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otterandterrier · 2 years

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Star Wars: Life Day, or how to kill a character over again

Star Wars’ latest and highly anticipated comic installment, Life Day, promised to be “a collection of festive tales” about the Wookiee tradition made infamous by The Holiday Special. I was really looking forward to it, and to say I’m disappointed is an understatement. But maybe that’s on me, for continuing to have any expectations of a franchise that has already proved it doesn’t care about the material it built on. A rant with spoilers under the cut.

Set after Return of the Jedi, preview panels featured Han Solo looking longingly at a “Life Day orb” showing (? are they magical objects projecting one’s desires? is there merchandise of the heroes of the rebellion?) him with Leia and a young Ben, while on an adventure with Chewie.

As present day Han looks just like Orb Han (fully brown hair, no extra wrinkles), one would assume that the image in the Orb doesn’t take place too far back in time.

And, since the issue was supposed to feature “festive tales”, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that the story would be about Han getting into a scrape while flying Chewie back to Kashyyyk in time for Life Day (in a hopefully better redo of The Holiday Special, with no singing or Wookiee p*rn), before going back home to his own wife and young kid.

After all, what does new canon tell us about Han Solo after RotJ?

- He and Leia get married on Endor, right after RotJ (Life Debt).

- Leia gets pregnant; their child is born a year after RotJ (Empire’s End).

- While initially struggling with the idea of settling down and being a father (not hard to imagine, for someone who didn’t have a father figure himself and lived all his life more or less errantly), he’s a caring and supporting husband and new dad (Empire’s End and Last Shot).

- Two years after his son is born, Han has quit his rank as General (Life Debt) and is only now considering rejoining the New Republic in a different capacity, implying he was a stay at home dad all this time (Last Shot).

- He’s reluctant to leave on an adventure when Lando shows up, and then keeps in touch with Leia and thinks of how much he misses his family when he’s away (Last Shot).

- About 24 years after RotJ, Han not only has his own legal shippping business, but also races for charity and mentors young pilots (Bloodline).

- While his racing career keeps him away from home, it’s not until Ben has already left to Luke’s Academy that he stays away for longer periods of time, but he still lives with Leia and constantly keeps in touch with her (Bloodline).

- He’s said to have lost the Falcon by that time, although a comic (Flight of the Falcon) places it at around 27 years after RotJ, which would be after Bloodine.

- It’s not until Ben’s fall to the Dark Side, around 27-28 years after RotJ, that Han and Leia separate and Han goes back to being a smuggler, having money troubles, and being chased by gangs, for reasons that are unclear.

Surely all that backstory should have to shape the story that was going to be told in Life Day, right?

Wrong.

Although no clear timeline is given in this comic, Han has already lost the Falcon, is already working as a smuggler, is already being chased by Kanjiklub, and has already, allegedly, left his family. It’s not explicitly said, but it’s implied by Han’s grim outlook on the galaxy after the war and the fact that he was going for drinks on a holiday instead of being with his family.

All of which would make sense if the comics were set just a couple of years before The Force Awakens but, unless the artists are really bad at drawing 60 year old Harrison Ford, it doesn’t seem to be the case (I mean, not that the artwork is that great, but you’d think it wouldn’t be too hard to add some grey hairs).

Except, it kind of does make sense when you consider how little f*cks Lucasfilm has given to cohesive storytelling, despite their claims that they were scraping the EU to do just that. That’s what you’d imagine their Story Group would be in charge of: making sure that all the movies, books, TV shows, and comics line up with each other.Right?

Not according to Matt Martin, dudebro of the Story Group, who thinks we all just need to chill with the nitpicking because “it’s all fake anyway”.

Cool. I mean, how silly of us to expect that stories allegedly taking place in the same universe and timeline have any sort of continuity, when it’s all fake anyway.

Alright, so what does the Story Group get paid to do, then? Let’s look at the original thread the tweets above are in reply to:

I’m just one unpaid individual who has no problem keeping up with “canon” (according to Matt Martin, there’s no such thing as canon!) material and spotting inconsistencies in my free time, but okay. Too much work for the Story Group to have a chat with the people they hire to write new stories and catch them up, apparently. Not that fic writers do it all the time, for free.

Anyway. “An ongoing storyline that directly contradicts the new films.” Funny, that, when the very same new films contradict each other? But more to the point of this post, funny, that, when the new films contradict the original films they’re supposed to be based off, and a continuity of.

See, I’m sad that so many fans apparently think Han is a deadbeat father and shitty husband who couldn’t settle down and preferred the criminal life. But how can I blame them, when that’s exactly what Lucasfilm keeps saying??

Even though that’s not canon Han Solo.

JJ Abrams claimed to love Han, but it seems he checked out halfway through A New Hope. Canon Han Solo - that is, Han Solo from A New Hope to Return of the Jedi - is the guy who:

- appears suave as a bluff, but completely loses his cool under pressure

- claims to be in it for the money, but consistently risks his life for people he just met, even when no reward is promised

- offers to take Luke away with him despite having known him for less than a day and appearing annoyed by him

- ends up staying with and working for the rebellion for +3 years

- only seriously tries to leave when his debt to Jabba catches up with him

- risks his life to save Luke on Hoth when the rebellion wouldn’t do anything about it

- risks his life to get Leia out of a crumbling base

- accepts his potential death as long as it means the people he loves will be safe

- once his debt to Jabba is off, willingly stays with the rebellion and takes on an official position

- offers his ship and only home to Lando for the battle, even knowing he might not see it again

- offers to step aside when he believes Luke is the one Leia loves

There’s a clear arc for Han Solo established in the OT, from being a short-tempered loner taking any job to get by, to having a found family he’d do anything for and committing to a cause. And that’s just to simplify it: Han has an arc in the very first movie. He’s a bit of an asshole at first, but soon enough is affectionate and caring. He claims to be disinterested in any pro bono causes, yet turns around to help Luke save the rebels. He’s not really a loner, since it’s clear Chewie isn’t just a partner, but a friend, and immediately jumps to help these two people he just met.

How does it make any sense, then, that in peacetime, with no bounties and no debts after him, with the people he loves finally safe, Han would just leave? How can anyone watch the OT and think “ah yes Han Solo, smooth macho guy Han Solo, fuckboi Han Solo, Han Solo who doesn’t deserve Princess Leia because all he did was yell at her and leave”?

It doesn’t. Unless you don’t know how to write interesting stories without regressing your characters, that is, and... I’m being undeservedly generous by calling these stories “interesting”. So, I still don’t understand what the Story Group bros get paid to do, since they don’t even seem to remember the OT or care that new stories are inconsistent with it.

There was nothing festive about the tales featured in Life Day. Han is chased by Kanjiklub on Batuu because, hey, the comic might not be consistent with the rest of Han’s Disney canon backstory, but make sure you include the buzzwords! In the middle, there’s a story about a Jedi Master and her Wookiee Padawan saving Kashyyyk from something I honestly didn’t pay too close attention to.

Then a story set pre-ANH about Han helping Chewie save some Wookiees.

Then a story set between ANH and ESB about Han using Threepio to help the rebellion on Life Day (I have to admit that one was cute).

And the thrilling conclusion of present day Han’s adventures, where we got back to him being a miserable loser who ends up saving his skin through theft and deceit and in the end might have fucked things up more than he realizes.

That’d be so cute if it wasn’t for... uh... the fact sometimes you just have to be home with your family instead of gallivanting with your pal for a drink on a holiday about family.

Isn’t it painfully ironic that the two stories featuring past Han managed to nail his character so well, and then... somehow that changes?? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE.

Lucasfilm killed Han Solo in The Force Awakens for bullshit storytelling reasons that amount to the screenwriters not having a clue what to do with the character, and for the broader cultural reason that we just don’t know how to write stories worth telling beyond the happy ending. But the character assassination continues well after his death.

They seem undecided about what they believe of him: in some stories, mercifully, his RotJ arc is continued by having him committed to Leia and their son - which is why I was looking forward to this comic. Silly me. But the damage was already done in TFA. Nothing was said, so people assumed. And then the people involved in the movies confirmed those assumptions. And so even when a different backstory was given, the general audience who doesn’t keep up with all the books and comics, and the fan audience who is already biased to believe something different (cough especially when it comes to finding someone else to blame for the crimes of a certain white villain) doesn’t care that you changed your tune.

No, Han Solo clearly was always going to leave. He and Leia were always going to fail. Look at this choice gif of him being snarky! Remember when he left the rebellion to die and I turned off the movie after that? Look at this picture of him sitting in the cantina like that. A character who is nuanced? A guy with the looks of a womanizer who is actually devoted to one person only? A macho guy who shamelessly loves his friends? A wannabe mercenary with a bleeding heart?

Lucasfilm/Disney execs:

#han solo #star wars #lucasfilm #han x leia #star wars life day #hanleia #fandom ramblings #my posts #star wars original trilogy

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my-makeshift-masquerade · 3 years

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Riva Remembers

(A cheesy title for a fic I wrote while in the midst of an emotional breakdown, haha… I figured I’d post it on here because people seem to like my artwork of this OC so far. This is my first time writing these characters. Also I am on mobile and super duper tired from the aforementioned breakdown, so please pardon the long post. I have no idea how to put the read more thing on this… Regardless I hope someone enjoys this, I guess.)

“Agent Cruller, it’s me! Raz! I need to talk to you—“

“Sorry, senior staff only!” The old man in the mailroom office replied coldly, turning back to sorting the piles of letters with telekinesis.

“Don’t you know who I am?!” Nick’s voice came from farther into the mailroom, “I’m telling my dad!”

Razputin suddenly got an idea… He raced down to find his mentor standing there, eyes looking off in two separate directions. Another figure he recognized was on the verge of a nervous breakdown right next to him… Actually she looked like she had already been through multiple breakdowns before he even got here.

“Mr. Johnsmith?! Come on! It’s me! N-nick?!” The teen ran pale hands through her short brown hair, “Th-this is terrible! I am dead for sure!”

“Postage stamps…are scratch and sniff…” The pot-bellied man mumbled nonsensically beside her.

“Whoa, whoa, Riva…” The ten year old’s expression softened, “I was the one who found his brainless body… What do you mean you’re dead?”

“N-norma…she… t-told everyone I…”

“She thinks YOU’RE the mole?!” The child was taken aback, slightly angered even, “Why?!”

“I-I don’t know…M-maybe it’s because I didn’t notice the body before you…?” Riva sniffled, “It doesn’t matter… Agent Foresythe is going to have me detained…o-once she hears about this…”

“What?! No way!” He looked at her with determined eyes, “Don’t worry! I have a plan! I am going to get a new brain for Nick’s body, so he can let me into the mailroom office! Once I get there, I will be one step closer to proving you’re innocent!”

“Y-you really think… I-I’m innocent…?” Her tear filled blue eyes looked at him as if confused by his faith in her.

“I know you are!” He nodded, “Hey! Can you watch Ford for me until I get back? Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere!”

“F-ford…?” The other intern’s eyes narrowed at that name, as if she were squinting to see through a thick fog, “Ford…why does… Oh! Ford Cruller, right… He’s one of the psychic 6…” She shook her head, “Sorry, I am just…all over the place… These panic attacks take a lot out of me…”

“It’s all going to be okay.” The younger of the two gently took the other’s hand, waving to Nick before walking up to the office room, “Agent Cruller! This is my friend! She works in the mailroom—!”

“If she isn’t senior staff, that door ain’t openin’!” Ford declared before the boy could finish.

“Oh, I know!” Raz nodded, “This is Riva. She is having a hard time right now, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Maybe you two could talk or something?”

“Eh?! Oh, sure…sure thing…” The senior sounded slightly jostled for a moment, before returning to his distant demeanor, “Chit chat makes the sortin go faster…”

“Great!” The boy smiled at Riva before racing up to the exit of the mailroom, “I’ll be back as soon as possible!”

Soon after the sound of footsteps and levitation bubbles faded, the remaining intern heard the door creak open.

“Riva…” Cruller’s voice sounded slightly shaken, “I… Is it really you…?”

“S-sir…?” She frowned, “I-I don’t think we’ve met before…”

“Ah… I shoulda known you would’ve repressed it all…” He looked at the floor grimly, “They feared what you could become if you knew…”

“…W-what…?” The teen stepped away as the agent stepped closer, reaching a hand out to her. Eventually, she was against a wall.

“You…really were damaged by the feedback…weren’t you, kid…?” His bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Back at Whisperin Rock… you remember that place, right…?”

Oh, that summer camp she got kicked out of only mere days in because she wasn’t even a real psychic?

“Yes, that’s the one.” Cruller answered her thoughts telepathically, “Except… you are psychic, Riva… Always have been… They just wanted you to believe you weren’t…so they could let you go back to society…”

Go…back…? Why wouldn’t she have been allowed to be in society if she was psychic? Isn’t that what the psychonauts are all about?

“You had potential, unlike what Nein Vodello and myself had ever seen from such a young mind… until Raz showed up, of course, but he was slightly older than you were…” He finally grabbed both of her hands, encasing them in his own, “You had such a gift with clairvoyance… it was beyond what the psychonauts ever thought was possible…”

“W-Wait…” She blinked, “You know Raz then? Why didn’t you just let him in the office…?”

“He’s not ready to learn the dark truths I’ve got tucked away in this old noggin…” The old man sighed, “I-I’m not ready for em, either… but… you are. You need to know the truth about yourself… You need to stop disregarding me when I say this: You ARE psychic…”

“B-BUT I’M NOT!” Riva tried to pull her hands away from him, to which he gently released them from their hold, “T-THAT CAMP WAS THE WORST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME! I THOUGHT I WOULD FIND SOMEWHERE I BELONGED, THAT I WAS GOOD FOR SOMETHING! B-but… I wasn’t… I-I was so full of myself to think I was special! M-My brains just BROKEN—“

“Stop it right there.” His voice became firmer, “Listen to me, before someone comes! Your potent clairvoyance meant we didn’t need any altering technology to convince you of a lie… You are so in tune with other people’s viewpoints and perspectives… you don’t even know what your reality is anymore… Other people tell you who you are, what you do, where you go. No more playin pretend, Riva.”

“I-I…b-but…”

“You were a psychic of high potential even at age 7, with budding specialities in clairvoyance, and hydrokinesis….” He smiled, “You… you made friends with every single piece of me, kid… I took you under my wing to teach you what I knew… but hydrokinesis… was a feared ability due to…well… another incident... When that secret spilled…”

“N-no… I-I can’t be… I-I don’t remember any of this!“

“Nein feared that your age, your diagnosis of autism, both combined with your psychic potential could result in you developing powerful abilities beyond even your own control…” Ford shook his head, “Headquarters wanted to lock ya up for observation in a psychoisolation facility for life… but, Sasha found a loophole. By having someone tell you that their biased perspective was reality, your brain would doubt its own perception, and start to believe them. That’s how we managed to let you leave that campsite with your family…”

By this point Riva was speechless, as countless memories she thought she had selfishly dreamed about returned to her. She fell to her knees, staring at nothing as she was flooded with all that she had forgotten. The ruthless bullying at camp, and their sabotaging of her efforts to learn to use her powers… That time they tried to drown her in the lake and she washed them all ashore on accident… the horror on everyone’s faces… It all actually happened?!

There were some happy things hidden in the mess, though… The time she’d spend drawing the wildlife out there, the cool places to explore… and the single friend she made at camp… That’s right, the cook was always there to comfort her after the other kids picked on her… No, wait, it was the ranger… But then why’d she remember a janitor, and a man watching over the canoes…? Why did they all look the same, identical even…? Then there was one more in a psychonauts uniform…

“There ya go. Now you’re getting it…” His frail hand grabbed one of hers, helping her up with a chuckle. “I should look more familiar to ya now, eh?”

She made eye contact again, and felt so stupid for not noticing this before. Riva always had an interest in the psychonauts, because they seemed like they could tolerate different minds. If her family could afford it, she would even read True Psychic Tales, mainly because she admired the illustrations. How could she not realize she knew Ford “The Founder Of This Whole Place” Cruller until now?!

Yet, at the same time, she felt her eyes water. It was nice to know she had a friend back then, even if he was old enough to be her grandpa. She didn’t say a word, and extended her free arm as an invitation…for something she definitely needed and wouldn’t want to get from Nick. The agent understood, and they hugged for a brief moment. She felt like this had happened before.

“I-I… I’m glad to see you, Mr. Cruller, b-but…” She quickly shifted back to worrying, “I-I am not in the best situation to do much of anything regarding the truth right now… I know Norma is telling Hollis I am the spy in the psychonauts… I-I am going to get locked up in the end anyway… T-they didn’t believe me before… Why would they believe me now—?”

He was gone.

The intercom sounded, with Hollis’ sharp voice ringing out, “Would Riva Beckons please come to the main area IMMEDIATELY!”

#shut up becca #drabbles #psychonauts riva beckons #psychonauts oc #psychonauts sona

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portalford · 3 years

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I Can Picture You So Easily

AO3

It hits Stan at the stupidest times.

Well. That makes it sounds like Stan just forgets, when really it never quite goes away — sometimes it’s just more.

Like now.

He’s looking in the mirror — he found it tucked way, way back in a closet (and he’s gonna skip right over that because when he got here the mirror in the bathroom was broken, cracked until you couldn’t see a thing and why was Ford—nope) — and he’s trying out a new look for Mr. Mystery.

Gotta keep it fresh, right? Accessorize?

Glasses aren’t accessories, unfortunately. He can’t go without them anymore.

(Really, he needed them years ago, but he was too stubborn to admit it, or too broke, or whatever, but he’s literally tripping over his own feet now. Needs must).

Ford wouldn’t be caught dead in this getup. No sense of fashion. So that’s fine.

The glasses—

(Ford started wearing glasses when he was six. Stan had laughed himself silly when they went to the drugstore and tried on the biggest, most obnoxious frames they could find. Ma had scolded, but she’d been too distracted checking price tags to do more than scold.

In the end, they went with some cheap horn-rimmed frames that Stan wouldn’t be caught dead in even now. Old-man glasses, at six. But that was Ford all over).

—they bring some stuff up. The twin thing sucks, sometimes.

(Looking in a mirror and seeing the changes, the lines in his face, the grey in his hair — does Ford have crow’s feet now? Is his hair going silver? It was always unmanageable — is it thinning like Stan’s is now, or is it still thick and flyaway, like it was when Ford was sixteen? Did he even live long enough to get lines in his face and aches in his joints, or is he forever twenty-eight, dead somewhere in the universe?)

Time to stop thinking.

Notice the differences.

Stan’s ears and nose are bigger than Ford’s, always have been. He’s heavier and his shoulders are broader.

(Has Ford gotten bulkier, fighting to survive? Or is still he halfway to gaunt, like the last time Stan saw him?)

Definitely time to stop thinking.

Stan flashes a smile, and yeah, that’s all him. Cheerful, magnetic, and a hundred percent fake.

Time to work the crowds.

*****

There’s an ad for the nice ink pens Ford saved up to buy when he was fourteen.

Stan turns it off.

*****

Mabel finds a picture, once.

“Grunkle Stan!” Her eyes are all lit up as she shows him the torn photograph. “I found this under a floorboard in the attic!”

If Stan ever had any doubts about his poker face, he can lay them to rest now. It’s all on the ropes and his expression is perfectly level, maybe even a little curious.

Mabel is still talking. “I didn’t know there were pictures of you before you were all old! Do you have any others?”

Oh.

Stan still forgets sometimes, even after everything, that most people can’t tell him and Ford apart.

He knows better.

The young man in the photograph is unmistakably Ford, taken while he was living in Gravity Falls. He’s got his head bent over that journal of his, but the photographer managed to catch the eager light in his eye, the edge of his smile.

Stan wonders who that photographer was, all those years ago.

A tug at his shirt reminds him he’s not alone, and he definitely can’t get messed up about this picture of his secret twin brother.

Mabel’s face has fallen a bit. “Grunkle Stan? Are you okay?”

Stan gives himself two more seconds to look at the picture — Ford just looks so happy; Stan can’t even remember the last time Ford looked like that, even before it all fell apart — and turns to Mabel.

“Yeah,” he says. He smiles and ruffles her hair. “Pretty good picture, huh?”

*****

The name is the worst.

Stan never thought identity theft could involve so little fun.

Usually he can get away with just “Stan Pines,” and that’s fine. That’s his name. That’s who he’s supposed to be.

Sometimes, though, that’s not enough for whoever’s asking.

“What did you say your name was again?”

He smiles. Lays it on thick. “Stanford Pines.”

“Could you sign here?”

He does. His blocky, uneven handwriting looks even worse than usual where he’s expecting to see neat, flowing script, the way Stanford Pines is supposed to be written.

“This is Stanford Pines,” someone will say. “Mr. Mystery.”

Stan smiles some more. Yes, Stanford Pines is certainly that.

Gideon is the worst. Stanford this and Stanford that and Stan’s never wanted to punch a child so much in his life.

“Stanford Pines!”

He smiles, and he lies.

*****

Dipper halfway drives him nuts sometimes.

It’s not like the kid’s a mini-Ford — he reminds Stan enough of himself, sometimes, though Stan’s not sure that’s great either — but he’s got the brains and the stubbornness and the love of weird nonsense, for sure.

He’s also got that obsessive edge, the drive that sent Ford right off the metaphorical cliff.

Usually Mabel tags along on the weirdness hunts — they make a day of it. They go out, just the two of them, and come back laughing and joking and shoving at each other.

That’s enough of a painful reminder, but sometimes Stan will catch Mabel sitting by herself, coloring or crafting with a little less energy than usual, and he’ll realize that Dipper’s buried himself in monster theory again.

He tries to keep the kid busy with chores and hustle, but it’s a losing battle.

It was the first time, too.

*****

There’s this old song that Ford used to love when they were younger.

It’s got no words, and Stan used to make fun of it — what's the point of a song with no words? But Ford insisted it had Meaning, capital M.

It comes on the radio now and then.

Depending on how masochistic Stan is feeling that day, he might let it play.

He still wonders what Ford heard in this song, and if Ford would hear it now.

*****

He realizes, one day near the end, that he’s been Stanford longer than he’s been Stanley.

What’s the point, really? What does a name matter if it’s so easy for someone else to take your place?

(Did Ford matter so little, in the grand scheme of things, that not one person could recognize him in a place he lived for six years?

Does Stan, in a place he’s lived for almost thirty?)

If he could just stop catching Ford in his reflection now and then, that’d be great.

*****

It’s not any better once Ford gets back (once Stan brings Ford back, the ungrateful bastard).

“Stanford!”

Stan’s got a smile on his face before he even turns around, and what’s wrong with him that he’s halfway made this lie into a Pavlovian response? Someone calls him Stanford, he smiles and lies.

(Stanford — the real Stanford — is in the basement right now. He doesn’t even exist, as far as anyone else is concerned. Stan is Stanford, Stanley is dead, and Ford is a nonentity.

What a life this is).

*****

“So how was it?”

Stan grunts. “How was what?”

Ford rolls his neck, wincing a little as he works out the unavoidable crick from hunching over a drawing for twenty minutes. “Being me.”

Stan shrugs. “Wasn’t hard. We’re basically the same person, y’know.”

Ford snorts. A long time (a lifetime) ago that comment might have gotten him worked up, but he’s steadier now, softer around the edges. “Very funny. I saw your lease renewal. You didn’t even change your handwriting, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ford, I rolled up to town, said I was you, and started a tourist trap. You had a total personality transplant and nobody noticed.” Stan grimaces. That sounded really bad.

Ford’s expression has gone rueful and a little sad at the edges, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about launch into full-blown self-recrimination, so that’s fine. “Yes, well. That’s what happens when you isolate yourself for six years and your only friend erases his mind to cope with the mistakes you made.”

And that’s Ford trying to shoulder all the blame again, but Stan keeps his mouth shut. They’re both too comfortable to argue right now. “Being honest — for once — it kinda sucked.” Ford’s looking at him, open and encouraging, so Stan keeps going. “Everyone thought I was you, and it—I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be.” Stan shrugs. “I wanted you you.”

Ford smiles, and it’s a little more worn than Stan remembers, but it’s real, and it’s him. “I understand. I met a few parallel versions of you on my travels, and they were you, but — they weren’t really you.” Ford closes his journal (his new one) and sets it aside, tipping his head back over his chair. More playfully, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to be you either, Stanley.”

Stan laughs. “Yeah? Couldn’t handle the salesmanship?”

“Have more self-respect than to wear any part of your wardrobe.”

“Says the man who wears sweaters in the summer.”

Ford lifts his head and smiles, and this time it’s almost exactly how Stan remembers — quick and a little crooked. “Fair enough.” Ford stretches, rolls his neck again. “For what it’s worth, Stanley, I am glad to be back.” A wry look. “Even if it’s going to take ages to sort out the criminal record you gave me.”

Stan slouches deeper into the couch. Any further and he’s going to slide off, but that’s a risk he’ll take. “Yeah, yeah. Talk to me when you’re legally dead.”

��You did that.”

“And?”

“I legally don’t exist.”

“I was trying to learn theoretical physics at the time, Stanford; cut a man some slack.”

Ford laughs, quiet. “Did I ever thank you for that?”

Stan cracks an eye open. He didn’t realize he closed them. “What, learnin’ physics? Because I’m pretty sure that’s some of the stuff that’s not coming back.”

Ford rolls his eyes. “For saving me.”

“Hm.” Ford’s thanked him several times, but lately it’s been less Ford kicking himself and more Ford cautiously trying to engage in the old back-and-forth they used to have, and Stan can get behind that one. “I dunno. Might have to say it again.”

“You’re burning through my gratitude very quickly,” Ford says mildly, “but all right. Thank you for saving me. You knucklehead.”

Stan never got called that when he was Ford. He thinks he’s missed it, at least the way Ford says it — like it means something completely different.

“Uh-huh.” Stan’s eyes are closed again. He figures he’ll just leave them closed. “Missed you too, nerd.”

And maybe there’s something to be said for being your own person.

It feels pretty good.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #stanley pines #stanford pines #back on the angst with a happy ending train #feat. a side of introspection and melodrama!#i love it here

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nikxation · 3 years

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A Close Encounter

Summary:

All Stan knows is that, if you see huge red eyes staring at you from the brush, look away, turn around, and run as fast if you can, assuming it’s not already too late.

So, when he finds himself face to face with a creature easily three times his size with glowing red eyes, he realizes he may be in one of those “too late” kinds of situations.

Notes:

Written for @buggy-mars for the 2020 Secret Santa exchange! You wanted mullet Stan angst, so here ya go! Hope you enjoy! And Happy Holidays!

Find it here on AO3.

Beware of glowing red eyes in the woods.

It’s one of the first things Stan learns when he starts making his presence more known around the small town of Gravity Falls, though he learns it mostly through indirect means (because while Ford had been here for over a decade, Stan has barely been here a month, and asking questions might draw a certain amount of suspicion and scrutiny that he can’t afford).

Most people would call it eavesdropping, but he likes to think of it as “directed listening” instead.

It’s hushed, frightened whispers in the back booth of the diner between two buff-looking guys holding steaming cups of coffee in shaking hands.

It’s the short exchange of words between two woodsmen as they pass each other in the street, one warning the other away from a certain area of the forest for the day.

It’s a woman sending her kids to go play and warning them to be careful even as they roll their eyes and run off, young and invincible against the dangers of the world.

Of all the things he’s heard, the red eyes seem to be the thing that everyone, without exception, knows to steer clear of at all costs.

Something about visions of nightmares or poisonous quills or just pure, unadulterated terror, he’s not sure. They don’t talk about it in as many words, circling the topic like two boxers in the ring, sizing one another up, neither willing to make the first move, to say the wrong thing, to admit too much. They dance around it, never getting close enough to give him any solid answers before jumping to another subject altogether.

All he knows is that, if you see huge red eyes staring at you from the brush, look away, turn around, and run as fast if you can, assuming it’s not already too late.

So, when he finds himself face to face with a creature easily three times his size with glowing red eyes, he realizes he may be in one of those “too late” kinds of situations.

~ ~ ~

The sleet is coming down hard as Stan trudges through the melting snow, shovel in one hand and worn map in the other as he aims towards another area of the woods that he hasn’t already scribbled out in pencil. The sun is finding its way down towards the treeline, which means he doesn’t have a lot of time today before it gets too dark to be able to effectively hunt for the other journals. Plus, he has more tours to prep for tomorrow, so he’ll have to make sure he leaves himself enough time to get everything set up again for that. But he plans to take advantage of whatever dying rays of sunlight he can.

He feels dirty, zipped up tight in one of Ford’s jackets that fits him a little too tight in the arms, one he found in some back closet when he finally started going through the man’s things. But there’s only so much he can do in a worn-out hoodie in this weather, and he has more important things to worry about than how wrong it feels to be wearing his missing (not dead) brother’s clothes.

At least his hair is keeping his neck warm, so this god-awful hairstyle is finally good for something other than looking terrible.

He looks down at the map again, glancing back up to see if he can find some kind of marker he should have left for himself to know where he left off, whether it be a slash in some tree bark or a pile of rocks in the snow. Based on the map, he should be getting close to something, but at this rate, the trees are starting to thin out as he makes his way into more rocky and mountainous terrain, so he can’t quite remember what he should be looking for.

A glance back down at the map, and he realizes that the sleet has begun to smear the ink and graphite on the page. He curses under his breath, shoves it into his pocket, and looks around frantically, spotting a shadow in a rocky face that might just be a cave that he can duck into for a moment, long enough to get out of the wet cold for a moment and reorient himself to his surroundings.

He was right in assuming it was a cave, finding himself in a small dark cavern that doesn’t seem to go more than a few yards deep and a few feet above his head. He doesn’t bother getting out his flashlight to check that assumption; at the mouth of the cave, he gets enough light to see what he needs to see, and he needs to save as much battery power as he can.

He also doesn’t plan to stay long.

It’s quiet save for the pitter-patter of the sleet on the hard ground and the sound of his own breathing echoing around the rock walls.

The map is a bit soggy when he pulls it back out, and he tries his best to hold it as gently as possible to stop it from ripping or falling apart on him. He knows he could get back to the house from here without it, but it’s his only record of his search, and he’d hate to have to start from scratch. Which is why when one of the corners flops down and tears itself, he curses again, this time a bit more forcefully as he tries to hold the paper back together, willing it to not get any worse.

It’s at that exact moment that something behind him shifts, the sound of scratching on the rock followed by a low, animalistic growl that makes the hairs on his neck stand completely upright, his whole body going rigid.

The possibility occurs to him that maybe the cave was deeper than he thought it was, or that maybe, just maybe, there was something big in the way stopping him from seeing all the way back.

It also occurs to him that maybe it wasn’t his own breathing that he had been hearing.

His whole body is frozen stiff as he waits to see what happens next, too afraid to turn around, too afraid to make a run for it, trapped in place like a deer in headlights.

He hears the thing stand, claws scraping against the stone ground as it does, footsteps heavy as it slowly moves forward, closer to him.

He should run. He should really run. Running would be a very good idea.

There must be a disconnect somewhere in his brain because no matter how hard he begs his legs to run, they stand frozen in place, trapping him in the mouth of this cave as whatever is behind him lumbers closer and closer with each breath.

And then it stops, everything falling deathly silent again, and he can all but feel the thing standing behind him, and everything in him is screaming to get the hell out of there right now, but he still can’t move.

Stan doesn’t know how long he stands there waiting, probably only a handful of seconds if he had to guess, even if it feels like an eternity. He swallows slowly, his heart slamming in his chest, in his ears, as he finally gains enough control of himself to turn, ever so slowly to see what exactly he’s dealing with here.

Two red eyes look down on him from scarcely a few feet away, and that’s all his brain can register outside of “big” and “huge teeth” and “run goddamnit run!”. But he still can’t move, and the thing lets out another low growl, this one much more pointed than the last, a clear warning. But his bones are somewhere between Jell-o and stone right now, his throat tight like he’s trying not to breathe even though the thing is looking right at him and it’s too late you should have run when you had the chance—

Its eyes flash, the sudden shift from burning red to bright yellow jolting him like a bucket of cold water to the face, and he has no idea what to make of it, and he’s still stuck in place right in front of this thing that’s making no moves towards him, his eyes locked on it like he’s waiting to see a reaction from it, waiting for it to make the first move.

And then, the yellow fades, the eyes returning to that same unnatural red, and he gets the vague feeling that something happened, he’s just not sure what, as the thing takes a small step back from him and just… stares.

It’s something of a stand-off, and he gets the impression that, whatever it just tried with the little glowing eyes trick didn’t quite work the way it expected. That this thing that could kill him with one lazy swipe of its arm (leg? Hand? Paw? What the heck even is this thing?) has yet to make an aggressive move against him for whatever reason and has done nothing but stare at him, and he has no idea what to do with that.

And this, whatever this is, feels fundamentally different than even a few seconds ago. And he’s not sure how that even makes sense given that he’s dealing with some hulking creature and not anything remotely human or rational. And yet, he swears the thing went from trying to intimidate him to… studying him? Like it’s reassessing how to handle him?

He must be losing his damn mind.

The thing regards him for another excruciatingly long moment before breathing out what sounds suspiciously like a hmph and then taking a step towards him. He braces, arms coming up, his legs still unhelpfully locked into place as he expects the attack to finally come. And the thing pauses, its hackles momentarily raising and a quiet growl rumbling in its throat for barely a second before it settles, pushes past him and…

Leaves.

It just… leaves.

In the dying sunlight and falling sleet, Stan gets his first full glimpse of the massive creature as it climbs free of the cave and stretches back out, easily towering over the cave entrance by many feet. Its whole body is covered in course hair that almost resembles quills, mushrooms of some sort growing from its back and shoulders. It stands up on its two hind feet (its claws are almost as long as his arm holy shit), seems to finish stretching itself out, drops back to all fours, and then dashes off into the woods and disappears into the darkness.

It takes him a minute to fully process what happened, for the adrenaline coursing through him to finally die out and the weight of the fear and relief to settle in. It’s enough to make his legs finally give out from under him as he sinks to the hard stone floor, the reality of how close he was to death worming its way into his bones like an old forgotten friend.

And yet…

A strained laugh breaks free from his throat, the sound oddly choked as he leans back against the rock wall behind him, his chest aching something fierce.

He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he just had an encounter with the creature the entire town is afraid of, and he made it out unscathed. He’s sure of it, in the same way that he’s sure his brother is alive somewhere, an unquestionable kind of feeling deep in his bones that’s the only real thing he has any faith in anymore. He knows that, somehow, he got lucky, and that thing let him be for whatever reason. He doesn’t know why or how, or what the yellow glowing eyes thing was or why it seemed to not really care about him after that (then it took a step back, so was it afraid of him? No that’s not possible, why would it be afraid of him?).

He sits there a while, lost in his own head, wondering what exactly he’s missing, why the entire town is afraid of something that ultimately decided to leave him alone. Wondering whether it was luck or something else entirely.

He doesn’t have an answer.

He’ll probably never have one, if he’s being honest with himself.

It’s well after dark by the time he musters enough energy to stumble back to the empty house that isn’t his, peel off the soggy coat that doesn’t fit him right, climb into his makeshift bed on the couch, and fall into a restless sleep to the sound of the heavy tapping of sleet on the windowpane.

#pinesbrosfallswrites #stan pines #mullet stan #gravity falls secret santa 2020

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hyxnjxn · 3 years

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BREAKING NEWS! ((KAL HYUN-JIN))who looks an awful lot like ((JEON JUNGKOOK)) has just been seen around Nuntium House. Apparently ((HE)) is ((29)) years old and have been in the New York City for ((16 YEARS)). They work as a (( principal dancer)) at ((NYCB)). If they had an article byline it would read ((You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering )) - but we have yet to make up our mind if that is accurate. ((Davis / 29 / pst / crucifixes))

B A S I C S

FULL LEGAL NAME: Kal Hyun-Jin

NICKNAME(s): n/a

AGE: 29

DATE OF BIRTH: July 25th

NATIONALITY: American

LANGUAGES: English, Korean (though he’s spoken it so infrequently that he has a hard time following conversations now)

SEX: MALE

GENDER: cis man

PRONOUNS: he/him

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual

BIRTH ORDER: youngest (adopted) child

HOMETOWN: San Francisco, California

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Queens, New York

RELIGION: Agnostic

EDUCATION: Bachelors in biology from NYU

OCCUPATION: New York City Ballet Company principal dancer

MARITAL STATUS: single

FAMILY:

RELATIONSHIPS: single

PETS: n/a

P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S

HEIGHT: 6′0

WEIGHT: 165 lbs

BODY TYPE: fit and lean

EYE COLOR: Brown

HAIR COLOR: Dark brown,

HAIR TEXTURE: naturally shaggy and fluffy, usually tied or slicked back during rehearsal or classes

SCARS|MARKS: n/a

SIGNATURE SCENT: Tom Ford Noir.

TATTOOS: full sleeve on his right arm. Misc. other tattoos

PIERCINGS: eyebrow, lip, multiple ear piercings

P E R S O N A L IT Y

MORAL ALIGNMENT: neutral good

SUN SIGN: Leo

MYERS BRIGGS: ENFP

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor

FAVORITE FOODS: Ramen, fruits, hamburgers

FAVORITE COLOR: Purple

MUSIC TASTE: open to anything.

HOBBIES: karaoke, drawing, guitar, photography, boxing.

Background

Tw: parental death, foster care.

It’s always been easy for Kal to feel alienated from his family. He was adopted, the trauma from his parents’ death making him skittish, sensitive, and prone to lashing out. He spent two years in the foster system, being moved from house to house ever few months until he was adopted by a well off family with two children of their own. He was shy, quietly stewing in his anger from the time he was small. They asked him once, when he was seven, if he wanted to change his surname to match theirs, he declined.

The only place he really felt seen was in the ballet classes his parents put him in at a young age. They wanted it to lead into tap and then singing lessons, and then acting lessons to go along with his guitar lessons, the way of all Hollis children, but Kal refused, instead begging to be enrolled in more classes so that he could simply catch the bus to the academy immediately after school rather than pack into the family car with his siblings. And so it was that Kal spent most of his time from the age of seven to thirteen going from home to school, school to the academy, lugging his guitar on his back and clutching it tightly against his thigh as he took the bus back home, only to repeat the cycle again in the morning. His dedication got him noticed, and after a spring recital he was offered a spot at the Joffrey Conservatory program in the fall after his fourteenth birthday.

He left San Diego with little preamble. He had little holding him there and New York was a land of possibility. Kal lived in the dorms, went to school with his fellow dancers and wrote half-hearted postcards and quick phone calls back home.

The years would go by without much of a hassle. Kal fell in love with the city, found a place he felt like he belonged and and was invited to audition with NYCB the spring before his 18th birthday.

He worked incredibly hard but coasted until he met his current partner, an accidental partner switch-up leading to him finding another dancer who understood him just as well as he understood himself. He was promoted not long after their first stint as opposite leads together and got a nice salary raise to boot. He still has to share his apartment with his two roommates, Nate and Delilah, but the building actually has a doorman now, which Kal sees as an absolute win. Lately, due to the beginning of the season, Kal has been chosen as the face of City Ballet and spends more time than he would like to admit coming and going from photophoots and interviews at Final Score, Scarlet, and Title Eight.

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fiddlepickdouglas · 3 years

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Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 13 - Sketch/Ache

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, so close yet so far, 3k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

WARNINGS: death mention

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

October already? Looking at the work schedule posted on the wall, Willie ran a hand through his hair. The time really was just passing him by, huh? Another day over, he grabbed his skateboard and strapped on his helmet.

“Hey, Willie?” His manager, Kyle, called after him before he got through the back door.

“Yeah, man?” Willie turned to answer him.

“This Saturday we need some extra hands while we’ve got a group performing. Could you be there?”

“Totally, man,” he said, smiling with assurance before heading out into the street. Los Angeles was fresher than Vegas, at least for him. He loved the breeze from the ocean that swept in every evening and being near the water in general. There was so much more to do, as well, and he didn’t think he’d ever exhaust that list. Just the number of places to skate was constantly growing, without mentioning the rest. Of course, he had been hoping to do some of them with Alex by now, but that was easier said than done. Sunset Curve didn’t seem to be doing too many shows at the moment, and that was all he really had to track him with.

Stopping at an antiquated apartment building, he headed down a stairway into the basement and burst through the door.

“Guess who’s home!” he cried. Sheldon came pattering over with his ever-cheerful prrrp and rubbed against his leg. Kneeling to pet him, Willie chuckled. “Aww, I’m happy to see you, too.”

He immediately went over to the cat’s bowl and poured some food in, listening to Sheldon purr loudly as he ate his dinner. Willie grabbed some food for himself to snack on as he sat at his desk and looked at the unfinished drawing that had been left there early that morning. He’d begun covering his walls in sketches again, and this time he didn’t have to be afraid of everything being torn away. In fact, Willie couldn’t even believe he had convinced himself that his life was fine when staying with Caleb.

Things had changed entirely. Since his brief adventure out in the desert, Willie was fully independent. He owed most of it to Bessie, still, and he thought of that woman every day. She hadn’t left him any way to contact her, otherwise he’d want to send her a thank you card at least once a week. It even overshadowed the fact that he’d actually ridden in a plane with Harrison Ford.

Willie remembered how incredibly short the flight had been in comparison to the rest of his journey. Bessie had donated an old cat carrier that they strapped into the cabin for Sheldon while Willie joined Harrison in the cockpit. It was nothing like watching the man fly the Millenium Falcon, except that it felt like they had gone into lightspeed and landed not too long after taking off.

“You should be proud,” Harrison had told him. “You didn’t get sick.”

It had taken Willie until after they landed at the Santa Monica Airport to realize that he’d hardly spoken a word because he kept looking at him in pure shock at the reality of the man. His embarrassment must have appeared obvious, because Harrison Ford leaned down to look him in the eye.

“I’ve seen it a million times, don’t worry about it.” There was something sage about the resting expression on his face.

Chuckling in a flustered manner, Willie tried to think of the best way to thank him.

“Well, that was...that was really amazing, Mr., um...Mr. Ford. Thank you.”

The old actor smirked a little. Willie had seen a handful of actors come through the diner in Vegas before (at least, he’d been told they were famous, since he didn’t recognize most of them), and none of them were nearly as friendly.

“Willie, right?” Harrison had asked. It was enough to get him starstruck all over again, but he managed to nod. “Well, since I’ll never see you again, I’ll give you some advice.”

Willie listened intently.

“If you believe something is worth it, don’t quit. From what I already know about you, it doesn’t look like you do, so I have an extra piece of advice for you: planning and preparation is everything.”

Thinking back to when Bessie had scolded him about not riding the bus, Willie cowered inwardly. He couldn’t imagine how stupid he had sounded then.

“Do you know where you’re headed, kid? I can call a cab to take you anywhere you need.”

“How come you’re so nice?” Willie blurted. He hadn’t meant to.

Harrison Ford bowed his head, still smirking, and looked back up.

“I was twice your age before I really got anywhere. Now I’m just an old man who still does the job. Doesn’t mean I’m always nice, but sometimes….” He shrugged and gave him a wink.

Nodding, Willie had thanked him again. Harrison Ford held out a hand, which he shook with great enthusiasm before accepting the offer for the cab and saying goodbye. When he’d asked to go to the Hollywood Walk of Fame, the cab driver had looked at him in confusion.

“You do?” the guy asked. Seeing the definitive nod from Willie in the back seat, he just looked resigned. “Okay.”

Shortly after being dropped off, Willie had realized why the cab driver had responded that way. Standing before Grauman’s Chinese Theater, the street was just another place covered in gum, surrounded by people dressed as other celebrities. He saw other people taking pictures with them, and saw that the ones all dressed up were being paid. Some young woman dressed as Marilyn Monroe was doing her best to catch his interest with a flirty pose and a wink. Awkwardly smiling, Willie turned away and went to explore that area of the city. It was a good thing he hadn’t owned a camera then.

Now, he had decided to get a cheap one, just to capture anything he found interesting when he saw it. He’d accumulated a handful of things in the past few months: the basement apartment, a mattress, his writing desk and chair, and his job at the record-store-slash-cafe, among other things. The fridge had already been in the room, which was a nice perk. It was cool enough that the owner of the building had been willing to rent to him even though he was still underage. Working at the record store was much better than both the diner and the hotel, although his hopes of having Alex or his friends chance to stop in were dwindling some.

For now, it was much like before he’d left Vegas, only without Caleb’s dark shadow constantly looming over him and a few more memories restored. And, of course, he could keep Sheldon with him. It was strange how meeting Alex and being at the Pearl already felt like a dream. Willie often had the thought that maybe he should move on and start planning out whatever he wanted now. Maybe Alex had just been the catalyst to get him out of a bad position and help him move forward.

Staring down presently at the drawing on his desk, Willie sighed. Alex’s smiling face (what he could remember of it) beamed up from the page. Sure, he could tell himself to be over it, but was he really? Sheldon began running about the apartment like he was being chased by an invisible foe, creating a distraction from Willie’s thoughts. After a while, he went to bed and lay awake replaying in his mind the last few moments he’d actually seen Alex. It was still so vivid. If it was no longer important, why could he recall it so well?

He watched as Alex stood up and held out a hand toward him. Taking it, he was impressed by the strength with which he was lifted off the surface of the observation deck. His mind returned to earlier that day when the situation had been reversed, and he wondered if Alex had felt the same exhilaration from that moment of closeness. He already missed the feeling of Alex’s fingers through his hair. Gaining his balance, he let go of Alex’s hand and a nervous giggle escaped as a bout of giddiness came over him.

“You alright there?” Alex teased, grinning.

Shaking his head, almost to clear it like an Etch-A-Sketch, Willie grinned back.

“I’m having a good time,” he told him.

The warm smile that spread across Alex’s face and the way his eyes lit up deserved to be captured forever. Willie was sure he could fill a thousand pages of sketches, even if they were all of that one expression.

“Me, too,” Alex said, eyes wandering all over Willie’s face.

Before Willie could blush too hard, he picked up his skateboard.

“I know some shortcuts that’ll get us back to the hotel pretty quickly,” he started, pressing the button for the elevator. He didn’t want to go back so fast, but he had to remember his early work day in the morning. Caleb always had some sort of laundry list on the days he didn’t immediately go in to work at the diner.

“You’ve been a good tour guide so far,” Alex said as they stepped into the elevator.

Casting a wistful look back at the splendid view of Las Vegas, Willie watched the doors shut. Once they got out to the street again, Willie looked up at the hat sitting on Alex’s head. Impulsively, he lifted it up and put it on backwards, grinning at Alex.

“How does it look?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Alex’s jaw hung open for a moment, his nervous smile betraying him.

“It looks good,” he said in a breathless manner. It was such a cute expression, Willie wished he could make it happen again.

Alex was wishing right then that he could keep a picture of Willie with the hat on. He usually didn’t let people just steal it off his head, but when the result was that handsome he wasn’t going to complain. He’d wait until they had reached the hotel to ask for it back.

“So,” Willie started saying. “Back to L.A. in the morning, huh?”

Ah yes, the feeling of being crushed by reality. Alex bowed his head. He wasn’t excited to address it.

“Uh, yeah,” he sighed. “You know, when I got here I was hoping to just get the gig over with and leave, but that...I kind of forgot about that.”

He glanced up at Willie, not sure how much he should go into detail about why he changed his tune.

“But then you met Sheldon and he was the coolest cat ever, right?” Willie teased.

A chuckle of genuine entertainment escaped his throat. Did Willie know how charming he was? Alex wished he knew how to tell him.

“Yep, it was definitely the cat,” he responded. “Although the owner isn’t too bad, either.”

He got a casual shrug in return.

“Well, I know I’m busy, but I could call you,” Willie offered.

Fear pinched everything in Alex’s chest. It almost made him stop in his tracks.

“God, I - ” he started awkwardly, forcing his body to keep moving. “I can’t. I seriously wish I could, but that’s just...not possible.”

He already hated the words the moment they’d been spoken. His parents suspected enough things about him and his activity with the guys in his band, but they would make his reality pure hell if they ever picked up the phone from a guy they’d never met who had shown as much interest in him as Willie. While he felt fine being open just about anywhere else, at home was where he remained most guarded.

Willie was looking at him with slight disappointment.

“That’s too bad, I guess,” he said. “At least I know I won’t be going anywhere for a while, so you know where to find me.”

It was the only consolation they could afford. Alex wanted to make plans right then and there.

“And what would we do if I did find you?” he asked, knowing he was prodding for signs that he wasn’t the only one with hopes. He tried to relax his stride to appear more casual.

“Lots of possibilities,” Willie told him. “I haven’t shown you my favorite museum, or seen you skate - ”

“Just putting it out there,” Alex interrupted, raising a hand. “I cannot skate.”

Willie blew a raspberry. “Maybe not now, man, but you will by the time I’m finished with you.”

The way he wiggled his eyebrows made Alex think of something much different than riding a skateboard. He cleared his throat nervously as he looked up at the street they were on. The hotel was already a block away.

“Whoa, how’d we get here so fast?” he wondered.

“I know my shortcuts,” Willie said proudly.

Unfortunately, he did. Alex wanted more time to figure out a way to see Willie in the future. There had to be a possibility in the future. His long legs could only go so slowly, however, and soon they were stopped outside the hotel doors.

“Are you gonna make it home okay?” Alex asked. “Wherever that is?”

“I’ll be fine,” Willie shrugged plainly. “It’s not too far.”

For a minute, they stood in awkward silence. Alex could feel his entire body burning to make some gesture that left Willie with the right impression. What would be too forward? A hug? A kiss on the cheek? He’d already checked off holding him and running his hand through Willie’s hair, so he wasn’t going to simply send him off with a hand wave or something.

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow before you guys go?” Willie said, smirking optimistically.

“Yeah, maybe,” Alex said, trying to return a smile with the same optimism.

“Oh,” Willie sputtered. He took off the hat and tried to place it back onto Alex’s head properly. It didn’t work, but Alex simply adjusted it into its comfortable backward position. His fingers twitched under the temptation to touch Willie’s hair again.

“One of these days…” he muttered.

“Hm?” Willie perked up curiously.

Oh, no, he’d said it out loud. Damn. There was no way he couldn’t follow up.

“Uh...one of these days I’ll be around here again,” he said, nodding to reassure himself. “I’ll come looking for you.”

Willie could only look up at him and smile.

“I…” Alex began to scratch the back of his neck, but forced his hand down into his pocket. It had to be said. “I definitely like you.”

He watched Willie’s face morph from surprise into a smile, and finally his trademark eyebrow raise.

“So do I,” Willie said, biting his lip.

They both giggled, now that their feelings were out there in the open. It only made Alex ache more to stay. Willie placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You take care, Alex,” he told him.

He nodded. “And you be safe, Willie.”

He got one more glance into those gorgeous brown eyes, longing to toss in a line and anchor himself in them. The dim lights from the street played off of the natural glimmer that was always present.

Feeling Willie’s hand slide off his shoulder and down his arm, Alex could’ve sworn there was a tiny squeeze he received at the end of his fingers before Willie let go and got onto his skateboard. He watched him leave until eventually he was staring out into the darkness all alone. Reluctantly, he headed back up to the hotel room.

Alex was lying awake in his bed, silent tears falling down his cheeks at the bitter memory. His last words to Willie had been powerless to protect him. What sort of sick and twisted universe would let that happen? He knew he had no control over those circumstances, but he still felt that if anyone died in a fire, it should be him. Willie had been too wonderful to deserve it.

Turning to his side, he still hated the sobs that wracked through his whole body months later. Most people would deem it pathetic to hurt this much over someone he’d barely known. It was strange, but it felt almost undeserved, like mourning as he did wasn’t allowed. What about the people that Willie had spent time with every day? How could Alex begin to fathom their pain? To them, his sorrow would appear as empty as if he were crying over Freddie Mercury. This hurt far more than when he’d cried over Freddie.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t tell his family. The guys had been okay at letting Alex have his space, but his parents kept making comments about his sudden upset over everything. They would only see death as something bittersweet, a “better place” to go for people who were doing the right things. Of course he was terrified of death - he wasn’t exactly considered worthy of anything good, by their standards. That only made the loss of Willie that much worse. He hadn’t bothered to explain himself to Abbey. He couldn’t put that emotional burden on her.

Before he could let his mind wander further into the dark, Alex tried to find something else for his brain to put on cycle. Oddly enough, it went back to singing for Julie’s mom at the hospital. The words immediately began to repeat in his mind: we all live in a yellow submarine…. It wasn’t a song that he truly loved, but it was catchy. It was the one Willie had suggested they do. Alex remembered how he’d imagined everyone in that room in their own world together, safe and free from worldly cares. Somewhere full of color and warmth and people could be happy as they were.

That’s all he truly wanted. Maybe he would have that with the band, and maybe he’d get away from his parents and finally be free from all of their pressure, and maybe one day he’d recover and find a guy like Willie again. He wasn’t sure what he really believed just yet, but there had to be something good worth holding onto. If it was just some stupid world where he and his friends lived in a yellow submarine, so be it.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfic #jatp fanfic #willex #alive au #sunset curve #alex mercer #willie #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #julie molina #caleb covington #sheldon the cat #harrison ford #viva las vegas #sketch/ache #fiddlepickdouglas

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haddonfieldproject · 3 years

Text

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.3.12 SATURDAY NOVEMBER 1st 12:40 PM

Warren County, Illinois

Officer Swain pulled the hood of his rain slicker over his head and resumed motioning the tow-truck toward him. The rain had not returned thankfully, but the temperature continued to drop and Swain could feel the thin skin on his ears growing frigid. Yesterday felt like summer, now it's 'Hello Fall'. He thought.

Larry Danielson backed his tow-truck, containing the charred and twisted remains of an ambulance into the tight spot that Swain had designated for it. This was the same ill-fated ambulance that had met a fiery end with the trailer of Gabriel Couture's semi. For the time being it would rest silently between the blood stained remains of an orange Ford Mustang that had once belonged to Brad Doyle and an equally blood-stained carcass of Booger McFarlane's white truck.

Larry D., as the townsfolk called him, hopped from the cab, grabbed the levers of the wench, and began rocking the hulk of the wreck off the rollback and toward the weedy ground littered with bits of rubber, glass, and plastic. Swain looked around. He had never seen the police salvage lot look so full.

Larry D whistled. “Man I ain't worked this hard since Brackett sent me to go work that big pile up on I-90, remember that?”

Swain wasn't really listening, he pointed to a strip of gravel at the far end of the lot near two large green dumpsters. “You think there's enough room for that tractor trailer?”

Larry D spit a muddy brown wad of chewing tobacco on the ground and nodded, “Probably,” he said, “then it's 'all she wrote' right?”

Swain rubbed his forehead, “Well, that Agent McGrath says we need to impound all the cars that belonged to victims whether they were involved in the crime scenes or not. But Meeker said we can just use the High School parking lot for sure.”

Larry D spit again, “Well, all I know is I gotta get some lunch after we tow the tractor trailer back here.”

“Fair enough,” Swain said and sat down in his cruiser and shut the door. Larry D turned toward his tow-truck and, as he did, nearly ran into a woman.

“Whoa!” Larry said, rocking back on his heels.

The woman gave a small startled scream. She was short, Asian, and very attractive, with long black hair but cute little bangs to frame her round face. Her dark slanted eyes glistened as she smiled. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“That's okay ma'am. Can I help you with something?” Larry asked, adjusting his belt.

“Yes,” the woman pulled a small wallet out of her gray pantsuit and displayed a laminated badge. “I'm Samantha Nguyen of the Federal Bureau of Investigation office in Champagne. I spoke to Deputy---Miller?”

“Meeker?” Larry glanced at the badge with a smile and looked up and passed Sam, waving to Officer Swain as he pulled his police cruiser out of the gravel lot.

“Meeker, that's right,” Nguyen replaced the wallet in her pocket, “he told me I could find you here, you are Larry D correct?”

“In the flesh,” Larry replied and offered his hand.

She shook it with a smile, “Oh good. I'm in the right place.”

“Yes ma'am. What can I help you with.”

This time she pulled a folded piece of paper out of her other pocket, “I'm looking for a trailer that was towed here yesterday morning, around six-ish?”

“The one we pulled from the truck stop? The one that belonged to that guy who got...you know.” Larry trailed off.

“Yep. Star Transport trailer with Nebraska plates, tag number UVB760” She nodded.

“Walk this way,” Larry said.

They began walking toward the far end of the lot, passing Brad Doyle's mustang and a yellow and black Taxi cab with LITTLE EGYPT CABBIE CO painted on the side with a nice drawing of a Sphinx. CALL 999-9999, FIRST MILE FREE.

“What do you want with the trailer?” Larry asked.

“We're gonna pop it open.” Nguyen remarked.

Larry stopped, “You gotta have a warrant to pop the seal on a commerical trailer.”

She handed him the paper, “Right here.”

“And you spoke to the distributor...whatever you said... Star Transport?”

“Yes sir.”

They arrived at the rear of the trailer. Nguyen pulled out her cellphone and snapped a picture of the tag and then another of the unbroken seal. She put her finger through the blue plastic loop and then cut a glance back at Larry. Larry had been admiring the young woman's figure as her back was turned and now abruptly adverted his eyes. She pretended not to notice.

“Got a knife?” She asked.

Larry pulled a pocket knife from his dirty Wranglers and flicked it open. Nguyen stepped aside for a moment and Larry D slit the little plastic band in one neat surgical swipe. Larry folded his knife and replaced it in his pocket and then popped the handle of the trailer up with the palm of his hand and pulled open the door.

The first thing that hit them was the smell.

Shit and vomit...maybe a little sweat.

There were two rickety looking benches, one on each side of the trailer running the length of it's walls. Upon these benches, fifteen to each side, was an assortment of female human beings. Some looked to be as old as fifty, some maybe as young as twelve. Sweat glistened on their skin, their eyes were tired, their faces haggard, their clothes stained with sweat and dirty. They all simultaneously squinted as the light of day hit their faces and then, as their eyes adjusted, they looked at Larry D and Nguyen with empty expressions. Most looked of hispanic descent, there was one black woman who looked about thirty years old, and two young Asain girls, no more than seventeen.

Down the center of the trailer, between the benches were two rows of air mattresses with some assorted blankets and pillows. Between the mattresses were six or seven large white buckets, the kind that commercial painters use for paint. Flies buzzed around these buckets and Larry knew immediately this was the source of the smell. These ladies had been forced to use these buckets as a toilet during their ordeal in the back of this trailer. Littered among these items were rolls of cheap toilet paper and plastic gallon jugs of drinking water. Most were empty.

“Holy shit,” Larry breathed.

Nguyen snapped a picture.

NEXT>>

#halloween #halloween franchise #michael myers #horror #haddonfield #horror writing #horror film #fan fiction #fan writing #spooky #halloween kills

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nitewrighter · 3 years

Note

Omg I loved the ASOIAF Gency post you wrote recently! Can you write more?

God this has been languishing in my drafts since... September?? Jesus...

Anyway, a continuation of these ficlets!: 1, 2, 3

-----

“I mislike this,” said Orisa as Efi carried her helmet over to her, “I am your sworn shield, I will not have my oaths or her family’s... undermined like this!”

“And I’m quite capable of traveling on my own!” said Angela but both Efi and Orisa gave her skeptical looks and her lips thinned and she glanced off. No woman in her right mind would travel the Stormlands alone, but then again, no woman in her right mind would flee her betrothal with the intent of lying her way into the Citadel at Oldtown, either.

“This isn’t just about her, Orisa,” said Efi, “I want to go to Oldtown when I’m old enough, too. And I don’t want to be married off, either.”

“Your dowry could be in the form of books?” Orisa said a little helplessly, “Perhaps even Valyrian manuscripts!”

Efi gave her a half-lidded look with one corner of her mouth tugged up.

“...the marriage is the problem,” said Orisa, glancing off.

“The marriage is the problem,” said Mercy in agreement.

“It would only be to get her to the Citadel!” Efi insisted, “Then you could come right back to Aurochs-ford!”

“Taking the marriage out of the equation might force the Storm lords to re-evaluate their little feud as well,” said Mercy, “Disrupt things enough so they cool their heads. Maybe buy enough time for the Iron Throne to step in.”

“See?” said Efi, “You could be saving the Storm Lands in the long run! This definitely falls under ‘Sworn Shield’ duties.” Efi gave a glance to Angela, “If we can give her a chance...then maybe when I’m old enough...”

“You can forge your own Maester’s chain?” said Orisa with a tilt of her head.

“Not a full chain,” said Efi, “…Gold, iron, and black iron links for sure, though...” she said, trailing off thoughtfully.

“I only need the one,” said Angela, “Silver.... though... lead might be useful as well...”

“If you’re still at the Citadel when I get there, we’ll get a Valyrian steel link together!” said Efi, her hands balling into fists with excitement.

Angela chuckled a little, “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

“Indeed. Neither of you are at Oldtown yet,” said Orisa, flatly. She looked back at Efi, “I will see her safely to Oldtown at your request, my lady,” she said with a bow of her head.

Efi touched a small hand to the side of Orisa’s face, her brown eyes bright.

“And then I am coming right back to Aurochs-Ford,” said Orisa, furrowing her brow.

Efi giggled and brought her skinny arms about Orisa’s neck. Orisa pulled herself up to her full height to embrace her, bringing Efi up off the floor.

Right back to Aurochs-Ford.

Orisa’s eyes opened in a gray morning light and she quickly sat up in bed and gauged her surroundings. She was in a bare, wooden room, the foliage of a tree outside suggesting she was on the second floor of a building. Her own well-rested state quickly set her on high alert. She sat up in bed--Bed--right, they were in an inn. The mattress was stuffed with hay but it was still the finest sleeping conditions Orisa had since leaving Aurochs-Ford. She wondered if Lady Efi was doing all right. Probably still puzzling over those dusty old books of Valyrian alchemy and inventions, maybe even bogarting the castle blacksmith to forge her another obscure and specific little gear for her devices.

Orisa flinched in bed to see the door opening, her hand quickly going for the sword hanging on her bedpost, only to see Mercy in the doorframe, the very image of a pleasant septa with a tray of honeyed oatcakes, boiled eggs, and mugs of weak ale and goat’s milk.

“I overslept?” Orisa said looking out the window.

“No, I just woke up early to check on our lordling,” said Mercy, setting the tray on a table. She smiled a little. “He’s still alive---in remarkably better shape than last night, as well.” The relief in her voice gave Orisa pause.

“Do you still wish to go through with this?” said Orisa.

“What, I could bring books as a dowry?” said Mercy with a huff as she flaked shell off of her egg with her thumb, “I’m sure they’ll be perfectly wonderful reading when Lord Akande puts our houses to the torch.”

“You seemed to get on well with him,” said Orisa, frankly looking for any excuse to end this folly of a quest and get back to her young charge.

“Even if I did tell him--what would happen then? ‘Oh, by the way my lord, I’ve been lying to your face for the past three days because I’ve been desperately fleeing our marriage!’ That’s a wonderful start to things!” She huffed, “No,” she said, taking a bite out of her egg, “I said I would go to Oldtown, and I’m going to Oldtown, but if you wish to go back--”

“No one in their right mind would travel these lands alone,” said Orisa, flatly.

Mercy gave her a steady look, her mouth slightly tight at the corners in a not-quite smile. They were both highborn, but Orisa’s family had let her pursue knighthood while Mercy had seen more instruction in courtesy, embroidery, and the arts expected of ladyhood. There was admiration in Mercy’s eyes, maybe even a little envy. An idealist who longed to be practical, she gave off the air of someone who never quite fit the role set for her, and she had Orisa’s sympathy for that. Believing in the ideals of knighthood, that was a solid thing to believe in--but it definitely got more complicated being a woman.

“...I’m going to Oldtown because I--I don’t want to be a burden,” said Mercy, taking a bite out of her egg, “But I feel like a burden on you.”

Orisa glanced down, “I am doing this for Lady Efi,” she said, snapping an oatcake in half, “I want to believe in the world she believes in... but she is young and idealistic, and I know, being older, you have a greater understanding of just how much stands in your way.” She took a bite of her oatcake and chewed.

“I won’t let her down,” Mercy said, her eyes fierce, gulping down her own mug of goat’s milk.

“Intention and execution can be two very different things,” said Orisa.

“...well,” said Mercy, standing up, “We’ll set deeds to words, then. We’ll get out before our lordling wakes up. You finish breakfast and get your armor on, and I’ll saddle Dynast.” Her hands balled into fists with determination. “I’m already packed.”

Orisa gave a short huff through her nostrils. “That may be your most practical suggestion since this whole quest started.”

Mercy beamed before slipping out the door.

Mercy grabbed her satchel from her room and made her way to the stair leading down to the inn’s ground floor, humming. She froze at the sight of a dark haired figure on the stairs, his hand braced against the wall and his body tensed. Unthinkingly, her foot made contact with the first step and it creaked beneath her weight, and the figure on the stairs flinched at the sound and looked sharply over his shoulder at her.

Genji. He was awake. How was he awake already?! There was still a weary shine to his eyes, he still wasn’t back to full strength from his injuries, but there was an alertness in his stance that filled her with dread.

“My--?” she nearly started saying, ‘My Lord?’ but he put a finger to his lips and she quieted herself as she craned her neck to try and see what he was seeing.

“I’m only asking if you saw someone bearing a standard with two dragons on it,” A woman dressed in black and white with white hair--Lysene, perhaps--was addressing the innkeeper. Behind her were three men, of equal height, too lean to be highborn, the lower halves of their faces obscured by yellow cloth. Mercy would have tried to identify the sigils on their tunics but her own fear at being seen forced her to draw back behind Genji.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss who’s currently staying here,” said the innkeep.

There was the hard metallic ting of a dagger piercing wood and a long period of silence.

“...as innkeep it is my duty to assure my patrons safety so long as they are under my roof,” said the innkeeper, “You want to wait for them on the road, you can wait for them on the road. But there’ll be no bloodshed here.”

“A woman of business,” said the Lysene woman. There was the clink of coins in a sack hitting the wood next, and both Mercy and Genji tensed.

“...They’ve paid, too. And my service they’ll have,” said the innkeeper.

There was the sound of steel being drawn and Mercy’s breath caught in her throat.

“...leave her,” said the Lysene woman, “We’ll get what we need, with or without her.”

Silently, a bead of sweat quivering down his temple, Genji slowly backed up the stairs. Mercy tried to follow suit as silently as she could, but then one stair creaked loudly beneath her foot and the Lysene woman’s head swiveled sharply to the stairs.

“Go—Go!” Genji hissed under his breath as they both rushed back up the stairs.

“Septa—?” Orisa was stepping out of her room, holding her sword in its scabbard, not yet belted to her hip, when alarm filled her face at the sight of Genji next to Mercy. “You’re—?” Orisa started but then cut herself off as the Lysene woman and her three compatriots rushed up behind them. Orisa read the situation in an instant and sidestepped in front of them.

“Find another exit,” said Orisa.

“What other exit?!” blurted out Mercy, but Genji hurried down the hall to an unglazed, shuttered window and threw it open, “Genji—I mean—My lord!” Mercy’s head jerked back to Orisa at the clash of steel on steel behind her. There were a few panicked seconds where Mercy was transfixed, watching as Orisa blocked the short sword of the Lysene woman before clocking one of the cloth-faced sellswords behind her with her buckler-bearing arm, dazing him before a hard kick in the stomach sent him tumbling backward and she once again clashed blades with the Lysene.

“Septa!” Genji’s voice sounded behind her. He had one leg out of the open shutters of the window, one arm braced on the frame, the other out toward her. She hiked up her skirts and rushed after him, hearing Orisa’s sword sing and gauntleted fists make contact with grunting flesh.

“It’s one knight!” The Lysene woman was barking behind them, “You fools can’t take out one knight?!” before there was another loud clang of steel.

Mercy felt Genji grab her forearm and she stumbled out the window after him onto wooden shingles that creaked with rot. Genji was already nervously sidestepping across the short row of shingles that formed an awning around the ground floor of the inn’s exterior, before Mercy saw he was moving towards the stables.

“We can’t just leave her!” said Mercy.

“She’s in full plate armor, she has a better chance if we get the horses and she’s not worried about us being in the crossfire,” said Genji, still edging forward.

“It’s four on one!” said Mercy, one hand against the side of the inn and the other bunching her skirts up for easier movements as she sidestepped after him. There was a sudden clatter behind her and her head swung around to see one of the brigands tumble out of another shuttered window, and roll backwards off the awning before landing with a grunt in the mud below.

“...three on one,” said Mercy, blinking incredulously.

“The skill of the Warrior and the strength of the Smith,” Genji said, impressed, “I guess the Seven really are with you two!”

“Genji, the stables!” Mercy said furiously, still sidestepping forward.

Genji gave her an odd look.

“My lord, the stables,” huffed Mercy, another prickle of stress burning on the back of her neck, wondering if her panic in the situation had given her away in other ways.

“...you can call me Genji,” he said, still sidestepping forward, “I rather like the way you say it, Septa.”

“That is not appropriate,” Mercy said, glancing down and blushing furiously.

“Well you’ve already seen me naked, I’d say we’re well past--” He reached the edge of the awning closest to the stables and sucked in a breath, “Oh this isn’t going to be pleasant.”

Mercy closed the distance behind him. “Do you need--?”

“You can barely move in those sept skirts as is--I’ve got this,” said Genji, dropping to a squat and positioning himself with his back to the edge, He braced his hands on the shingles and then pushed his legs out over the edge, grunting in pain as he dropped to a hanging position before grunting in pain again as he dropped to the ground, the length of his own body significantly reducing his fall. “Ah---” his hand went to his side as his feet hit the ground, but he shook his head, “Okay, your turn.”

“Right--okay--” Mercy started haltingly as she reached the edge and turned around but then she heard another groan and craned her neck over to look at the sound’s source. The sellsword Orisa had knocked out of the window was stumbling to his feet, muddy, shaking his head out of a daze, and he saw Genji. He drew a short dirk from his side and broke off in a stumbling run toward genji. Genji followed her line of sight but his injury slowed his reaction. Mercy wasn’t fully sure what compelled her to suddenly leap off the corner of the awning, but there was a half-beat where she felt the cold morning air rushing up her skirts and her arms flailing with nothing to grab before she dropped like a stone... right onto the sellsword with a grunt and a splatter of mud, her elbow slamming his face into the muck. She rolled off him and stumbled to her feet, panting. Genji looked from the unconscious sellsword in the mud, up to her.

“...don’t know which of the seven to thank for that,” he said, his eyes wide.

“Come on!” said Mercy seizing his arm and rushing to the stables.

“Ow--injured--ow!” said Genji as the muddy Septa pulled him into a run.

-----

The Lysene woman fought with both a short sword and a dirk, and her attacks were relentless. But her remaining fellow sellswords seemed to be more of a liability than a threat if they didn’t have the element of surprise. Orisa’s biggest disadvantage was the narrowness of the hallway they were in... if she could just find a way to get her opponents down stairs to the Inn’s dining area, maybe she could more properly maneuver... or maybe that would give them more space to flank her. Orisa had at least successfully backed them up to the point in the hallway so they couldn’t access another window to go after Genji and Mercy, but her brow furrowed as the Lysene woman and her two remaining compatriots kept their blades pointed at her.

“You were sent by Lord Akande, I take it?” said Orisa.

“I’m afraid the answer to that’s going to cost you,” said the Lysene woman.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” said Orisa.

“The Shimada lordling slipped from our grasp before... but we had expected him to die, I suppose we underestimated his house’s banner lords...” said the woman.

“I am under no banner but the Seven’s,” said Orisa, and she felt a surprising strength in what had previously been merely a cover story. To have a sword sworn to the Seven, to defend this grievously injured Lordling purely because he was attacked out of treachery rather than on the field of battle, it was thrilling, it was knightly.

The woman gave a derisive snort. “So I can’t expect you to counter Lord Akande’s offer with one of your own. No amount of piety will make a hedge knight anything more than a hedge knight.”

“...and I can’t expect you to hold to any word,” said Orisa, her eyes narrowing.

The woman grinned wolfishly before lunging forward, Orisa stood her ground, meeting the woman’s long blade with her own before glancing off the woman’s dirk with her buckler. Orisa’s shield and helmet were still back in her room, so she could count on the Lysene to go for the face. The woman kept up her assault and Orisa gave a bit of ground. Her attacks were aggressive, clearly she was trying to use the advantage of lighter armor lending greater stamina to keep up a relentless barrage of attacks, but Orisa remained calm. This was waves breaking on stone. One of her compatriots flanked Orisa only to get a hard buckler to the face, Orisa using the movement to pivot and yield space to back into her room where her helmet and broadshield were. The Lysene woman lunged forward with her short sword and Orisa tilted her torso in its movement to grab her shield. Orisa knew she wasn’t a small target, but the right movements could send virtually any blade scratching uselessly across the plate of her armor--and just in time, too. In seizing her shield, she yanked it up, her arm only looped in one strap, and used the weight of it to slam it hard into the shoulder and side of the Lysene woman sending her staggering to the side trying to regain her footing. Orisa kicked the other closest sellsword in the stomach, knocking him onto his back, only to see the third man in the doorway, pointing a crossbow at her. Orisa froze.

But then, there was a shattering sound and the crossbow-bearing sellsword’s eyes rolled back in his head, goat’s milk dripping down his piecemeal armor and he swayed and collapsed onto the floor. Mercy was standing behind him, the lower half of her skirts caked in mud, the broken top half of the jug from their breakfast in her hands. Orisa blinked in surprise, and even Mercy seemed a bit stunned at the collapsed sellsword drenched in goat’s milk at her feet before she seemed to snap out of it and shake her head.

“You--!” the Lysene woman scrambled to attack Orisa from the side, her attack panicked and messy, only to get cuffed hard in the face by Orisa’s buckler and get splayed out on the floor. The other sellsword, seeing the only two backing him up now unconscious, scrambled to the side of the Lysene woman, shaking her shoulder. “Lady Ashe?! Lady Ashe, get up!” but Orisa was already rushing to the door, properly strapping up her shield and grabbing her helmet as she and Mercy hurried down the hall and down the inn stairs.

“Genji’s gotten the horses,” said Mercy, as they darted across the tavern floor, tables groaning against the wood as Orisa’s armored frame shoved them aside, “Come on!”

They rushed out into bright, damp morning air to see Genji astride Dynast, holding the reins of a large honey-colored mare.

“You made it!” said Genji, as Mercy scrambled up onto the saddle behind him and Orisa swept up onto the mare and they all took off into gallops down the road from the inn.

“Who’s horse is this?” said Orisa.

“Didn’t have time to ask! I imagine it’s one of the sellswords’!” said Genji, they were all half-yelling over the thundering hooves.

“We’re stealing a horse?!” Orisa blurted out.

"Borrowing!” said Genji.

“IT IS NOT KNIGHTLY TO STEAL A HORSE!” said Orisa, her pauldroned shoulders bunching up.

“They attacked me,” said Genji, “Hardly good folk. You, on the other hand, have valiantly defended a grievously wounded storm lord and commandeered a mighty steed.”

Orisa blinked a few times. ‘Oh...I... I suppose I did.”

“It was like something out of a song!” said Mercy, her eyes bright.

“A song...?” Orisa started hesitantly. She tucked a stray braid of hair back, “...I suppose it will be a good story to tell Lady Efi when I return.”

“...Lady Efi?” said Genji, “I thought you said you were sworn to the Sev--”

“To Oldtown!” said Mercy, spurring their horse forward.

“To Oldtown!--Ow--ow..” Genji had punched a fist into the air with excitement, quite forgetting he was still injured. The dew seemed to make everything sparkle. Orisa wasn’t sure if it was the rush of adrenaline confusing the senses, making the light seem brighter, the sky bluer, the air cleaner, or perhaps it was the days of rain before. Orisa rolled the grip of her gauntlets on the reins of her own mare, a bright flare of thrill thumping with her heart in her chest. She looked over at Mercy, her arms gingerly wrapped around Genji’s waist, avoiding his injury as they rode, then Orisa scoffed a little, her own expression partially hidden by her own horned helmet, and her sound silenced by the thunder of galloping hooves, feeling the Inn shrink into the distance behind them. This was a terribly foolish thing they were doing, but at the same time, would anything but something terribly foolish give her the excitement she was feeling now? Were valor and stupidity two sides of the same coin? Perhaps theirs was a tale like Florian the Fool.

Like a song, indeed, Orisa thought with some amusement.

#Gency #asoiaf au

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artist-in-an-ugly-sweater · 4 years

Text

So- people seem to be curious about what happened prior to the drawing I made of gar grunkle Stan and sphynx Ford, thus I decided to try some writing? Just a short to explain what is going on. If it gets too long and boring for anyone who's curious about the story to that picture can simply scroll down all the way. I'll put a summary there so I don't spoil anything to someone who'd like to read through this.

Now, without any further ado, let us begin!

Stone cold treatment

a "short" monsterfalls story

Stone. One of the thing a living creature would never like to be. Alive, but not really, trapped underneath a shell of stone. Able to hear, able to feel everything, yet unable to do anything about what you heard or felt. That was how he'd been feeling ever since the first time he turned to stone. It was natural for a gargoyle like himself, thus one would think he is be able to control it, right? But he was not. Ever since he turned into a gargoyle, Stanley Pines simply couldn't control this new ability of his; the ability of turning to stone. The first time it happened, it was a brand new, terrifying experience, and it was honestly no different each time it happened without his control. This one time, however, it was a bazillion times worse.

His nephew Dipper and worker Wendy were hanging out in the back yard of the Shack when it happened. He was sitting there on the porch by his niece, Mabel, who was basking in her small pool, cheering for her brother and Wendy. The two of them had been having a hard time adjusting to their new forms, too, but honestly, who hadn't? Dipper had trouble walking, thus he required quite the bit of practice. It took him a while to even make it to the back yard. Luckily, he had his family and friends to help him out once he quit his "I can do it on my own" phase of his walks. That was partially why Wendy was there. She was helping him walk, watching over the cervitaur and his attempts to get a hang of walking on fours. It was for her own benefit, too. Wendy was a werewolf and ever since her transformation had trouble handling herself when it came to wildlife. She'd been struggling with pouncing and attacking things that seemed huntable, making it especially hard to keep it cool around Dipper who was half deer.

She honestly wanted to stop seeing Dipper and giving up her job at the Shack just to keep him safe. She would've done it if it wasn't for Grunkle Stan, who encouraged her and convinced her to try and get a hold of her new wild tendencies. He promised to provide supervision over the two in case something went wrong, but fortunately, everything had been going smoothly. Soon enough, Dipper's slow trots turned into faster paces back and forth with Wendy by his side. “You're doing great, deer brother!” Mabel cheered, giggling over her own joke. Wendy gave a light laugh whilst Dipper's cheeks flushed a tint of red as he yelled back: “Not funny when you say it all the time, Mabel!” “Come 'ere you dork! ” Wendy laughed as she ruffled the cervitaur's hair, receiving quite the nervous laugh in response from the now bright red boy. Stan gave a light chuckle himself. Everyone was having fun. There was nothing to worry about, he thought. For once after this huge change in his and everyone's lives, Stan felt at peace. He felt like he could rest without things turning against him. Close his eyes and...relax. And so he did. Stan let his eyes close, leaning back into the backrest of the scruffy couch on the porch gently, minding his wings as he didn't lean in completely.

The next thing he knew, however, he heard a yell. His niece was yelling for help. “Grunkle Stan!! Grunkle Stan, do something!!” she cried, but to no avail. Her great uncle Stan gave no response, simply resting upon the cushions of the couch without a single twitch despite what was going on. Despite the loud snarling, growling and yelling of both his niece and nephew who begged for help. It was happening again. His eyes wouldn't open, his arms and legs wouldn't listen, but he could hear it. He could hear it all. The terror in Dipper's voice as he yelled “Wendy stop! P-please!!”; the dismay in Mabel's voice as she begged for her grunkle to do something- anything! Mabel herself couldn't do much. She was a mermaid and she couldn't leave her pool just like that. It were times like these that she wished she'd turned into something alike to Dipper, with an extra pair of legs instead of none. Stan began to panic. He couldn't see, say or do anything despite how much he tried to. The stony shell he'd formed once he relaxed his body held him prisoner, making him listen helplessly as his nephew was chased about, getting hurt- or worse. It was alike to a nightmare in which you couldn't do anything to save the day, only watch as your loved ones were taken away. Or in Stan's case, listen.

It wasn't till he heard the door fly open by his side and his niece cry out his brother's name that a brief wave of relief washed over him. “Grunkle Ford!!” Mabel called as her great uncle Ford rushed out of the house, ready to tackle whatever danger his grandniece and nephew stood against. A roar from the Sphinx, cries and whining followed and then – silence. Everything went silent. Was it over? Was everyone alright?

Stan felt his panic ease up along with the stone keeping him in place. Hearing it crackle, he didn't hesitate another second and broke free, lunging forth. He caught his balance and stepped out towards what he assumed was his nephew, brother and Wendy, his vision blurry at first. He could see it all clearly within a moment's notice: his brother, standing tall with Dipper cradled in his arms, Wendy pinned under one of his feet.

“Dear Mozes! Are ya kids alright?! Dipper, are ya--” Stan exclaimed in concern as he approached almost instantly, receiving a piercing glare from his brother that made him stop in his tracks. Ford looked mad, mad at him, but for what? He didn't do anything wrong- “Stanley what were you thinking? Do you have any idea what could've- no, what would've happened if I weren't near by?? You've left the children unsupervised and you know how troublesome it is with the young Corduroy these days!” Ford yelled in his Stan's face, who simply stared down at the bloody wound on Dipper's side held by his brother in silence. “I am sorry, it wasn' intentional! I-I've been watchin' the kids, I swear! I jus'- i-it happened again and I- ya know I can't control it!” “Well then maybe you should!” “W-wha-” “Maybe you should know how to control it! Maybe you should do your best to learn to control it instead of sitting around, drinking soda and watching as your nephew gets torn to shreds!! Quit acting like a child and be the adult these children need you to be!” With that, neither of them spoke no more, only exchanged looks. A look of disappointment and anger piercing through that of defeat and guilt. Mabel watched silently as the two older twins parted their ways.

Ford made his way inside to tend to Dipper's wound while Stan took care of Wendy, then his niece, bringing her into a small preset pool in the living room. He said nothing when Mabel tried to tell him it was not his fault, because he knew better. It was his and his fault only. He offered to watch them and he failed. After bringing Mabel some snacks for the time she'd have to wait for his and her brothers' return from the bathroom, he left, not to be seen again for the rest of the day.

The shack was silent from there. Mabel was already fast asleep by the time Ford returned with his nephew bandaged up and asleep in his arms. He set the cervitaur into the armchair by Mabel's side, putting a blanket over him before he left for his room, making sure the shack was locked and secure before he himself retired to sleep.

The next day started alike to any other day. Ford went down into his study in the early morning like he always did, trying to find a way to reverse the effects of the mythical river Fluvius Cantus on himself, his family, and the whole town. It was around 10 AM that his niece called out for him upstairs. Bless his enhanced hearing on this one, for her call sounded once again like an emergency.

“I am coming!” The sphinx yelled as he rushed upstairs, only to find Mabel's call was not quite due to what he imagined. He found his niece and nephew in the living room, both awake and, inarguably, worried. The two of them were surrounded by the packets of snacks Stan had brought them yesterday, and shortly, Mabel was explaining why accordingly to Ford's questions. “What is the problem children? Did something happen? What's with all the packets?” “Grunkle Ford, Grunkle Stan hasn't shown up since yesterday!” “Yeah, we're worried.” Dipper added weakly. “He left me some snacks yesterday while I was waiting for you and Dipper and I haven't seen him since! We had to eat those for breakfast when he didn't show up to make some...” “Grunkle Stan never leaves just like that,” “Not without rambling about his 'evil' plans for the day,” “Wendy hasn't shown up, either, do you have any idea where the two of them could've gone?” Dipper asked, shooting his grunkle a worried look.

Stan was missing? He knew where the young Corduroy had gone- earlier that morning, she'd called to apologize for yesterday to which Ford advised her to take some time off and try meditation to handle her inner demons. Stan, however, had no reason to be missing. “I've told your friend Wendy to take some time off and gather herself, but I have no knowledge of my brother's whereabouts. Perhaps he'd left to commit some sort of misdeed of his, or restock for the Shack, who knows.” Ford commented, crossing his arms behind his back in thought. “Could you please look for him Grunkle Ford? Pretty please?” Mabel pleaded, holding her hands together as she puppy-eyed her great uncle. Ford was powerless against those eyes. “I suppose I could take a look around the Shack...” he murmured. “YAY! Thanks Grunkle Ford!” Mabel exclaimed, beaming. Dipper smiled lightly as the two of them watched their great uncle leave to check the shack for Stan, awaiting his return while turning on some Duck-tective to shorten their wait, although the two of them chattered about their Grunkle in worry for the main part, anyways.

Ford searched the whole interior of the shack in search for his brother. The bathroom, the attic, the bedrooms, museum, everywhere. It was when his search inside was in vein that he walked outside to look there. Fortunately for him, he could very easily look over the entire shack by taking a soar through the sky. Spreading his wings wide as he stepped out at the back of the shack, he was about to take off when he spot something with the corner of his eye. There he was. There was no mistaking the gargoyle statue settled atop the roof looming over the porch. Wheeling around, Ford looked up to his brother, closing his wings as he spoke. “You've been here this whole time? Hiding like a child? Stanley, the children are worried sick. I searched the entire shack in attempts to calm their concerns. Did you even think about that? About them?” He questioned, yet his twin gave no response. “You won't talk to me, will you? Well I don't have to bother, either. I shall tell Mabel and Dipper about your whereabouts. If you have any sort of conscience you'll come down and apologize. Don't leave the children waiting.” And once again, the older twin was on his leave, coming inside to inform his niece and nephew of Stan's safety.

Throughout the rest of the day, the twins were expecting their Grunkle intently, although to no avail. He didn't show up for the rest of the day, leaving Ford to take care of the twins on his own. The next day went down alike to the last one. No Stan, only Ford, having to drop his daily research to care for the twins. Change Dipper's bandages, check his wounds, change the water in Mabel's pool, feed the two, all that and more. He never thought his brother did so much for the kids and didn't just slack off. There were times the children asked to see their other great uncle, and so, eventually, Ford did bring the two of them outside to show them their Grunkle Stan. Nothing. Despite their attempts to call out to their Grunkle, the twins didn't get a response, either. It pained them to see their Grunkle like that, for they knew how much he disliked when he turned to stone, yet they knew that this time, it was possibly his own choice. Nonetheless, though, they couldn't help but ask a few questions. “Is this permanent?” “Is Grunkle Stan alright?” they questioned almost in sync. It was when Ford realised that, honestly “I don't know...” He had no idea whether his brother was ok, whether he was going to be alright, whether he would stay like this forever. The fact that the last thing he said to him was that he was pretty much a horrible caretaker with tendencies beyond childish didn't help him feel any better. This could all actually be his fault. Stan came out here and turned to stone just because he thought how worthless he was. It only made sense. He'd probably have to apologize to get him off the roof eventually, for the kids' sake if anything. Maybe he just needed some time? “Let's get you two back indoors, I'll find a way to get your great uncle off the roof.”

And with that, the three of them headed back inside. Soon enough, Ford tucked the twins in, although he couldn't quite sleep himself. He kept on thinking about Stanley, whether he should or shouldn't apologize. He was still angry about his brother's habits, but thinking about it now, Stanley really didn't mean it. He was in no control of what happend, and what happened happened. Perhaps he could help him control it? Help him meditate and learn how to take cont- BOOM! The loud sound of thunder interrupted his train of thought. It was past midnight when the storm struck up, waking up the twins upstairs. “AAAAH!!! Grunkle Ford!!” They screamed. Ford ran out of his room almost immediately, rushing up into the twins' bedroom to check up on the two. “Don't worry kids! It's just a storm... It'll be over shortly.” Ford said as he came into the room, trying to comfort the two. “B-but Grunkle Ford, Grunkle Stan is still outside! Could you please go check on him?“ Mabel asked with worry in her pleading eyes. It seemed they were not afraid of the storm itself, but afraid of what could happen to their Grunkle.

“Alright, stay here, I'll be back shortly.” Without any further hesitation, Ford left the shack for the back yard, stopping in front of the porch. With a light flap of his wings, he brought himself to the rooftop his brother sat upon, landing by his side as the rain slowly drenched his clothes. “Stanley!” Stanford called, grumbling lowly as another lightning struck, shaking the ground with its shortly following thunder. Frowning, the older twin spread a wing out over his brother to shield him off from the rain, leaning forward in attempts to see into his brother's face. “Stanley, the children are worried, quit this little act and get inside!” No response. Sighing, Ford settled down by Stan's side, keeping a wing spread overhead to keep him out of the heavy rain, although to a stone statue, it mattered none. Glancing aside, Stanford grumbled, setting his hands into his lap as he began his little confrontation. “Quit acting like a child, Stanley, it’s been three days... I am sorry, okay? I know you can't control it. I know you couldn't when Wendy attacked Dipper and I know it wasn't your intention. The things you do for the kids, the way you treat them... I know you would never intentionally stone yourself and let them get hurt. I was angry, I was afraid. Afraid of what could've happened if I hadn't come in time. I am sorry that I blamed you for something out of your control. Please, come inside and stop punishing yourself like this. I can try to help you with controlling it, help you learn how to prevent it just...please don't do this to yourself... To the kids... To me...” Receiving no response, the older twin looked down helplessly, giving a heavy sigh. “I-” “What do ya think I've been doing?” Ford started, only to be cut off by- Stanley. Dazed by the sudden response, the sphinx had a hard time speaking again, stammering. “W-w--what do you mean..?” “I am not stupid, Ford. I know I have no control over it, and I know I shoulda learn how to control it. So I've been here, tryin' ta' learn how ta' do it.” Stan explained as he lowered his wings, the stony shell around him crackling and falling off slowly, leaving the gargoyle dry and refreshed. “W-wait- so you are...you were not doing this to punish yourself...? You were not angry with me?” Ford questioned as the two of them met eyes. “Oh, no no, I was angry with ya, Poindexter. Glad ya figured ya'd come apologize now. I was about ta' give up to da rain. Don't get me wrong, da rain's nice, but the thunder part of it all is unnecessary.” “...So you were childishly ignoring me.” “Maaaybe?” This received Stan a light shove and almost immediately after a tight hug around the neck with a nuggie that almost instantly threw his fez off into his lap. “You little!-” “Little what?!” Stan exclaimed in between his chuckles, tackling his brother off the roof with laughter. It was a safe fall for the two of them, leaving them playfully rolling about in the mud on the ground as they laughed together, soon sitting up with light chuckles and huff while the rain slowly washed bits of the mud away. “Sixer?” “Yes, Stanley?” “Sorry fer actin' like an oversized kid.” “Heh... Sorry for acting like an adult know-it-all.” “Apology accepted.” “I suppose I need to ease up a little.” “I guess I need ta' grow up a little.” The two of them said in sync, laughing before smiling at eachother.

“GRUNKLE STAN!! GRUNKLE FORD!! ARE YOU GUYS-- oh...” The cervitaur kicking the back door of the shack yelled, carrying his sister on his back. The two of them were sure they'd just seen the two of them argue and fall off the roof in a scuffle- then again, it was hard to actually make out what they were saying through the window. “Dipper my boy, you-- you made it down the stairs? On your own? With Mabel on your back?” “I-” Dipper blushed. “Y-yeah I- I guess I just uh- we needed to check on you guys and- I am sorry I didn't listen-” “Don't be sorry, Dipper, you listened to your instincts and those told you your family might be in trouble. You acted very selflessly. I would've done the same. I am proud of you.” The sphinx and the cervitaur exchanged a smile, although it was soon replaced by an expression of shock as Mabel yelled: “Could you guys stop nerding out about this and focus on the important stuff?!” “Ouch-” Dipper huffed. “Grunkle Stan is back! And you guys made up! But uh- we should get inside. You guys could catch a cold and I am gonna *huff* I am gonna suffocate here.” “Ah- yes, let's get all back inside, quickly. Dipper, I'll need to check your bandages! Stanley, could you take care of Mabel?” “Sure thing Poindexter!” With that, the two of them stood, coming up to cradle their respective twins in their arms to care for them inside.

Getting a little moisture from her great uncle's wet suit, Mabel smiled as she was carried towards her pool, looking up to her Grunkle with a murmur: “I am glad you're back Grunkle Stan.” “I am glad ta' be back, too.”

WELP- Here you have it guys! This was one hell of a ride. It's the longest and the first thing I ever wrote and actually published. Is it good? Is it not? Who knows! I tried to keep it as short as possible. Hope you guys like the answer to what happened prior this picture:

Either way, hope you're having a swell day!

And as for the promised summary:

Summary: Grunkle Stan and the kids have a little accident with Dipper and Wendy, which Grunkle Stan sits through, being in his stone form. This angers Ford and he tells him to learn how to control it. From there, Stan disappears and is nowhere to be found, only to be later discovered on the roof in his statue form. He is irresponsive, everyone os worried, but in the end, everything turns out well.

#monsterfalls #monster falls #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #sphinxford #gargoylestan #gar grunkle stan #mermaid mabel #cervitaur dipper #deer dipper

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years

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GF & MvsM - Wanna Talk About Dinos?

This crossover was inevitable. It just works too well. Maybe one day i’ll write a fic about how the folks at Gravity Falls handled the robot-apocalypse. Probably shrugged it off. “Eh. We’ve had worse.” Haha! What if Stan and Ford, cuz they were out sailing, had no clue what happened and when they came back they were like, “Wait, what?”

For now, please enjoy this fic of Aaron making a new friend...

(credit goes to @stephreynaart for her OC Jacob) ~~~~~~~~~~ “Hi, would you like to talk to me about dinosaurs?”

Aaron asked this question more times than he could keep track of, but that wasn’t going to stop him from asking it. It started as a dare from his big sister two years ago, but now it’s a fun hobby. When fifth grade isn’t overwhelming him, scaring him with mountains of homework and horror stories about how hard middle school is going to be, and when he’s run out of YouTube videos to catch up on, he is on the hunt for fellow giant-lizard-lovers like a hungry Ceratosaurus.

“No, okay bye.” But it did get a little tiring to always cross out names and phone-numbers on the phone book with red ink. Hey, a dinosaur of a way to find phone-numbers was appropriate. He read the next number, dialed it, and after a ring or two he asked, “How would you like to talk with me about dinosaurs? No, okay thank you.”

Aaron crossed out another name and sighed, taking a break since he reached the end of a line of numbers. Maybe he should just be grateful for Abbey and accept that no one else wants to talk about the Jurassic Period. Or the Cretaceous Period. Or the Triassic Period. But then a big, old, gray-tinted ad distracted him. He grinned, thinking it would at least be fun to give them a call, and he dialed the number.

Private home phone-numbers were fun, but businesses were also fun! Poor, bored workers would gladly talk to him rather than crabby Karens, and they got paid for it! So Aaron smiled as the phone rang, and he grinned when someone picked up.

“Thanks for calling the Mystery Shack, you’re talking to Mr. Mystery himself! How may I befuddle or bewilder you?”

“Hi! How would you like to talk with me about dinosaurs?”

“Oh, dude! I’d love to, but I’m scheduled for a tour of the Oddity Museum in three minutes.” The man said, and Aaron grinned continuously, because it sounded like Mr. Mystery really wanted to talk with him about dinosaurs. “But hey! Can you hold on for one minute, I think I know a guy!”

“Yeah, sure mister!” And Aaron was greeted by the sound of a catchy jingle about buying t-shirts and mugs and snowglobes. He smiled and wiggled his feet along to the music as he looked outside at the beautiful late-fall afternoon, entertained while he waited.

~~~~~~~~~~

Soos was on the hunt. He planned out the house in his head. Abuelita was taking a nap upstairs, Melody was organizing the upcoming tour, and Stan took Jacob out for ice cream, so he might be…

The owner of the Shack grinned when he stopped at the doorway and saw the man he was looking for, sitting in Stan’s chair, reading a book.

“Uncle Ford!”

The old sailor smiled up at the young man. “Yes, wh-...”

“Do you think you could answer the phone for me? I have a tour and I think this customer’s request is right up your alley.”

“Uh… sure, but w-...”

“Thanks, you’re the best!” And Soos was gone before he could address Ford’s confusion.

Ford was a bit lost, having little to no business with business, but he had learned at this point to trust Soos, so he picked up the phone beside him and was immediately greeted with a sweet, “How would you like to talk with me about dinosaurs?”

Ford grinned and closed his book. “I would love to! All three periods are equally as fascinating to study, but the Triassic contains some of my favorite dinosaurs!”

A young voice gasped on the other line. “Mine, too! Everyone thinks the Jurassic period is so great, and it’s pretty cool, but the Triassic gave us Plateosaurus and the Brachiosaurus!”

“That’s very true! You know, it’s very interesting, maybe depictions don’t include feathers at all, which is a bit frustrating, but perhaps after the news has spread they will incorporate more feathers on merchandise and textbooks.”

“YES! That’s what I wanna do when I grow up, help draw better-accurate dinosaurs!”

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rang on Sunday. The Shack was closed today, so Stan lazily answered it and was greeted with, “Wanna talk about dinosaurs?”

“Sixer, phone for you!”

Ford ran into the living room, elbowed his twin out of the chair, and took the phone. “Hello again, Aaron! Now, where were we? Right, so Australopithecus. … No, I don’t think… Oh! No, homo habilis was erect, Australopithecus was never fully erect.”

“Maybe he was nervous.” Stan groaned, getting to his feet.

Ford shot him a look as thankfully the young boy on the other end didn’t catch that and happily shared some more fun-facts about homo habilis.

~~~~~~~~~~

While most college students were excited for Spring Break so they could get drunk or lose their virginity, Katie was excited because her family had planned a special secret roadtrip. She was careful to keep up with her family and talk to her parents and brother frequently, but Aaron had a hobby he wasn’t talking about that his parents found out and were thrilled about. Aaron had made another friend.

Rick and Katie did some research and the tourist attraction sounded right up their alley! In the middle of the woods, tons of weird stuff, and a fun roadtrip filled with diners and attractions. They decided to surprise Aaron, and they made up a lie that they would spend Spring Break in California with Katie so she could show her family around San Francisco, when in actuality they would be traveling up the state to the Redwood Highway and see the oddity place, and maybe even allow Aaron to meet his new pen-pal. Or, um, phone-pal.

So after bombarding Katie with hugs the Mitchells threw her luggage into the car and drove off. Aaron turned to Katie and excitingly asked, “So where are we going first? Can we go fix the Golden Gate bridge by painting it gold?”

Katie laughed and ruffled his hair. “Maybe later, right now I wanna show you guys this fun store right outside of town. Here, check out the videos I made for my classes!” And she pulled out some airpods and gave one to Aaron.

“Cool!”

Rick and Linda smirked at each other as they drove north. By the time they reached a little diner in Redding, CA, it was very clear to Aaron that they weren’t in San Francisco anymore. “Come on, just tell me where we’re going!” The boy begged as he fed Monchi a fry.

“The best kind of prizes are the surprises.” Linda quoted.

“Eric, Deborahbot5000, where are we going?”

“Sorry, Aaron, we cannot give that information.” Eric said, he and the other robot sitting politely in their seats, happy to be a part of the social interaction.

“Yes, Mother will bury us if we disobey.” Deborahbot said matter-of-factly.

“What?! No I won’t, sweeties.”

“Won’t you ground us?”

The family laughed and Aaron let the topic go; if he was honest, he loved a good surprise. The big family stopped in a motel just at the California-Oregon border, and the next morning after muffins and coffee and orange juice they were on the road again, passing dozens of trees that made Rick feel at home. Katie happily recorded the trip, trusted to be the documenter for another fun roadtrip, with hopefully not as much mortal peril.

Aaron watched as they left the highway for a simple road, and they passed a big sign. The boy gasped and caught what was happening. “No WAY! Really?!”

“You know, I hear this Mystery Shack even has a Sasquatch.” Rick commented while Linda pulled out a pamphlet from the glove box.

“It says here it’s full of odd things you’ll never see anywhere else, even a dinosaur footprint…”

“Wasn’t there a rumor of there being a Bottomless Pit?” Katie asked, pointing her camera at Aaron to get his reaction.

“Thank you thank you THANK YOU!!!” Aaron cheered, hugging his Dad’s neck and kissing his Mom’s cheek.

“Hey, no worries, buddy.” Rick eased, fixing his shewed glasses. “We wanted to see this place, too!”

“Why don’t we eat a quick lunch and then we’ll take the backroad for the attraction? There’s a coupon in here for a diner made from a giant log!”

And so after being served by a pretty blonde teenager at Greasy’s, they drove through town to get to the backroad. Signs made them confident that they were going the correct way, as well as Eric and Deborahbot5000’s GPS. Then as they turned a corner, a big triangle-shaped building came into view. Aaron grinned at the giant sign with a missing letter. People were already leaving, arms full of souvenirs and one or two already wearing their new hats or t-shirts. Once Rick parked in the Free Parking Lot, Aaron spilled out of the car and ran for the shack, but he stopped.

Katie caught up to him and patted his back. “You cool, man?”

Aaron shrugged, holding his hands in front of him and his shoulders up to hide his face a bit. “I-I dunno… What if… What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Hey, I get it.” Katie admitted. “When I first met my friends I was really nervous. I had talked to them online for weeks and I was worried it wasn’t gonna be what it was all cracked up to be, but it was. Your system worked! You found another dino-lover! You earned this moment. Just take in a deep breath and be yourself, cuz you’re a pretty cool dude.”

Aaron smiled up at his big sister. “Thanks.”

Trusting Eric and Deborahbot5000 to watch Monchi and make sure he used the bathroom, the Mitchells went inside the shack. On the porch there was an ice cooler, a sign reading schedule times for tours of the Oddity Museum, a Help Wanted sign, and two rocking chairs with a game of checkers between them.

Inside the store a few customers filled up the gift shop, alongside t-shirts, snowglobes, a vending machine, a door beside ti that read Employees Only, a bookshelf full of comic on one side and old newspapers claiming alien sightings on the other, a fish tank holding a monkey-mermaid, and barrels full of spaceship keychains and dino claws. A new section called Camping Stuff caught Rick’s eye, selling backpacks, lanterns, flashlights, batteries, canteens, and compasses. Katie opened a comic called Lil’Stanley and laughed at the swears, taking a pic and sending it to her friends’ group chat. Linda looked into the barrel full of patches and grinned at all the fun designs, while Aaron stared happily at the mer-monkey.

The Employees Only door opened and closed and Rick watched as a man in a suit, fez, and eyepatch walked up to the lady at the register and kissed her cheek. The woman smiled lovingly and left while the guy who resembled a gopher checked a customer out. Rick waited until the buyer left to approach the register, leaning an arm on the counter.

“Welcome to the Mystery Shack, dude!”

“Thanks! So, this is gonna sound weird, but my son Aaron talks to a guy here about dinosaurs…”

“No way!” The owner interrupted excitedly. “Good to see you, dudes! I’m Mr. Mystery! Wow, you guys came a long way, huh?”

“Nah, only from California. My daughter is attending art school there.”

While the men chit-chatted and Linda joined them, Katie noticed a guy walking up to Aaron and looking at the mer-monkey. She smiled and tried to read the comic without being too nosy, but she kept her senses on her brother.

“Hm, quite fascinating, isn’t it?” The man in the blue hoodie said. “But I think my favorite is the fossilized footprint. Could be Nanuqsaurus hoglundi.”

“The Polar Bear Lizard?” Aaron clarified, touching his chin as he looked at the dino-print, his back to the man he was talking to. “Maybe, but they’re from Alaska. It’s possible plate tectonics did cause some fossils to be relocated here, but it could also be a Nanotyrannosaurus lancensis footprint.”

“The Dwarf Tyrant? Could very well be. Would you like to talk about dinosaurs after your tour?”

Aaron’s eyes widened as the voice was finally familiar to him. He turned and looked up to find an old man smiling up at him. He had fluffy gray hair with a white stripe running around his scalp, wrinkles by his eyes due to smiling, a cleft chin, glasses, and wore a blue hoodie with a maroon sweater underneath. His hands were behind his back and he smiled down at Aaron warmly, while the boy was jittery and overly-excited. He took in a sharp breath and had to fight every muscle to keep from leaping through the screen door.

“H-H-Hi…” He peeped. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Y-Yeah, sure! I’d love to! I’m Aaron! Er, wait, you already knew that.” And he held out a hand to shake.

His phone-pal, Ford, chuckled and got on one knee to be eye-level. “Greeting, Aaron! It’s nice to formally meet you.”

Aaron shook his hand and noticed something. He had six fingers on his right hand. A quick glance told Aaron he also had six fingers on his left hand. Aaron grinned with sparkling eyes at his new friend, while the old sailor smiled warmly at the boy that reminds him of his niece and nephew when they were young.

#GF #mvsm #mitchells vs the machines #gravity falls #ford pines #soos ramirez #aaron mitchell #katie mitchell #rick mitchell #linda mitchell #eric and deborahbot5000

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

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Behind the Scenes

A/N: This is the 1000 Followers Celebration prize winner story for @merchfreak. I hope it’s everything you wanted!

I both loved and hated those moments when the Young Bucks and I were across the ring from each other. They were these wonderful snapshots of their energy and talent, of watching them feed on the crowd and work seamlessly with Adam and Kenny. But they were torture because I had to root against them. I had to pull dirty tricks and interfere and distract.

It came with the job of being Sammy Guevara’s valet and on-screen girlfriend.

Sammy and I… we went way back. We trained together. We worked the indies together. We even did a short stint in WWE developmental together. Sammy dipped out after a month or two. I stuck it out until I realized I didn’t quite have the look—meaning I wasn’t a tall busty blonde bombshell. No, there wasn’t much of a place in the cookie-cutter cog machine of the WWE for petite, brown haired, brown eyed Melody Park.

I went back to the indies for a while. Then, one day, Sammy called and said he’d shared some of my tapes with this new promotion he was working with. They wanted to offer me a contract. I signed without hesitation, spent a few months on AEW Dark, and finally debuted on Dynamite as part of the Inner Circle with Sammy. I’d rediscovered my love of wrestling and of wrestling with my best friend.

And, well, I’d also discovered something else. Someone else.

Nick freaking Jackson. The youngest Young Buck. Executive Vice President. SoCal dude. Dork. And just all-around amazing guy.

Too bad it was almost impossible to actually date. Even without having to keep up kayfabe, most of the fans were convinced that Sammy and I were together for real since we were real-life roommates.

We were in the run up to a huge event—a war games blood and guts match—between the Inner Circle and the Elite. The past few weeks had been packed with desperate singles and tag team matches—street fights, no DQ bouts, sneak attacks backstage and at ringside. I’d done my part to cause trouble for The Elite, and I was quite proud of my work. Particularly when it came to Nick.

As hard as he would try to ignore me, I was more than capable of getting his attention and keeping it. I was surprised at how simple it was really. Each week, every segment, I came out in my fashionably slashed and knotted Inner Circle tee—or some of Sammy’s merch, I was newly fond of the Le Sex Gods shirt—and my Daisy Dukes, curls bouncing and makeup perfectly highlighting my bright brown eyes.

Thank God for Penelope Ford. She’d given me a master class in seductive distraction.

Case in point… it was a tag match. The Elite versus Proud and Powerful and Sammy. My on-screen beau was in the ring, grappling with Matt Jackson. Kenny was laid out on the floor somewhere, and Nick was waiting in the face corner, leaning over the rope to reach for his brother. With Kenny out of the way and Matt being smacked around in the heel corner, dear sweet Baby Buck was ripe for the picking.

I strolled around the side of the ring, blowing a kiss into the camera as I walked by. I put a little bit of sashay into my hips as I stroked my fingers along the ring apron. Nick bounced up and down, wiggling his fingers for the tag. I stopped a foot or so away and appraised him with a long look from his boots all the way up to his hair. My shoulders bobbed in a shrug and I plastered an I could do worse expression on my face.

Keeping an eye on what was going on in the ring, I climbed up onto the apron and struck a pose—hands on my hips, weight on one leg, the other bent at the knee. I cleared my throat loud enough that the front row could hear.

Nick glanced up then back to the ring. Then… right back to me. His ice blue eyes swept over me, an angry yet appreciative expression taking over his face.

I licked my lips and looked him up and down. “Like what you see, Nick?” I asked, putting emphasis on his name.

His expression tipped into intrigued yet annoyed. “What are you doing, Mels? Get outta my corner!” He shooed me away with a flick of his wrist.

I smiled, pleased to have already drawn his attention from the match. My feet carried me toward him, and I reached out to stroke my fingertips up his forearm to his bicep. His gaze shifted from my hand on his arm to my face. He gasped a breath and licked his lips.

I chanced a quick glace at the match. Matt had broken away from Sammy and Santana and was crawling toward his brother. Sammy was clawing himself right behind, reaching for the elder Jackson’s ankle to drag him back. It would be a perfect, dramatic moment for a hot tag.

Too bad they aren’t getting one, I thought as I skimmed my hand up behind his neck and dragged him close, planting my lips against his. My fingers threaded into his hair, holding him in place. For a second, he was startled. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he slipped one hand against the back of my head and let the other settle on my hip. He kissed me back—chaste as it was—and my entire body tingled.

I opened my eyes just a little, just enough to see that Matt had made it to the corner but found that his partner was occupied. Sammy and Santana grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him back to our side. The moment they had Matt subdued, I planted my palms on Nick’s shoulders and pushed him away.

Before he could say anything, I hopped down from the apron and scurried back to the Inner Circle corner. Thankfully—and perfectly planned—Referee Bryce didn’t see a thing.

***

“Beautiful work out there, Mels,” Sammy said as he leaned against the wall backstage to catch his breath. “Nick looked like he was going to pass out.”

I gave an exaggerated curtsey and grinned. “It was absolutely my pleasure to distract Nicky Blue Eyes for you.”

My friend laughed and ran a hand over his sweaty hair. “If the cameras hadn’t been on, you’d have really stuck your tongue down his throat.”

My eyes rolled so far back into my head that I thought they’d get stuck. I felt the faint flutter of my heart in my chest. The memory of kissing Nick Jackson in front of thousands of people made a bolt of electricity run through my body. It was a delicious ache that settled behind my ribs and spread through my limbs. I shrugged and lifted a brow. “I’d do more than that.”

Sammy opened his mouth to reply, but something caught his eye over my shoulder. I followed the line of his gaze and saw Nick standing in the center of the hallway on the other side of the entrance tunnels, his arms crossed over his bare chest. His eyes were locked on me. His stance commanding and intimidating. There was a faint, mischievous smirk on his lips.

He held out his hand and crooked his index and middle fingers in a come here gesture. Then he turned his hand over, using those same fingers to indicate that I needed to come here to this exact spot right in front of me now. Heat licked the base of my spine.

“I think Nicky Blue Eyes is looking for you,” Sammy said, his voice low and teasing. “And he looks a little… frustrated.”

I punched him in the arm. “Shut up, Sammy.”

Nick quirked a brow, the mischief on his face turning a little darker. I moved toward him like he was a magnet dragging me closer. His blue eyes locked onto mine as I closed the space between us. He ran a hand back over his hair, lifting it from his neck and shoulders.

When I got within a few feet, I could see the sweat darkening his hairline and settling along the slope of his collarbones and the hollow of his throat. He worked at the gum between his teeth, drawing my attention to the curves and muscles of his jaw. My heart picked up with the heady scent of him—sweat and the smell that was incomparably him—as he stepped into my personal space. Heat radiated off him, seeping into my skin.

“What’s up, Nick?” I said slowly, doing my best to remember Penelope’s lessons. My voice dropped just a little and I tilted my head, tossing my hair over my shoulder.

He popped the gum between his front teeth, looking almost as if he were pursing his lips for a kiss. His brow shot up, blue eyes twinkling with mischief tinged with mirth. “Still playing coy, Melody?”

There was something dark in his voice that made a shiver run down my spine. I felt my lips curl up, and I looked up at him with what I was certain were dark doe eyes. “You don’t know what I’m playing, Jackson.”

Nick closed his eyes and leaned his head back. I watched him breathe deeply and took a little joy in knowing that I got to him. It was part of this back-and-forth that we had—never quite saying or doing exactly what we wanted to. The longer I looked, the more I realized that Sammy was right. Nick looked more frustrated than I’d ever seen him. It was a heady thing to know I was the cause.

After a moment, he looked down at me again. This time, I couldn’t ignore the heat that burned behind the sweet blue of his irises. Without a word, he took me by the wrist and pulled me down the hallway. I rushed to keep up with his longer stride. His grip was strong and firm, but not enough to hurt. My heart beat a rhythm behind my ribs, pulsing until I was sure it was going to burst through my chest.

Nick walked right by the EVP dressing room. Past hospitality, the medics, the costumers, Tony’s office. Far away from the general men and women’s locker rooms. After what felt like forever, he shoved the door of a room open and nearly dragged me in behind him. The door shut behind me with a deep finality.

It was dark. The weren’t any windows, so I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. But I could sense Nick nearby. I could still smell the scent of his skin and feel the heat of his body. The blackened silence seemed to heighten those senses. It made my body tingle from head to toe.

Time stretched out. It compressed into this single moment that seemed to pass in a flash. It was too long and yet not long enough. My breath quickened as I waited, standing somewhere in the darkened room, listening, and sensing around me for Nick.

I licked my lips, ready to say his name. But before I could, his hands slipped up my arms and cradled my neck in his fingertips. His thumbs pressed into the soft spot beneath my chin, forcing my face to tilt upward. I took a breath, drunk on him, and opened my eyes wide, trying to make out his shape in the darkness. My hands pushed into the space around me, searching… finally brushing against warm, smooth flesh. Flattening my palms, I felt the curve of his ribs.

“What are—” The full question didn’t make it out before his mouth was on mine. I let out a faint gasp of surprise as he tilted my head, taking control. His tongue swept along my lips. His thumbs pressed against my chin almost painfully.

Almost as soon as it began, it ended. Nick stepped away and cold air rushed into the space where his body had been. Goosebumps prickled along my skin. I took a step back, glad to come up against the wall. My knees felt like they were about to buckle beneath me.

“That was for that stunt you pulled out there,” he growled out from somewhere to my left. I heard the barely suppressed emotion in his words. My blood pounded in my ears.

I whimpered a little as I let the wall hold my weight. “Just doing my job,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

Within an instant, he was there, his body pressing me back against the wall. His knee slipped between mine as his fingers caught my wrists and pinned them next to my head. The cool cinderblock of the wall was a heady contradiction to the heat of his skin and muscle.

His nose brushed against my neck as he leaned in, putting his mouth close to my ear. “We both know you were doing more than that, Mels.” He dragged my hand from the wall and pressed my palm against the front of his pants. Reflexively, instinctively, my hand curved against the length of his hardening cock. He hissed. “See what you did?”

I felt my lips curve upward, boldness rising within my blood. “Not my fault you can’t control yourself, Jackson.” I rubbed my palm against his cock, my grin getting broader when he let out a low moan. “Not my fault that any girl in some short shorts gets you going.”

Nick snarled and jerked my hand back up, pinning it once again against the wall. His mouth traveled up my throat, leaving warm open-mouthed kisses along my flesh. “Hmm, that’s where you’re wrong,” he growled into my ear. His knee wedged my legs wider until his thigh pressed against my core. I bit down on my lip to hold back the whimper that built in my chest. “The only girl in short shorts that gets me going is you. I can’t control myself because of you, Mels.”

I struggled for a moment, trying to get my hands free. Nick’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was enough to keep me under his control. He pressed his cheek against mine and chuckled darkly. The heat of his body made me feel like I was burning up from the inside out. I licked my lips, gasping a breath that overwhelmed me with the scent of him. I thrashed again and my hips rocked hard, sending a shower of sparks through my center. It wouldn’t surprise me if there was a wet spot on his gear when he moved.

I moaned despite myself.

“There we go,” Nick purred against my throat. He draped one of my arms around his neck and used the free hand to slide up beneath my shirt. His fingertips ghosted over my ribs and tugged on the laces that held the front of my gear top together. “Can you make that sound for me again?”

His teeth nipped at my shoulder as he threw my other arm around his neck. With both hands free, he dug his fingers into the slashes in my shirt and ripped the fabric until it hung from my shoulders in tatters. He dipped his head, swirling his tongue around my nipple as his hands traveled lower, working the button of my shorts free. The moment they slid down my thighs, Nick’s hand pushed between my legs. His fingers sought out and found my clit, circling and teasing it until I moaned and rocked my hips against his touch.

Like a maestro, he played my body perfectly. I teetered on the edge of oblivion, so close to release. Nick pulled away just before my orgasm burst through me. I whimpered in frustration, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He took a step back, and I wished I could see him.

“Get those off,” he ordered. I kicked my shorts and underwear away, struggling for a moment to get them over my shoes. I toed off the sneakers and stood barefoot in front of him, clad only in my open gear top and the shredded remains of my Inner Circle shirt. There was a rattle, the sound of a buckle being undone.

“Turn around,” Nick said firmly.

Almost as soon as I’d complied, Nick’s hands skimmed down my back and settled on my hips. He tugged me back toward him, and I knew what he wanted. I pressed my palms against the wall and pushed myself back. I heard his sigh as he curved his body over mine. His lips pressed against the back of my neck as he guided his cock into position.

To his surprise, I didn’t give him the chance to push forward. Instead, I pushed myself back onto his cock. I groaned low in my chest as he bottomed out, stretching me until I could hardly keep the whimpers at bay.

“Hmm, that’s how it is,” Nick practically snarled against my neck. He slipped one arm around my hip, fingers searching and circling my clit. His hips snapped hard against me. The other arm cupped my breast, squeezing the flesh and rolling my nipple between his fingers. “Come on, Mels. I can feel it. You’re holding back.”

He pulled me up, flush against his chest, his voice snarling in my ear, demanding my climax. His fingers brushed my clit in just the right way, and I fell apart. I tumbled over the edge of my orgasm, nearly collapsing in his arms. Nick didn’t stop, his hips continuing to slam into me, prolonging my pleasure as he chased his own.

A moment later, his body tensed, and he growled against the side of my neck. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he laughed. It was a warm, sweet sound that flooded my body with a different kind of heat.

“God, I love you, Mels,” he said with a smile against my shoulder. “But please, for my sake, don’t do that again.”

Tag List

@merchfreak @mox-made-me-do-it @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @lilred91

#1000 follower celebration #one-shot winner #merchfreak #behind the scenes #nick jackson #young bucks #aew #aew fanfiction #nick jackson fanfiction #ofc #oc #melody park #nick x ofc #smut #best friend sammy guevara

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hagridkeeperofkeys · 3 years

Text

July 2021 Posts

IF YOU DO ANY OF THESE POSTS AND THEN SEE THEY WERE ACTUALLY CLOSED, PLEASE REACH OUT TO YOUR HEAD OF HOUSES AND THEY MAY STILL BE ABLE TO AWARD YOU THE POINTS!

OWLS:

Potions - CLOSED

Transfiguration - CLOSED

Alchemy - CLOSED

Care Of Magical Creatures - CLOSED

Divination - CLOSED

Muggle Studies - CLOSED

Charms - CLOSED

DADA - CLOSED

Astronomy - CLOSED

Ancient Runes - CLOSED

Arithmancy - CLOSED

History Of Magic - CLOSED

Herbology - CLOSED

Elimination Challenge:

Favorite Magical Potion (Vote Five) - CLOSED

Favorite Magical Potion (Vote Six) - CLOSED

Favorite Magical Potion (Vote Seven) - CLOSED

Favorite Magical Potion (Vote Eight) - CLOSED

Favorite Magical Potion (Vote Nine) - CLOSED

Favorite Magical Potion (Vote Ten) - CLOSED

Favorite Magical Potion (Vote Eleven) - CLOSED

Favorite Magical Potion (Vote Twelve) - CLOSED

Favorite Magical Potion (Final Vote) - CLOSED

Chosen One Series:

Harry or Neville - CLOSED

Golden Egg Or Remembrall - CLOSED

Quidditch Or Herbology - CLOSED

Prisoner Of Azkaban Or Neville’s Version - CLOSED

Dementor Or Snape - CLOSED

Goblet Of Fire Or Neville’s Version - CLOSED

Order Of Phoenix Or Neville’s Version - CLOSED

James’ Cloak Or Frank’s Wand - CLOSED

Half Blood Prince Or Neville’s Version - CLOSED

Hedwig Or Trevor - CLOSED

Deathly Hallows Or Neville’s Version - CLOSED

Find The Difference - CLOSED

Harry Catching The Snitch Swap Puzzle - CLOSED

Bye Bye Voldy Or Bye Bye Nagini - CLOSED

Neville’s Version Of GOF (150 pieces - Medium/Hard Level) - CLOSED

What Percent Hedwig Are You - CLOSED`

Pixelated Puzzle (150 pieces - Medium/Hard Level) - CLOSED

Harry Or Neville - CLOSED

MAGIC! Bingo:

First Sign Up - CLOSED

First Card - CLOSED

Second Sign Up - CLOSED

Second Card - CLOSED

Puzzles:

Mandrake Restorative Draught (49 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Sleakeazy Hair Potion (49 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Amortentia (49 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Beautification (49 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Veritaserum (48 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Elixer Of Life (48 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Invisibility Potion (49 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Calming Draught (49 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Polyjuice Potion (48 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Wolfsbane Potion (49 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Harry And His Invisibility Cloak (48 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Happy Birthday To The Chosen One and The Unsung Hero (300 pieces - Very Difficult Level) - CLOSED

Harry Receiving The Invisibility Cloak (35 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup (1/4 - 81 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem (2/4 - 81 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Godric Gryffindor’s Sword (3/4 - 81 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Salazar Slytherin’s Locket (4/4 - 81 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Hermione Time Turner (98 pieces - Easy/Medium Level) - CLOSED

Hedwig (150 pieces - Medium/ Hard Level) - CLOSED

Hufflepuff (130 pieces - Medium Level) - CLOSED

Marauder’s Map (140 pieces - Medium Level) - CLOSED

Hermione’s Bag (99 pieces - Easy/Medium Level) - CLOSED

OWL (15 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

OWL In Great Hall (110 pieces - Medium Level) - CLOSED

Harry Potter Cover (48 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Harry Catching The Snitch (Easy/Medium Level) - CLOSED

Magical Objects (63 pieces - Easy/Medium Level) - CLOSED

Golden Snitch Video Puzzle (Medium Level) - CLOSED

Dumbledore Meme (50 pieces - Easy Level) - CLOSED

Dark HP (143 pieces - Medium Level) - CLOSED

Felix Felicis (204 pieces - Hard Level) - CLOSED

Deathly Hallows (112 pieces - Medium Level) - CLOSED

Harry And Hagrid (98 pieces - Easy/Medium Level) - CLOSED

Hogwarts House Tattoo (200 pieces - Hard Level) - CLOSED

The Chosen Boys Sliding Puzzle - CLOSED

The Lions’ Heros (196 pieces - Hard Level) - CLOSED

Logic Puzzles:

Magical Objects - CLOSED

Rune Sudoku Puzzle - CLOSED

Sudoku - CLOSED

The Weasleys Crossword - CLOSED

Easy Points:

NAME GAME (Hermione) - CLOSED

NAME GAME (Post One: Choose A Name) - CLOSED

NAME GAME (Post Two: Choose A Name) - CLOSED

NAME GAME (Final Vote: Choose A Name) - CLOSED

Sort The Ninja Turtles Into Houses - CLOSED

What Do You See With Spectrespecs On? (GIF React) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Lupita Nyong’o) - CLOSED

Clue With A Twist - CLOSED

Corrupt A Wish - CLOSED

Build Your Perfect Team - CLOSED

What’s Your Secondary House? - CLOSED

Show Appreciation To The Headmistress and HofHs - CLOSED

What Would You Bring To Neville’s Party? - CLOSED

What Magical Objects Would You Buy With $15? - CLOSED

Weasley Word Predictive Text (SNITCH) - CLOSED

Birthday Party for Neville And Harry - CLOSED

Rename A Flower And Explain What It’s Property Is - CLOSED

Sort Marvel Characters - CLOSED

True Or False? - CLOSED

What Item Would You Make Magical And Why? - CLOSED

GIF reaction to Umbridge offering you a cup of tea - CLOSED

Who Would Win Medals In What Olympics Event? - CLOSED

Does Your Zodiac Sign Match Your House? - CLOSED

Which Character Deserved To Be Main Character? - CLOSED

Wish Members Happy Birthday - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Danai Gurira) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Chadwick Bozeman) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle (Betty White) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Marilyn Manson) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Christian Bale) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Sofia Vergara) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Kelly Osbourne) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Helena Bonham-Carter) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Whoopi Goldberg) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Keanu Reeves) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Billie Eilish) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Angelina Jolie-Pitt) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Morgan Freeman) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Halle Berry) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Johnny Depp) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Scarlett Johansson) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Denzel Washington) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Zoey Saldana) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Cher) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Kristin Stewart) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle (Nathalie Emmanuel) - CLOSED

Witch/Wizard Or Muggle? (Bradley Cooper) - CLOSED

What Object Can Buy Your Silence? - CLOSED

Recreate This Picture - CLOSED

Who Would You Polyjuice Yourself Into? - CLOSED

Guess Who I Am (Polyjuice Potion) - CLOSED

Predictive Text (Felix Felicis) - CLOSED

What’s Your Patronus Based Off Your Birth Month - CLOSED

Would You Rather - CLOSED

Langelock, Avada Kedavra, Amortentia - CLOSED

GIF response to coming face-to-face with Voldemort - CLOSED

Show Me Your HECK YEAH I’VE COMPLETED MY OWLS Gif - CLOSED

Creative Writing:

What Would You Do If You Had A Time Turner? - CLOSED

What Would Another Book From JK Rowling Look Like? - CLOSED

What Are You Doing For Summer? - CLOSED

Resort Disney Characters - CLOSED

Attending The Olympics (1/2) - CLOSED

What Would Be A Part Of Wizard Olympics? (2/2) - CLOSED

Incorporate Magical Objects In Everyday Life - CLOSED

Young And Beautiful (lyrics) - CLOSED

As The World Caves In (lyrics) - CLOSED

Quizzes:

The Magical Objects Quiz - CLOSED

Harry Potter Movie Questions - CLOSED

Which Character - CLOSED

First Year Draco Malfoy Quiz - CLOSED

First Year Diagon Alley Quiz - CLOSED

Can You Match The Quote To The Professor? - CLOSED

Pick A Squishmallow To Reveal Your House - CLOSED

Which Harry Potter Class Would You Excel In? - CLOSED

Magical Objects Quiz - CLOSED

Cats Of The Wizarding World - CLOSED

Templates:

Names Word Unscramble - CLOSED

Who, What, Where Was Lune Given A Gift? - CLOSED

Magical Objects Word Scramble - CLOSED

Tell Us Your... (Hogwarts Edition) - CLOSED

Would You Rather... (Magical Objects) - CLOSED

Birthday Invitation - CLOSED

I Spy... - CLOSED

Collages:

Chamber Of Secrets - CLOSED

Hogwarts Monopoly:

Herbology Memory Match - CLOSED

Hogwarts Castle (96 pieces) - CLOSED

Places In The Harry Potter Universe Quiz - CLOSED

Professors Memory Match - CLOSED

Fluffy (104 pieces) - CLOSED

Muggles And Squibs Quiz - CLOSED

Goblet Of Fire Memory Match - CLOSED

Magical Creatures (200 pieces) - CLOSED

Wands And Wandmakers Quiz - CLOSED

Student Of Hogwarts Memory Match - CLOSED

Charms And Spells (200 pieces) - CLOSED

Potions Quiz - CLOSED

Coloring Sheets/Drawing:

Invisibility Cloak - CLOSED

The Ford Anglia - CLOSED

Mirror Of Erised - CLOSED

Remembrall (Zentangle) - CLOSED

Wordsearch:

Happy Birthday Harry And Neville - CLOSED

Harry Potter Magical Objects - CLOSED

Magical Objects - CLOSED

Astoria’s Associations:

Time Turner - CLOSED

Bagman’s Broomstick Battle:

Board 1 - CLOSED

Hermione’s BAG Bingo:

July Card - CLOSED

Department Of Magical Cooperation:

Azkaban Breakout Sign Up

Memory Match - CLOSED

Logic Puzzle - CLOSED

#hogwartsfbjuly2021

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elizaviento · 4 years

Text

A Promise of Things to Come

Note: This is for @smudgethistledraws :)

*****

A Promise of Things to Come

(Stan Pines x Reader)

SFW -- 2650 words

*****

Before my knuckles could make contact with the front door of the Mystery Shack, it was flung open unceremoniously by the most adorable and energetic creature imaginable – Mabel Pines.

“You’re finally here, hurry up – come in!”

In fact, I was 10 minutes early. But, try telling this ball of energy that.

Before I could reply, she grabbed my hand and practically dragged me up the stairs to the attic bedroom she shared with her twin brother. Catching only a small glimpse of Stan as he lounged on his worn chair in the living room, he tossed me a wink before disappearing from view. Naturally, I could feel my cheeks burn as my heart skipped a beat. And, naturally, Mabel was the first to notice.

“Hey! You’re here now to teach me to draw, not to fawn over Grunkle Stan,” she chided as she slammed her way through the attic door, startling Dipper who was situated on the floor with about a hundred sheets of graph paper surrounding him.

“Oh hey,” he greeted as he gathered his wits. He had obviously been deep in thought, no doubt mapping out a new dungeon for his next game of DD&moreD.

Waving to him casually, I glanced around the room which was littered with half packed boxes and I was reminded that the summer was rapidly coming to a close. The twins would be returning to California by the end of the week and my weekly private sessions with Mabel would be coming to an end. Which also meant my opportunities to snag precious time with Stan would be coming to an end, as well. He and his twin brother, Ford, would be resuming their seasonal sailing trip around the world, leaving the Mystery Shack back into Soos’ capable care. And I – I would go back to my day job; art teacher at the local high school.

“Dipper, where are my art supplies?” Mabel questioned her twin as she tossed items from boxes in search.

“How should I know?” he asked, annoyance lacing his tone as he gnawed on the end of his ink pen so hard, I was afraid it would explode in his mouth. “You’re the one who packed them away.”

“But you should have been watching me!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. Catching a hint of color from the corner of my eye, I strolled over to a box situated next to Mabel’s bed and pulled her pallet of watercolors from inside. “You found them!”

Snatching the pallet from my hands, she then dove into the box to retrieve the remainder of her supplies.

“Uh, Mabel – it seems like Dipper has claimed most of the space up here today. How about we have today’s lesson in the kitchen?”

Dipper glanced up at me, displaying an appreciative smile as Mabel agreed and yanked me back toward the stairs.

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

On our way to the kitchen, I was able to sneak one more peek at the man I’d been quietly admiring all summer before settling in at the table with Mabel and all of her supplies. For our last lesson, I gave her free reign to create whatever her heart desired as I casually day dreamed. In the living room, I could faintly hear Stan and Ford planning their fall adventure and I mentally inserted myself into those plans; imagined myself at Stan’s side, supporting him unconditionally. In fact, I’d do so regardless of a fantasy trip around the world, if only given the opportunity.

And, why hadn’t I received that opportunity? I couldn’t quite say, to be honest. The brief interactions I’d had with Stan thus far included his poor, but endearing, attempts at flirting and my bashful giggling. It was nearly impossible to spend time with him alone due to one of the kids or his brother constantly milling about. And now, with the summer coming to a close, I’d probably not see him again for the better part of a year.

Sighing to myself, I was only brought back into the moment when the snap of Mabel’s fingers, just inches from my face, pulled me from my brooding.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, holding up the painting she’d just completed of her and her pet pig, Waddles. Mabel had picked up the techniques I’d taught her rather well and her own unique style emerged quite early. In truth, she was incredibly talented.

“It’s great, dear,” I assured, taking the small canvas from her hands to inspect it closely.

“Really?! Oh, I’m so glad because it’s a gift for you! I want you to keep it to have something to remind you of me and Waddles.”

Peering over the canvas at the young girl’s beaming smile simultaneously warmed and clinched my heart. I refused to accept any form payment when I’d agreed to tutor Mabel but I supposed taking this token of her affection would be fine. And, it was quite well done as Mabel was a natural talent.

Glancing at my watch, I was disappointed that our final session was coming to a close. It was finally time to say goodbye.

I kept the affair as short and sweet as possible, hugging each twin in an almost vice like grip. Dipper was utterly adorable as his round cheeks flushed crimson and he stuttered his farewell. Mabel gave as good as she got, crushing my ribs with force I didn’t think was possible within her tiny body.

And, by the time I’d made my way to the door, the living room was deserted. I’d missed my chance. That is, until I somberly stepped out onto the front porch and collided with something large and solid.

“Woah, watch where you’re goin’ there, toots,” a deep and gruff voice rumbled from the object blocking my path. A voice that was delightfully familiar and set a rush of warm dopamine through my circulatory system.

“I – I’m so sorry!” I stammered, gathering my wits as Stan wrapped his large hands around my biceps and peeled me from his front. “I was just on my way –”

“Say, whatcha doin’ this coming Saturday?”

Now a foot between us, I glanced up toward his face to catch him peering down his nose at me. But, his eyes were soft; a hit of a smile playing on the corners of his mouth as he awaited my reply.

I felt a bit silly as I admitted, “I have no plans. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was – uh – wonderin’ if… ya know, if you’d maybe wanna catch dinner with me?” Awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, a slight blush crept up from his neck to dust his cheeks. It was utterly endearing. He actually seemed anxious at the prospect of my refusal. “The kids leave on Friday afternoon and Ford and I won’t be packing up until the following week, so I thought –”

“Of course, I’d love to,” I replied before he could somehow talk himself out of it. “I’ll meet you here at 8:00 pm.” Then, I stepped around him and headed to my car without another word.

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

When Saturday evening finally arrived, I spent an exorbitant amount of time fussing over my hair, makeup and outfit. Checking the time every 15 minutes, the butterflies in my stomach seemed to be having a ticker tape parade. Then, with half an hour to spare, I drove the path that would lead me to the disheveled shack in the middle of nowhere.

What I’d expected when I arrived was far from what I was actually presented with. Instead of finding Stanley Pines in his normal attire, casually lounging on the ratty couch situated on the front porch, I was greeted with a dapper man in a proper suit holding a bouquet of flowers that appeared to be hand picked.

Parking my vehicle, I was startled when Stan moved with impressive speed to make it to my door before I could open it myself. Tucking the flowers under one arm, he fumbled with the handle until it popped open and I gawked at him in confusion.

“Hey, don’t look so shocked,” he mumbled as he offered me a hand, which I gingerly took. “I can clean up semi-decent when the mood strikes.”

Speechless, I took the offered bouquet and allowed him to lead me toward the shack. But, words continued to fail me as we entered, due to the sight before me.

Someone had taken the time to thoroughly clean. The shack was spotless, from ceiling to floor and a pleasant aroma wafted toward me from the kitchen.

Someone had helped him arrange this. And, since the twins had departed the day prior, that only left one person. However, I knew better than to give Stanley’s twin brother any credit in this matter.

“I hope you don’t mind staying in,” he hedged, shifting his eyes toward me to gauge my reaction.

“Of course not. What smells so good?”

“Um, well –” he took the flowers from my loose grip and popped them into a drinking glass filled with water on the kitchen counter, “–chicken parmesan…?”

The uncertainty in his voice earned a giggle from me as he escorted me to the kitchen table. Everything had already been set up and served on mismatched dishware. There were two long stem candles placed in the middle of the display, flickering a soft glow on the meal that, indeed, resembled chicken parmesan. Silently thanking Ford for the valiant effort, I took a seat in front of one of the placements with a smile that I was certain resembled that of a lovesick teenager.

What was all this? Why had Stan gone through all the trouble when he could have easily taken me to Greasy’s Diner? Why had he even asked me to dinner in the first place? Most of our previous interactions had been brief and surface level. An intimate setting, such as this, begged familiarity or the promise of it. Or – or maybe I was reading far too much into a kind gesture?

I was suddenly pulled from my inner contemplation when Stan yanked the other chair from the table and plopped down across from me. He seemed a bit stiff and awkward and he reached for the bottle of red table wine and poured himself a tall glass before scooching the bottle toward me. Taking his lead, I poured myself a glass as well and attempted to settle in.

Dinner was, surprisingly, easy and carefree. Stan proved to be an excellent conversationalist and had fantastical stories that kept me on the edge of my seat during the duration. Soon, I found myself pouring my third glass of wine and my inhibitions were being softened around the edges as my smiles and giggles materialized with ease.

“Ya gettin’ tipsy there, doll?” Waggling his eyebrows, he tipped the wine bottle toward me before taking a swig directly from it.

“I could ask you the same question,” I countered, taking a larger gulp than was necessary from my glass. Another giggle passed my lips as Stan lowered his glasses to peer at me from above the rims. Suddenly stunned by his beautiful eyes, I covered my mouth with the back of my hand and averted my gaze.

“Why did you ask me to dinner?” The words tumbled from my mouth before they'd even fully formed in my mind and the humiliation crept up from my chest to burn my cheeks. I wanted to take them back – stuff them back down my throat and swallow them whole. But, it was too little, too late.

Luckily, though, the wine had kicked Stan’s cockiness into high gear and he was more than willing to explain.

“You’re cute,” he stated simply, running a large hand through his hair. “I’ve also caught you making eyes at me. Couldn’t let that opportunity pass by, now could I?” Then, he laughed; a booming baritone that seemed to vibrate from his body, travel across the distance between us and tingle the tips of my fingers and toes.

I had no retort. Mostly because the wine was coursing through my veins delightfully, but the truth was undeniable.

“Well, I’m glad you did.”

“Me too, doll.”

The conversation continued to flow, easy and effortless. Stan encouraged me to tell a story or two of my own when his reserve had finally been tapped. He even appeared interested as I spoke instead of the slightly annoyed demeanor he always wore.

Eventually, though, the conversation grew scarce and the wine ran dry. It was late and I became hyper aware of the fact that the two of us were completely alone in the shack. Briefly, I wondered where Ford could be. But, I hadn’t seen him all evening so it was probably safe to assume that he’d taken refuge elsewhere for the evening.

And, that realization sent a rush of adrenaline directly to the base of my spine.

“I should probably get going. I have plans to meet a friend for breakfast tomorrow.”

It was a poor excuse, but an excuse nonetheless. As much as I wanted to spend time with Stan, I didn’t want to move too fast and squander my opportunity for a meaningful relationship.

“Oh, of course, yeah. I’ve – uh – got important things to do too, ya know.”

Scrambling from the table, he approached me and offered me his hand in the same manner as when he’d met me at my car. The endearment hit me hard and actually felt tears prick my eyes as I slipped my hand into his. Seconds later, he had me to my feet and slyly tucked and hooked my arm around his in a guise to steady me as he led me toward the front door. Even though I wasn’t anywhere near intoxicated, I allowed him this reprieve and reveled in the warmth of his body where we touched.

Soon – too soon – we were standing on the front porch of the shack, a warm breeze caressing my cheeks and tousling the loose strands of my hair. This one singular moment was perfect and I would have been content for it to last forever.

That is, until I felt Stan’s gaze bore into me and I was compelled to tip my face upward to lock my eyes with his.

His expression was soft and somehow sweet – expectant. Something seemed to crackle in the atmosphere between us, drawing us toward one another like the pull of a magnet. I was powerless to resist it, even if I’d wanted to, so I nearly melted when Stan gently cupped the back of my neck and coaxed me toward him.

His lips were firm yet yielding as they molded around my own. Almost chaste in their gentleness and my heart swelled with thick emotion. I returned the kiss with as much fervor as I could muster, slightly opening my lips to encase his before swiping my tongue very lightly on his bottom lip. It was a promise of things to come… later.

Then, just as soon as the kiss began, it was over. The warmth and pressure now a ghost upon my lips as he pulled back and released me. I was slightly dazed as he chucked and slung one burly arm around my shoulders.

“Don’t lose my number while I’m gone this fall, huh?” The uncertainty in his voice made me smirk. Did he actually think I’d forget about him?

“Impossible,” I replied, pointing toward the bumper sticker Mabel had plastered on the back of my car with the Mystery Shack’s telephone number in large, bold font.

“Good girl.”

The End.

#gravity falls #stan pines x reader #stan pines #fanfiction

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scottiereed · 5 years

Text

Survivor - Scott Reed x Reader

((GIF is not mine))

Pairing: Scott Reed x Reader

Requested: Yes! By anon:

‘could you do an imagine where when the whole “I’m a survivor” scene plays out the reader stands up and Scott’s like proud of her as fuck and just a cute fluffy imagine? ❤️’

Summary: You stand up during Jessica’s speech

Words: 1056 words

Warnings: talk about the clubhouse, the survivor speech

A/N: requests are open :)

13 Reasons Why Masterlist

You watched, nervously, as Jessica started to deliver her speech. You hoped that she wasn’t about to apologise for the homecoming game, as the Principal so desperately wanted. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best way of going about it but the fact that those things continued to happen in a school that had caused a young girl’s death was abhorrent.

Jessica spoke about how people needed to be accountable for their mistakes and that people needed to focus on healing. You realised she wasn’t about to apologise. It made you nervous, wondering if she was about to pull another stunt. While it was cathartic and healing for some people, it made you rather nauseous.

“The protest I led was an attempt to try to draw attention to rape culture in boys’ sports and throughout our school.” Jessica continued, and you looked down at your boyfriend Scott, who was sat with Zach, Alex and Justin. “And yes, I admit that the way I went about it wasn’t perfect. I’m sorry for how it all ended up. I really am. But making mistakes is part of being a survivor.”

Jessica looked over at Justin, who you noticed looked equally nervous and uncomfortable. “At first, you think you’re like permanently broken. But then, little by little, you start picking up the pieces, and you start realising what you’re making is a mirror. And the more of those pieces that you put together, the more you start to see yourself.” The words struck a chord with you, reminiscent of how you used to feel before Scott had turned up and unknowingly put your broken pieces back together.

“But maybe we can start picking up those pieces of that mirror together, and we can finally see the truth.” Jessica looked around the hall and noticed the approving faces. “If you think that sexual assault doesn’t affect your life, you’re wrong. There are survivors all around us.” You shifted uncomfortably, starting to understand where Jessica’s speech was heading. “People you care about, who you never knew were suffering in silence. Let them know that you’re there to listen. It’s time for you to know the survivors in your life.” A roll of nausea overwhelmed you, and your heart dropped.

“To hear their stories and to know their voice matters.” Jessica’s arms dropped by her side, seemingly done with her speech. “My name is Jessica Davies, and I’m a survivor.”

Everyone broke out into whispers as Jessica looked around the hall. “My name is Casey Ford, and I’m a survivor.” You looked to your left and saw the outspoken girl from your Lit class.

“My name is Janelle Martin, and I’m a survivor.” A girl from your trig class.

Across from you, another girl stood up. “My name is Maggie Kim, and I’m a survivor.” You vaguely recall her from last years biology class.

The hall door closed noisily, and you noticed Clay Jensen enter the hall. His appearance had spurred another into action. “My name is Tyler Down, and I’m a survivor.” The boy shakily stated and your heart broke, no wonder he’d been so unhappy for the past few months. Students seemed to be more shocked that it had happened to a boy too. You found yourself feeling angry at their ignorance. Your confidence was slowly starting to build.

“My name is Lina Ochoa, and I’m a survivor.” Homeroom.

“My name is Sarah Stern. I’m a survivor.” Your home-ec class.

“My name is Robby Corman, and I’m a survivor.” The boy whose locker was next to yours.

“My name is Tanya Brown. I’m a survivor.” Your P.E. class.

You noticed Justin stand up near Scott and your heart broke again. “My name is Justin Foley, and I’m a survivor.” Jessica looked shocked, and so did your friends. But it gave you the confidence that you needed. If Justin could stand up, so could you.

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m a survivor.” You felt the stares, and your legs shook. Justin shot you a shaky smile, and your boyfriend shot you a saddened look.

“My name is Stephanie Rodriguez, and I’m a goddamn survivor.” You were glad that the attention was drawn from you.

There was scattered applause around the room, and you fought against the urge to sit back down or flee from the hall. People continued to stand and state their name.

Jessica grabbed the microphone and stepped down from the podium. “To those of you who are still seated, I know a lot of you still have stories, but you’re not ready to share them yet.” Jessica looked around the hall, and so did you. You were slightly horrified at just how many people you knew that were stood up, we’re you really that blind? “And that’s okay. When you’re ready, we’ll listen. And we will continue to fight to make sure that no one is assaulted, harassed or abused at this school. We will not sit down. We will not be quiet. We will not rest until that happens.”

The applause started, and you noticed Principal Bolan began to applause with less hesitation than you thought he would need. Perhaps, he realised just how many of his pupils were suffering, or perhaps he realised that it was a losing game.

The assembly drew to a close and people began to talk to each other. You saw Robby talking to Tyler and Jess approached Justin. Scott came over to you and wrapped his arms around you. You took in the smell that was uniquely Scott and sighed, tears welling up in your eyes and wetting Scott’s shirt when they fell.

“I am so proud of you.” Scott murmured lowly, pressing his lips against your hair. It had taken you a long time to tell Scott that you had been one of the girls from the Clubhouse. Partly because it had been hard to talk about it and partly because you knew Scott had known about the Clubhouse.

You hummed lightly in response. “It’s shocking how many people we know who suffered like this.” Your mind was on Justin and Tyler, who had obviously been suffering in silence.

“We can all support each other now.” Scott squeezed you lightly.

Everyone watched in horror as Clay was arrested and you realised any talk about surviving would have to wait.

#scott reed x reader #scott reed #scott reed imagine #13 reasons why #13rw #13 reasons why imagine #13 reasons imagine

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