourself rot up here.”

That had been it for the next few months, until the new inmates slowly started to fill the empty bunks, and Willam came back with more of a reputation than before. Since then, he had started to talk to Sutan on occasion and had lost all three cellmates since, all of them scared of him, begging the guards to switch them out on account of whatever rumour Willam had told them.

He felt like a monster, but it let him keep the safety that came with being avoided by most and that was more than enough for him. He didn’t want to be near any of the fights, or any of the drug dealers, and the fact that they didn’t want to be around him either was comforting. He wanted to leave and go home earlier than he was sentenced to, and to live a life that wasn’t haunted by his bad decisions. Anything to improve his quality of life was the ideal.

That was, until he was allocated a new roommate with as much of a reputation out as Manila had in. He didn’t like the name Brian, and he definitely didn’t like that he had managed to adapt to life in a prison cell as quickly as he had. There was a hint of jealousy when he heard the name of the person Brian had dragged down with him, another queen, and Manila was either going to become Alaska’s best friend or her worst nightmare.

#manila luzon #willam belli #raja gemini #group fic #prison au #angst #au #tw homophobic slurs #tw violence #tw minor character death #tw prison #comeapart #rpdr fanfiction #m/m au #orange is the new drag by comapart