#leori words

[leori-the-unlearned]

reminder that it is quite possible the Titan’s first impression of Luz is her introducing herself as a crab maiden and later getting her aunt to punch Philip in the nose

#depends on if papa titan was paying attention at that point- i would think yes though #since that escapade was specifically about trying to reach and free the collector which papa titan tapped so long ago #as well as generally being a sucky guy who’s already been using glyphs for bad and has been kept from the light glyph #so yeah :3 good first impression! then luz also appears a good 400 years from then. you think the titan knew it was her or thought it was- #-some other identical human #toh #the owl house #toh spoilers #the owl house spoilers #watching and dreaming #leori words

[leorieshearts]

if this is goodbye

In the depths of my heart, emotions collide, As I pen these words, our love put aside. With a heavy heart and tearful eyes, I bid farewell, as our love slowly dies.

We were once entwined, through laughter and tears, But now the distance grows, magnifying our fears. The love we shared, like a flame burning bright, Has now flickered out, lost in the night.

Our paths have diverged, destiny's call, And though it hurts deeply, I must let you fall. For in letting go, we find our own way, To seek new horizons, a brand-new day.

I'll cherish the moments we spent together, The sweetest memories, etched in forever. But it's time to release, to set ourselves free, To find what's meant for us, our own destiny.

I wish you joy, love, and a heart full of grace, May happiness find you in every new place. In this goodbye, know that you'll always be, A part of my story, a cherished memory.

As we part ways, let's hold onto the past, For those precious moments, they'll forever last. Thank you for the love, the laughter we shared, I'll hold them in my heart, forever ensnared.

Goodbye, my love, I wish you all the best, May life's journey bring you nothing but happiness. Though our paths may now diverge and roam, Know that I'll always carry you, from now until my final home.

♤Leorieshearts♡

#spilled ink #spilled words #words #english #leories

[lightarin]

Hello and welcome to my Tumblr!

Feel free to send asks/dms/requests or random brainrots! If sending a request, be sure to state fandom, character(s) and prompt! The prompt can be general or specific and multiple characters is fine too~

Fandoms I will write for:

Twisted Wonderland; Ensemble Stars; Obey Me; Tears of Themis; Arcana Twilight

I will try to ride GN!Reader most of the time, but I am also comfortable with Fem!Reader.

Masterlists

Twisted Wonderland Tears of Themis Ikeseries Obey Me Miscellaneous (Fics that have no specific character assigned to them. In other words, character insert fics!)

(Masterlists will be added as fics are posted. For now, these are the categories I have fics posted in! It may also take me time to update them (since I tend to add multiple at a time rather than one at a time, so best way to see all my writings is looking at the #arinttacks)

Learn more about me below!

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Find my longer commission prices and my T.O.S here!

・❥・Hashtags for writing: #arinttacks

ღ OC informationღ

My general brainrots will be tagged as #arinfood

・❥・Hashtags for ships:

Twisted Wonderland

#Clovereden - Lazuli x Trey

#Cocay - Coral x Cater

#Jalea - Elea x Jade

#Ruiko - Suiko x Ruggie

Ensemble Stars

#Kaolea - Elea x Kaoru

#Makority - Verity x Makoto

#Leories - Aries x Leo

Other

#light arrow - Kaveh x Elea (Genshin)

#moonflower - Luocha x Elea (HSR)

(OC content masterlist incoming)

#arinttacks #arinfood

[aith-art]

Yeehawgust 2023 - Day 29

Mighty Fine Shooting

I’ve explored what alternate Jules in Leory’s timeline was up to. Here's what alternate Leroy is doing in JUles’ timeline 

Bullets flew. Jules had fired the first shot. A Legionnaire at the far side of the town fell. Boone and the other NCR soldiers followed suit and the ground was soaking in Legion blood. Jules shifted their sight, aiming at the men in red who manned the lookout posts. 

With a single shot to the back of the head another one fell. 

Before Jules moved out of their position atop the rocks, they killed 4 more. 

Swinging their rifle over their back, Jules slid down the rock, drew their pistol and moved into Nelson. 

As they cut down the poor NCR soldiers tied to crosses in the centre of town, they found themself accompanied by one of the Rangers from Forlorn-Hope. 

“You’re mighty fine with a gun.” The ranger cut down the man across from Jules. 

“Huh?” 

“Mighty fine shooting back there.” 

Jules gives a light laugh, “I won’t tell your officer that you spent more time watching me shoot than you did fighting.” They joked. 

Leroy let out a laugh himself as he supported the trooper, “You wound me.” He held out his free hand to Jules, “I’m Ranger Clayton. Best shooter outside of 1st recon. But most call me Leroy.” 

“Well, Leroy, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ll have to take your word on the rest of it.” 

“You spend enough time round Forlorn Hope, I’m sure you’ll see it.” 

“You done flirting yet?” 

Leroy’s smile never dropped. He turned and began walking the wounded soldiers back to camp as Jules began to systematically check buildings for any lingering Legion fools.

#yeehaugust 2023 #yeehawgust #fallout #fallout nv #fallout new vegas #new vegas #jules courier 6 #courier six #fallout oc #aith art writing

[vulpixen]

Week Two: Connection/Father Figure

Summary: When one of Stan's nephews has a bad day, having went through a similar experience as Ford did, Stan knew just what to do about it.

A/N:  Hey all! This story takes place in the Lost and Gained AU. New entry for @stanuary .Tate and Shiloh are the sons of Ford, Fiddleford and oc Lucina. And Leroy is Stan and Andrea's youngest son. Tate, Shiloh and Leroy are teens here. Hope you all enjoy the read! Stan and Andrea's older kids James and Jessie are still around, just living at different places as they're in their early 20's and moved out of the house as of this point in time. 

Chapter 2

With everyone else out of the house and the Mystery Shack closed for the day, Stan got settled into the reclining chair in the living room, about to watch tv when he heard the front door open, revealing it to his two teenage nephews and youngest son, Shiloh, Tate and Leroy. Shiloh had his head lowered and back hunched over, something clear on his mind Stan could notice. Leroy gave his dad an expression that tells it happened again. Tate followed his brother and tried to talk to him.

“Shiloh, you shouldn’t let it get to you. They’re all just talk and –”

Shiloh grunted a response, not in the mood to say words to express how frustrated he was about having been mocked again for his six fingers and keeping his black hair long and braided. Tate and Leory were there to witness it and stand up for him, but the damage was done and Shiloh felt the emotional hurt from the cruel words directed at him and Tate. Tate wasn’t one to get easily bothered by most things, but when it came to his family being hurt, it harmed him more than anything.

Stan cleared his throat and called him over. “Hey, Shy, you’ll get a hunchback if you keep sulking like that, kiddo. Come over here and we can talk about this.” Stan could see his twin brother in Shiloh every day. Shiloh also inherited his father’s burdens.

Shiloh didn’t answer back as he continued his way upstairs to avoid talking to his uncle, clearly not in the mood. This prompted Stan to get up and head over to wonder what could be troubling his nephew. He pats Tate’s and Leroy’s shoulder to silently let him know he’ll talk to him.

Stan went into the kitchen to fix one of Shiloh’s favorite meals. Oven baked rainbow trout with veggies and rice, one of the recipes his wife showed him how to cook like how her friend Lucina made it. Ever since becoming a dad, Stan was encouraged to make more home cooked meals instead of relying on fast food to feed his and Andrea’s children, and they’re all better for it. It was getting close to dinner time and Andrea was coming home soon. Leroy and Tate joined him to talk to him more of what happened and help him cook dinner. Stan already figured what went down. Leroy started.

“So these jerks at school were talking shit about Shiloh and –”

“Picked on him for his fingers and hair?” Leroy frowned, looking down at the ground.

“Yeah. I don’t get it. They really got under his skin this time and it sucks.” Tate shook his head.

“I wonder if Dad had to deal with something like this.”

“He did. Me and Andy were around to defend him from bullies like Crampelter.” Stan prepped the carrots and cabbage to be chopped. “Bullies will do or say anything to get a rise out of anyone they think shouldn’t belong and any other excuse. They won’t always all go away, but surrounding yourself with better people helps a lot. Me and your dad didn’t always have that, but at least there were a good few we know we can rely on.” Tate and Leroy gave what Stan said consideration. Tate wished he knew about his dad Ford, but he was almost an enigma throughout his and Shiloh’s life up until he and their mom Lucina disappeared almost ten years ago.

It took time to prepare and cook, but by the time it was finished, Stan, Leroy and Tate would hear Shiloh walk downstairs and head into the direction of the kitchen.

“Alright…” Shiloh sighed and took his seat at the table, having seemed to have gotten his more negative feelings out. When presented with the meal, his face lightens as a smile forms on his tired face. “Thank you, Uncle Stan. Sorry I didn’t say anything, earlier, I wasn’t in the mood. I’m sure Tate and Leroy already told you.” Tate and Leroy gave an affirming nod.

“Told him the whole story. Even the part where we punched Randy in the mouth.”

“Wait, what?” Stan inquired. “You guys punched the guy?” He would grin at that knowledge.

“Right… forgot to mention.” Tate rubbed his neck.

“Eh, don’t cry about it, I’m tough as a concrete wall.” Stan waved a hand dismissing the earlier occurrence. This got a laugh out of Shiloh, Tate and Leroy. “Which hook did you use?” Leroy shared with a big grin, feeling proud of himself for it.

“Left hook, Dad!” Stan laughed.

“Just like your old man here.”

The door opened and Andrea came inside to take off her brown boots and hat to put on the hat rack. She enters the kitchen and greets the three.

“Hey, boys!” Andrea took a whiff in the air. “Good, I’m right on time for dinner.”

“Yeah, right on time, hun,” Stan smiled lovingly back at her.

#gravity falls #lost and gained au #vulpixens ocs #stanuary 2023 #week two: connection #stan pines #stanley pines #tate mcgucket #leroy pines #shiloh pines

[rookvonhunt]

Oops for Leroy Tara ( Cause he die) or Misty and Nanoya

GOD TARA AND LEROY MY BELOVEDS

Under the cut for . Idk. Written nudity shes in a towel

-----

Tara Poisgrove

" .... Out. "

Tara stood in silence, staring at Leroy like a deer in headlights. Holding a towel loosely draped over her body.

She had just gotten out of the onsens of Arachninox and was brushing out her hair when she heard the door swing open. And Leory hadn't known what to expect with such limited knowledge of the layout of the dorm and Daichi's lack of telling him where he was headed when he had given him directions.

Imagine his shock when he walks in and sees Tara of all people basically in the nude. Staring at him like she wanted him Dead.

Leroy lost his composure, stuttering and stumbling over his words while Tara regained hers. Reaching to her side and finding a random rolled up towel. Chucking it at the chameleon's head and hitting a bullseye.

" I SAID TO GET OUT STOP STARING YOU PIECE OF SHIT."

Tara screeched, while getting WHACKED seemed to have push Leroy out of his daze. And cue him , running out at light speed before he died that very instant.

He was so. So. SO. Dead..

#this is garbage... ough #tara poisgrove #leroy violet

[thesoobfiles]

your highness – a. skywalker

Jealous! Anakin x Queen! Reader

Request: anon, could we get a jealous! anakin imagine?

Words: 4k

Summary: Reader is the queen of the alien planet, Roe’ Leor, a planet very rich in natural resources and starship fuel. It was previously a neutral system; however, the Republic has finally roped them in. In celebration and in honor of their alliance, the Queen has thrown a formal party to recognize this new friendship. Invitations extend to the royal family, the royal guard, royal officials as well as the staff, Republic Senators and the Jedi of course. After Ani’s met the Queen and after the dancing begins, Anakin gets jealous when he sees her dancing with another man…

A/N: I’ve been experiencing the BIGGEST writers block and lack of time to write and I’m SO sorry this took so long. I also had trouble trying to think of something that isn’t overplayed like jedi! reader and senator! reader... I’ve had this in my drafts for a week now and I apologize I haven’t published it until now... I hope it was worth the wait though :) A couple things I want to point out: 1) Roe’ Leor is a production of my imagination; it’s not a real planet in the Star War universe, 2) I imagine the handmaiden with a soft British accent, 3) you don’t really get to fill in a lot because you’re an alien and your skin color, eye color, etc. is already pre-determined, 4) the Roe’ Leor culture is like a mix of Indian and Haiwaiian (certain thinks like names and outfits) and 5) this Anakin is kind of like a mix between rots! Anakin and tcw! Anakin. I’m sorry I talk so much and enjoy! ~

-

I look out of my large bedroom window as my handmaiden, Lei, prepares me for the event tonight. I just love the blues and purples that color the sky when the suns set…

“I do as well, my lady.” Lei speaks up. I jump slightly at the sudden sound.

“I hadn’t realized I said that aloud…” I said, distractedly.

“Well, I’m glad you did, your majesty. The sound of your voice is always lovely to hear, no matter the scarcity.” She replies with a small smile on her face. I smile back at her. What a wonderful girl…

The thing about being Queen is I’m not allowed to speak, only under specific circumstances like negotiations. Hearing my voice should be ‘a privilege’. I think it’s nonsense; but until my request goes through Leadership, I must adhere to the rules…

Lei adjusts the pallu part of the sari and places the traditional red flower behind my ear. She spins me around to look in the full-length mirror and I smile. She always does such excellent work making sure I look presentable. I look at Lei in the mirror and whisper a ‘thank you’ in our native tongue.

“You are quite welcome, your highness.” She smiles and bows before leaving my presence.

I look in the mirror once more and really take in my appearance. The amber color of the sari and petticoat really compliments my green eyes and the vermillion of the choli, fine stitching and border look exquisite against my light orange skin. To top the whole look off, my hair is loose, free to fall in waves upon my shoulders. Luckily, it doesn’t take too much away from the golden jewelry that adorns my body; the delicate necklace hanging upon my neck and the simple, yet elegant bangles that slip towards my wrist. If there’s one thing I love about being Queen, it’s the fun I have while dressing up.

When I’m done admiring Lei’s handiwork, I straighten my back and head for the main room of the palace; where the event is being held.

Outside my door, as I expected, are two of my most trusted bodyguards – who double as my governesses – to escort me; however, what I didn’t expect was for a women from Leadership waiting for me as well. I bow politely and she bows back.

“Your grace, I’ve come before you to inform you that your request has been received and approved.” She says with a relaxed expression and a small smile.

“That’s wonderful. Thank you for bringing me this information.” I reply, beyond jovial as a smile breaks out on my face.

“It was my pleasure, your majesty. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” She bows and leaves me with my escorts.

Overjoyed that I can now speak as I please, I hug both of them.

“Alani, Kaila, I never thought I’d see the day.” I express my extreme happiness with the information I just received.

“We’re happy for you, your highness.” Alani replies with a smile on her face.

“We’re glad your request went through successfully.” Kaila says as she pats my back.

I give them another squeeze before I straighten up, dust off my sari and clear my throat.

“C’mon ladies, we have a party to attend.”

As I walk forwards, Alani and Kaila follow suit. We make a beeline for the balcony area of the staircase and wait just behind the doorway for my cue to enter. I can already hear the noise of my guests and the party started but a few minutes ago.

- 15 minutes earlier –

“Halt.” A guard in front of the palace stops us.

“Names.” She demands and she looks at her scroll.

“Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight.” I say in a nonchalant tone and flash her my invitation. She looks at me, at the invitation and at her scroll. She nods and looks at Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master.” He says politely as he too shows his invitation. The guard nods and I proceed to make my way inside only to walk into her arm. I look up at her.

“Is there a problem?” I ask, eyebrow raised in hopes of getting some answers.

“You must change your attire before entering the Queen’s palace.” She responds. Before I could open my mouth to ask my question, a women that appears to be a handmaiden approaches us with clothing in hand. Then, it dawned on me.

“This would explain why we were measured last week.” Obi-Wan voiced my thoughts as he takes his suit and I take mine.

“You may change your clothing in the rooms to the left.” She states with an authoritative tone and resumes her duties as the guard; checking the next guests invitation.

Obi-Wan and I head over to a small shack.

“Doesn’t look like much.” I comment on the rough exterior of the ‘building’.

Obi-Wan chuckles, “Wait until you see inside.” I furrow my eyebrows in confusion and push the door open. My eyes widened at the sight before me. The outside is an injustice to the interior. It was magnificently structured and much larger on the inside. The small palace was completely empty except for four decently-sized ‘rooms’ in the middle of the structure.

“Never judge a book by its cover, Anakin; Leori technology isn’t anything to bat your eyes at.” He says condescendingly as he goes to change.

“Yes, master.” I reply as I walk over to the changing ‘room’. Can it even be called a room? All of the ‘walls’ are made of curtains.

I walk inside and shed the many layers of my Jedi robes along with my boots, belt and lightsaber.

“What do you know about this party, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks from his changing ‘room’.

“The Queen of Roe’ Leor has thrown this party has an act of goodwill to celebrate the alliance between the Republic and Roe’ Leor.” I say, repeating the words of the Jedi Council from earlier that week.

I gingerly pull on the blue button-up and thin black jacket that accompanies it.

“Have you ever met her?” He asks.

“The Queen? No. I hear it’s a privilege to even hear her speak much less be in her presence.” I recall from one of the many briefings on Leori culture.

I slide on the black slacks as well as the black pointed shoes and clip my lightsaber to one of the belt loop of the pants. I walk out the same time Obi-Wan does.

I look at him and raise my eyebrow to accompany my smirk, “Don’t you clean up nicely, master.” I say in a joking manner. Obi-Wan is dressed in similar clothing, just with different colors. His button up is a light brown while his suit jacket, pants and shoes are all a darker shade of the same color; like his Jedi robes.

He rolls his eyes at my comment then makes his way out of the shack and over to the entrance. I walk behind him and we walk back over to the guard.

She looks us up and down, “Proceed.” She says after she recognizes us and deems our outfits acceptable.

We walk inside and look around. Music similar to what was playing in Hondo’s bar plays softly in the background as the people make conversation. I notice that some members of the Jedi Council, such as Mace Windu and Plo Koon have already arrived and have switched their usual attire for suits. The majority of the people in attendance are Leori; however I do spot the occasional Senator and Jedi.

“Did you know that Roe’ Leor is predominantly female and that’s why they have a Queen instead of a King?” Obi-Wan pipes up from beside me as he examines the room and takes a bite of food from his plate.

“I did not…” I trail off and instead of looking at their species, I look at their gender and notice he’s right. The majority of the Leori are women. The men only seem to be caterers and the occasional official.

A horn of some sort is blown from the balcony of the staircase. The attendees quiet down and move their attention to a small girl, no more than the age of a youngling.

“Please welcome her royal highness, Queen (L/N).” She says in a high-pitched voice as ‘Queen (L/N)’ emerges from the doorway on the left. She looks…magnificent. She’s younger than I expected her to be.

The yellow and red of her sari compliments her skin well. She strolls over to the balcony and stands between her two bodyguards elegantly. Applause erupts from the crowd. Both guards hold a hand out and the applause ceases.

“Good evening, people of Roe’ Leor and representatives of the Republic. As you all know, I’ve thrown this party to celebrate our newfound friendship with the Republic. I hope you enjoy your evening as well as make friends with our new partners.” She finishes and descends down the stairs. Thunderous applause erupts once more from the people in attendance.

“I thought the Queen wasn’t allowed to speak?” I ask Obi-Wan with confusion, never taking my eyes off of her.

“Must have been a recent change in their rules…” Obi-Wan mused, stroking his beard.

“Oh.” I respond simply as I take notice that the bodyguard’s leave Queen (L/N)’s side as she greets some politicians. She talks with them for a short amount of time before she scans the room and her eyes on land on me.

-

I bow as I finish my conversation with Senator Poli and Representative Jeeloy. I’ve made it my goal to introduce myself to every Republic attendee as to become familiar with one another and explain the new rule put into place by Leadership. I look around the large space and my eyes land on a rather handsome young man who already appears to be staring in my direction. I suppose I’ve found my next conversation.

I walk over to him and his eyes never leave me. A regular man would have already looked away in fear or insecurity; an interesting specimen indeed…

“Good evening gentlemen.” I say as I bow before the young man and his slightly older companion.

Now that I’m within a closer proximity, the young man is quite attractive for a Jedi. He has dirty blonde hair that falls in waves at his shoulders. His eyes are a blue so magnificent, I’ve only ever seen it in the majestic waves of our ocean. His skin is a flawless tan color and his lips look as plush as a pillow.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker, but you can call me Anakin, your highness.” The young man, Anakin, says as he bows. He grabs my hand and places a chaste kiss upon it. I can already feel my heart racing at his actions. He releases my hand, but he never takes his striking blue eyes off of me.

“Your majesty, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” The older man, Obi-Wan, also bows.

“May I say, both of your names are quite unique?” I comment on the names they’ve given me.

“Thank you, my lady. May I ask yours?” Anakin questions me.

“(Y/N) (L/N)…”

“(Y/N)…” He whispers under his breath.

“…but no one every addresses me as such as it is customary to address me as ‘Queen (L/N)’ or other terms of respect including ‘your grace’, ‘your highness’, ‘your majesty’, ‘my lady’ and so forth...” I finish, matter-of-factly.

“Of course, my lady.” Anakin says as the mischievousness of a thousand younglings cross his eyes.

“How are you enjoying the party so far, Mr. Kenobi?” I ask, shifting my attention to his friend as the look he’s giving me makes my heart beat a little too fast for my taste.

“Please, Obi-Wan, your majesty. We are partners, not strangers.” He corrects me.

I nod in return, “Of course, Obi-Wan.” He continues.

“I must say, you’ve thrown a lovely party.” He comments as he scans the crowd.

“Thank you; do you like the food?” I ask, looking at both Anakin and Obi-Wan this time, “I heard many of these foods are popular on Coruscant, the Republic capital...”

“The food is excellent, your grace. Nothing to worry about.” He says reassuringly with a small smile.

“Wonderful.” I reply, returning his smile. “Before I forget, if you’ve been briefed on our culture, you’ll know I’m not normally permitted to speak; however, a change in the rules have been made by both Leadership and myself.” I say, clearing up any confusion if there was any.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I begin.

“Obi-Wan,” I say while nodding in his direction, “Anakin.” I look in his direction.

“I must acquaint myself with the other patrons.” I bow.

“Of course, your highness.” Obi-Wan replies.

“Don’t let us distract you from your royal duties.” Anakin comments with a smile. I smile back and start walking to find the next Jedi or Senator.

- 30 minutes later –

After half an hour of walking and talking, I think I need a break. I pull a chair from one of the many tables in the hall and take a seat. I take a deep breath and exhale.

I’ve already spoken with all of the members of the Jedi Council, 8 Jedi Knights and their padawans and 300 congressmen and women and that’s not even half.

The dancing will begin shortly, so I hope I get to rest my feet for just a few minutes…

Not too long into my relaxing, I hear two chairs being pulled out. I take a deep breath, straighten my posture and put on a smile. I look up to see Kaila and Alani slumped in their chairs. I break out into a real smile and relax my shoulders.

“Hello ladies, you guys look as exhausted as I am and it hasn’t even been an hour.” I joke.

Kaila laughs exhaustedly, “Do you know how many touchy Senators we’ve had to shoo away from the poor female attendees? That Orn Free Taa? Too touchy for my liking…” I laugh.

“The men of the Republic need etiquette.” Alani agrees with closed eyes.

“Perhaps not all of them…” I say quietly. At my addition, both Kaila and Alani open their eyes and straighten up excitedly, forgetting their exhaustion.

“Oh?” Kaila asks with a smirk. I now realize my addition was a mistake; not only are Alani and Kaila my caretakers, but they are also my best friends and unfortunately love gossip.

“Do tell of the well-mannered men you’ve encountered this evening.” Alani urges with her elbows on the table and her hands underneath her chin.

“Well…” I start, going through my evening so far, “Senator Organa and Senator Farr were very polite, unlike the Senators you’ve had to deal with.” I counter with triumph.

“I’ve also met multiple Jedi who were nothing but well-mannered and polite.”

“Like who?” Kaila pushed.

“Like-like Master Mace Windu.” I reply, “Master Yoda and Master Obi-Wan Kenobi…”

“…and Anakin Skywalker.” I finish off quiet, voice uneven. Just saying his name makes my voice waver. I’ve never met a man who’s had this kind of effect on me before…

“Anakin Skywalker…” Alani repeats, “If I remember correctly he came last week with Master Kenobi for his fitting…”

“A rather handsome young man…” Kaila repeats my words from earlier.

Suddenly, I hear the ringing of a single bell signifying the beginning of the first dance. I quickly stand up, “Excuse me!” I say quickly and loudly as I rush to the balcony. I’m not even out of earshot when I hear them giggling.

I take deep breaths to steady my heartrate while I climb the stairs. I reach the top and clear my throat and the audience quiets down.

“The ringing of the first bell indicates the first of two dances. For the first dance, Leori will dance with Leori and this is the same for the people of the Republic. This illustrates our situations before our alliance. For the second dance, it will be mixed. It is mandatory for a Leori to dance with someone of the Republic and vice-versa. This illustrates our situation after our alliance. You have 5 minutes to choose your partner if you wish to dance as the first dance is not mandatory.” I finish and descend the steps for the second time this evening.

I stop at the foot of the stairs and weigh my options. I could a) return to my table and get pestered about Anakin or b) women up and find a partner.

Before I decide what to do, a familiar voice cuts into my thoughts.

“It’s been a while, sis.” A male voice announces. I look to my right and see my older brother, (B/N), with his arms open.

A huge smile replaces my thoughtful look and I rush into his arms, “Brother! What are you doing here?” I ask excitedly and squeeze him.

He wheezes, “I could tell you if I could breathe.” He manages; I immediately release him, “Sometimes you don’t even recognize your own strength, (N/N).” He says using my childhood nickname as he rubs his sides.

“You forget, I married a Senator of the Republic after I refused the throne?” (B/N) reminds me; even though our planet is predominantly female, he is older and would have been next in line.

“Ah, yes. I was so busy with the preparation of the party. It slipped my mind…” I admit, “How have you been? Is the money I sent enough? Do you need more? If you do, I can-“

“(Y/N), calm down. I’m fine and the money you sent is enough; I don’t need anymore, trust me.” He reassures me, “We can catch up later; for now, may I have this dance…” He asks, extending his hand towards me. I raise my eyebrow at him.

“…your highness?” He adds. I smile, glad he hasn’t forgotten the ways of our people.

The horn sounds as the classical music played by the orchestra in the sound room begins to play over the speakers. The first dance has begun.

-

The music has started to play signifying the beginning of the first dance. I’ve decided to sit this one out as the only other person I really know, Padmé, already has a partner. I sit at a table and sip my flute of one of the lighter alcoholic beverages being severed; as a Jedi, I should always be on my toes.

I scan the crowd when my eyes land on the Queen, who appears to be dancing with a man at least half a foot taller then her. The man she’s dancing with is attractive, to say the least. He has elegant features and whatever he’s saying to her makes her laugh; a laugh most likely so scarce only a select group of people ever get to hear it.

What is he saying that’s so funny? I thought when I heard the shattering of my glass. I guess my jealously paired with my prosthesis isn’t necessarily a good mix. Luckily, my beverage only spilled into the plate below with few drops of it on the tablecloth. I disregard my drink and return my attention to the Queen. Her partner spins her and she seems to be having a great time. It’s hard to be jealous when she smiles like that…

My thoughts are cut off when the music stops. The two separate and they bow before the Queen ascends the stairs. She’s most likely announcing the second dance… I suppose that’s my cue; good thing I did my research...

-

“I hope you had a lovely time with your first partner; however, it is now time to choose your second. The second dance will begin shortly. You have 5 minutes to choose your next partner.” I announce and descend the stairs for, hopefully, the last time. I reach the foot of the stairs when a Senator approaches me.

“Would you like to dance, your majesty?” he asks.

“No thank you.” I respond politely. He nods and walks away. Another Senator walks up, one from Ryloth.

“Care to dance, your highness?” He asks with his hand extended in my direction.

“I’ll have to pass, Senator.” I reply. He looks at me and rolls his eyes as he walks away.

“Excuse me, my lady.” A voice intervenes; not a familiar voice, but one I’ve heard before. I turn around to be met with Anakin Skywalker.

“Anakin.” I say, hopefully.

He smiles at me, “May I have this dance…” He extends his hand to me, “…your highness?” I smile and rest my hand in is, “You may.”

The horn sounds again as another song plays over the speakers. Something along the lines of classical and tango; a rather interesting mix to describe the alliance between us.

“If I may, did you really know how to ask me to dance or was it luck?” I ask out of curiousity as he leads me to the dance floor. He grabs my hand with his right and places his left on my waist. He pulls me close and whispers in my ear, “I knew.” At this, my heartrate picks up once more.

He resume our dance at normal distance.

“Your grace, if I may, who were you dancing with earlier?” Anakin asks as we continue to glide across the floor.

“Oh, that was my brother, (B/N). Many think he’s given up his prince status, but he merely rejected king status and still remains crown prince of Roe’ Leor.” I inform him, thinking nothing of the question.

“I see. So, your majesty, are you aware of the dangers that come with being partnered with the Republic?”

“Yes. Since Roe’ Leor is no longer a neutral system, the Separatists will now target us given our change in position.”

“Have you increased your security?” He asks as he dips me.

“Tripled.” I respond as he lifts me back up.

“Has the Republic asked about outposts?

“Yes.”

“And your answer?”

“Anakin Skywalker, did you ask me to dance for business of for pleasure?” I ask, finally feeling more comfortable in his presence.

“Officially, business.” He responds as he spins me similar to how (B/N) spun me earlier.

“Unofficially?” I ask. He smiles at me and whispers in my ear with a sultriness that makes my heart melt, “Pleasure.” Then, as he dips me, the last note of the song is played.

He brings me back to a standing position.

“It was a pleasure dancing with you, Anakin Skywalker.” I say as I bow, still a little disoriented from his answer.

“Please,” he bows and grabs my hand similar to our first meeting, “the pleasure was mine.” and he kisses it.

“We’ll see more of each other in the future, your highness.” He gives me a jaunty salute then walks over to Obi-Wan.

Never in my life have I ever wanted a man so badly.

Little did I know, even though I made my comment internally, Anakin was still close enough to listen in on my thoughts and walked away with a smile on his face...

-

I leave the Queen to return to her queenly duties and walk over to Obi-Wan.

“You looked rather cozy dancing with the Queen.” He noted.

“Really? I didn’t notice…” I replied coyly.

“Let’s just hope that you haven’t ruined our friendship when it’s only just begun.” He states as he makes his way over to Master Yoda.

I smile and look back at the Queen and she’s talking to her bodyguards.

Farewell, your highness. Until our next meeting…

The Queen’s eyes widen and her attention is turned towards me. I smile at her and she smiles back.

Farewell, Anakin Skywalker. Until we meet again.

#anakin skywalker reader insert #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #star wars x reader #jedi knight anakin #the clone wars #the clone wars anakin #obi wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #revenge of the sith anakin #rots #revenge of the sith #senator bail organa #senator organa #senator farr #master yoda #yoda #padmé amidala #padme amidala #senator amidala

[bubbl3sworld]

The hardware store (Belch Huggins x black! reader)

“Y/n!!” 

She groaned hearing her name get shouted through the house, it was her second day spending the night at cousin Mike house, or farm rather. And so far, she hated it. She slip the covers over her face, trying to ignore her grandfather shouting her name. Just when he stopped, footsteps were heard leading up to the room she was sleeping in. She balled herself up further in the bed, hoping for no one to come into her only safe space.

It wasn’t until the door creaked open was her cover blown

“I know you’re up Cuzzo” It was Mike, you could tell by his voice. 

Y/n removed the covers, sitting up slowly. Her eyes dragged up to his face, giving him an annoyed stare. “What does that man want now?” She asked reaching to fix her bonnet only to feel that it wasn’t on her head.

 “It’s on the floor” Mike points out smiling, “He wants you to go get some things from the hardware store since you can drive” She leaned over to pick up her {color} bonnet. “Mike you don’t got no friends to take you? Back home I always got a ride somewhere” She shakes off the bonnet before putting it on the dresser. “That’s what happens when your home schooled” She rolled her eyes, ‘It’s not my problem he’s a loner’ She thought 

“Well, it sounds to me that you and granddad got personal problems. Tell him I’m still slumped” Mike sighed shaking his head seeing the girl’s head hit the pillow. “Come on Y/n, you’re lucky enough that granddad ain’t making you work” She grumbled curses under her breath, damn that man. “The least you can do is run into town!” “Goddammit Mikey, Fine! Give me like, an hour. I wanna shower” Mike nods, leaving the room for her to get ready. “God I want to go home already” She got up and opened the dresser drawer to grab a shower cap

~

“Listen hear girl, you only going to the hardware store!” 

Y/n hums as she skillfully laid her edges with the toothbrush in the bathroom, barely hearing the old man yell at her. She knew she had more plans then just to go to a damn hardware store, like seriously. If she wasn’t going to be confined in the house, the least she can do is explore. 

“Are you listening to me Y/n!” Y/n sits the toothbrush on the sink, grabbing her black bandanna and walking out the bathroom. She laid it across her edges and went into the kitchen. “Of course granddad” She replied, sarcasm hinted in her voice. “Now what am I exactly going to the hardware store to get? Sum bolts or sum?” Leory shook his head at the girl as he handed her the keys

“My tractor needa oil change, I need you to go grab oil, spark plug, and a wheel” Y/n eyebrow furrowed at the mention of a wheel. “A wheel? Like a Wheel Wheel? The wheel for that big thing?” Leory nodded much to her annoyance. “Grandad, how am I supposed to get it in the back of the pick up?” She whined. Leory laughed, dismissing her by waving his hand. “Figure it out girl!”  Y/n walks out, grumbling to herself. How the hell is she supposed to get that big ass wheel in the back of the truck? She walks outside to the driveway, unlocking the door and starting up the car. “Hey Y/n!” She looks over her shoulder to see Mike running over to the old truck. “What do you want brat?” She teases with a smile, her smile soon dropped seeing him rubbing the back of his head. “I forgot to say, If you see a blue trans am stand clear. You do not want to get in their path” Y/n rolls her eyes, putting the her foot on the brake as she shifts the gear into drive.

“You think I’m scared of some white kids? Boy please. I’ll be back!” Mike backs away from the truck, watching her pull out of the driveway and down the road. 

~

Y/n spent the first hour searching for the store, Leory didn’t even give her any directions to the store. “At least this town is nice” She shrugs as she circles the block once again. A honk behind her made her check her rear mirror, only to see the car pulling up next to her. She looks over to see a man rolling down his window, she was hesitant to do the same but did follow suit. 

“Aye, you lost?” Y/n blinks, getting a good look at what she could see of him in his car. He was wearing a band tee and a yellow hat, he also had a bandanna that matched hers on his wrist. “Yeah” She finally replied leaning out the window. “You know where the hardware store is ‘round here?” The boy chuckled, clicking his tongue in amusement. “I’m actually headed there right now, you down to follow?”

“Hell yeah” Y/n cheered seeing him take his foot off the brake and move forward. This might be easier then she thought

~ 

As the strange boy in the blue car promised, he lead her to the hardware store. She missed the place by a mile given where it was at. Y/n parks the car, taking the key out of the ignition. She got out to greet the boy who led her to the place, to at least say thank you. But she saw him already walk in the store, she sped up to meet him. 

“Hey!” She smiled tapping him on his shoulder. He turned around and looked down at her, man he was tall. “You seriously walked off before I could thank you dude” That word felt funny coming out her mouth but she rolled with it. “I mean, It’s the least I could do after seeing you aimless circle the block” He chuckled, the both of them began talking and walking together

“Oh, so now you throwin shots?” She laughed as she watched him look up on the shelves. “If the shoe fits princess” Her heart slightly jumped hearing him call her that, but yet she was slightly freaked out. “Oh shut your mouth” He laughed as he turned back to her. He scanned her up and down before his eyes landed on her shirt. “You like Metallica?” Y/n looks down at her shirt, she forgot she had this old thing. 

“Yeah, what about it” Y/n questioned as they walked to the next isle. “I didn’t know that someone like you likes that type of music” She rolls her eyes at that sentence, somethings are too good to be true. “What? A black girl like me can’t listen to ‘your’ type of music?” She said doing air quotes, the boy rubs the back of his head. “I never really said that, but alright” “But you were implying it” She counters. “What’s your name, white boy?” “White boy?” He questioned picking up a pair of pliers. “You’re white, are you not?” She teases glancing at the shelf, her eyes landing on a big jug of oil. 

“The names Reggie, but my friends call me Belch” He watched as she picked up the jug of oil, a confused look appearing in his eye. Why would she need that? “Oooh! We friends just like that?” She grins holding the oil container in her hand. “Why they call you Belch?” An evil grin spread on his face, he leaned down to her to ear, Y/n backed away at this. “The hell you doin?” She asked slightly irritated. “Damn! Calm down, Does it look like Imma hurt you?” He saw how the girl gave him a sarcastic stare. “The sixties weren’t that long ago” Y/n started to walk out the isle, Reggie trailing not far behind. 

“Seriously, You asked why they called me Belch! I was gonna tell you!” Y/n rolls her eyes, how stupid does he think she is? “What? Were you gonna burp in my ear or sum shit?” Reggie fell silent, he cracking a half smile that made her laugh. “Oh my god, You seriously was gonna burp in my ear?” “What? Noooo I would never!” She couldn’t help but smile seeing him on the verge of laughter. “Okay, maaybe I was” “Asshole” Y/n shot back, reaching up to press his hat over his eyes. “Don’t do that!” He moved her hand, she laughs backing away. 

“You know where the spark plug isle is? I need one for a tractor” Reggie was a bit taken back by that, a girl like her is a farm girl? “Yeah uh, Next isle over” He said taking her over to the isle. “You a farm girl?” “Hell no” She quickly dismissed. “Im spending the summer with my cousin who happens to live on a farm” Y/n looks up at all the spark plugs lined up. “You a white male, pick which one would work for a tractor” “Just because I’m white doesn’t mean I know how tractors work but” Reggie reaches up to grab a plug, “This might work” He looked and saw how full her hands were with the container. “I’ll hold it for you” He reassures making Y/n smile.

 “So, Are you gonna tell me your name or what?” It went over Y/n’s head that she didn’t tell him her name. “I’m Y/n, I thought I told you my name earlier” She shrugs as they walked to the cash register. “Nah, I was hoping that you tell me sooner” Reggie smiles as they placed their things on the counter. “Hey, Can you ring me up one of those tractor wheels?” The cashier looks behind him grabbing the wheel and rolling it on the floor. “Get that for me Reggie will you?” Y/n said as she pulled out the cash her grandfather gave her. 

The two of them walked out of the store, Reggie rolling the wheel for Y/n all the way to the truck. “So tell me Y/n, You in a gang?” Y/n coughed, that question caught her off guard. “You do know that the black bandanna doesn’t mean your gang affiliated right?” Y/n watched as Reggie puts the wheel in the back of the truck, strapping it down to make it secure. “Not true” He said pointing to his black bandanna. Y/n rolls her eyes, of course the white boy thinks he’s gang affiliated. “Boy please, You ain’t White boy Rick” She cackles, “You probably have a close group of friends and yall probably started calling a gang” She saw how he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes were avoiding hers. 

“Which, May I add, isn’t what a gang is. But you do you boo” Y/n walks over to him, smiling. “Thanks for your help today man, I had no idea how I was gonna get that wheel back there” Reggie lets out a laugh. “It was no problem, I was wondering why a girl was going to the hardware store” Y/n rolls her eyes, of course he had to talk about that. “I know stuff about cars” “Oh really?” Reggie challenged. “That Blue car over there, what type is it?” Y/n looks over at his blue car, squinting her eyes. “I don’t know the breed of cars, the hell I look like? You?” She laughed seeing him roll his eyes. “But I do know how to change a tire!” 

“Good enough for me” Reggie shrugs. “So, Are you gonna be in town tomorrow?” Y/n thinks, Mike did ask her a day prior to take him to hang with his friends. “Most likely, Why?” She asked, she leaned on the side of the truck. “How about I show you around town since your from the city, or at least I’m assuming” Y/n smiles, nodding quickly. “Better than sittin in the house doing a whole lotta  nothin, I’ll meet you here around twelve!” Reggie grins, “Yeah! I-I mean” He coughs, trying to die down his excitement. “Yeah, I’ll see you here” Y/n started to get in the truck, closing the door. 

Reggie had moved away and when she pulled out and went her own way, he mentally screamed. “Hell yes” He grins going to his car, he couldn’t wait to tell the guys. 

~

“What’s with your sudden change of heart and taking me to see my friends?” Mike watched as Y/n went through the closet to pick out some clothes for tomorrow. “What? I can’t just be a good cousin?” Y/n smiled throwing a shirt on her bed. “I didn’t know you actually had friends, like seriously I’d thought you were some loner weirdo” Mike crossed his arms, “Are you trying to throw digs at me? Like you aren’t the one who listens to heavy metal like you’re white?” 

“Music has no race, Mikey” Y/n hums picking out a pair of shorts. “I may or may have not met someone, and they wanna take me around town. Mind ya damn business” “Your business IS my business” She rolls her eyes. As she went through her closet, she could only think about what Reggie really had in store for tomorrow.    

#it 2017 #it chapter 2 #it chapter one #belch huggins x reader #belch huggins #belch huggins x poc reader #belch huggins x black reader #x black reader #x poc reader #bowers gang x reader #mike hanlon #patrick hockstetter #henry bowers #victor criss

[crying-gay-tears]

A Waste of Ice Cream

TW: Homophobia, homophobic slur

Gon and Killua have a run in with a homophobe. It...doesn’t go so well.

ao3 

“Ugh, I’m so full!” Gon rubbed his belly across the table as Killua took the last swig of his drink. 

“Yeah, the food here is always good, I’m glad this place is still around with all these crappy chains popping up and pushing places out of business.” 

Gon sank deeper into the plastic covered cushion of the booth they were tucked into. “It’s been a while since our last visit, but we’ve been coming here for so long I couldn’t imagine York New without this place.”

“You know what other place we have to stop in while we’re here?” Killua’s lips pulled into a devilish grin. 

Gon blinked, running  all of the spots they liked to stop in when they were in town through his mind. “Uhhhh…”

Killua rolled his eyes and sighed, a faint smile still on his face. ‘Think dessert, Gon.”

Realization hit quickly. “Oh yeah of course!!’ 

“I heard they’ve got a new flavor in, so we should stop there and after that we can head to the train station and either travel somewhere else tonight, or pick up whatever tickets look good for tomorrow. There’s a hotel around the corner from the station we can get a room at if that’s the case.” 

“Sounds good to me!” 

They paid their check and left the cafe, walking hand in hand down the street towards YNC ice cream shop. The late summer air was warm, and the sun was just starting to set, shades of yellow and pink slowly taking over the blue of the sky and staining the wispy clouds that dotted the horizon.

The ice cream shop was quaint and cozy, it’s storefront a giant window with YNC Ice Cream scrawled in loopy cursive above a chipped and faded painting of a banana split. Red metal tables were arranged on the sidewalk out front, all but one of them were empty.

At the table farthest from the entrance, a gruff man sat reading a newspaper and smoking a cigarette, a plastic ice cream bowl lay empty on the table in front of him. When Killua and Gon approached, his eyes glanced up for just a second before slipping back into the newspaper. He quickly did a double take, this time his eyes focused on their linked hands as his lips pulled into a nasty scowl.

They both sensed tension, and when Killua turned and met the man’s gaze, he roughly shoved the newspaper down onto the table, jaw clenched and teeth digging into the cigarette that hung between his lips. He didn’t say anything or make a move, he just sat, body tense, staring at them with obvious hatred in his eyes. Killua didn’t sense any threatening aura, this guy was just some asshole with anger issues. He knew they weren’t in any real danger, but still, he was irritated. Gon looked over at him with a knowing smile, he wasn’t gonna let this guy ruin their ice cream.

The bell on the shop’s door jangled as it swung open, the sweet smell of waffle cones filled their nostrils immediately. Killua slipped into a trance, forgetting the weirdo outside and heading straight for the glass cases. 

The bubbly shop worker walked Gon through ordering, handing him tiny plastic spoonfuls each time he pointed and asked about a new flavor. A bit overwhelmed by all the options, he finally settled on a scoop of chocolate, one of vanilla, and one of strawberry. When asked what he wanted to try, Killua smirked and turned up his nose. “I don’t need any samples. I know exactly what I came here for.” He ordered a triple scoop of their newest flavor Choco Robo Crunch. 

Cones in hand, they headed out the door. A small wave of relief washed over them both as they passed through the now empty seating area. All that was left of the man’s presence was a cigarette butt left on the table. 

They crossed the street and headed North towards the train station. As they walked, Gon glanced at Killua out of the corner of his eye, a sneaky smile on his face. He spoke in a singsong, “Killuaaaa, that looks good, can I try?”  He skipped a few paces ahead of him and they both came to a halt as he moved to stand in front of him on the sidewalk, staring with his best puppy eyes.

Licking his ice cream slowly and deliberately, Killua shook his head and mumbled “Sorry, ‘s too good to share.”

Gon paused, “Hmm… fine. I don’t need you to share to try it!” 

He leaned in and licked across Killua’s lips.  “Mmm it’s delicious!” 

Killua swallowed, a blush rising on his cheeks. “Idiot.” 

Giggling, Gon planted a kiss on his lips. 

“You’re fucking disgusting!” 

They jumped to attention as someone yelled from a few feet behind them. The soft splat of ice cream landing on the sidewalk caught Gon’s attention and he pouted as he realized he dropped his cone with the sudden movement. 

The man from the shop was walking towards them, a look of disdain on his face.

“What is your problem, man? I promise you don’t want any trouble.” Killua warned, turning to face him, shoulders tense. 

“Yeah, like a couple of sissies are gonna scare me.” He balled his face up and spat at the ground in front of them. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gon turned and took a step towards the man, but Killua grabbed his arm to hold him back.

“Gon, forget it, let’s just get out of here.”

Gon looked over at him, but his cool gaze was set on the man, sizing him up. 

“He’s trying to start trouble, and I don’t like the way he’s talking to us!” 

“The guy’s clearly an asshole, but I doubt he’s even a nen user. He’d be smart enough to avoid us if he were. It wouldn’t even be a fight. It’s not worth our time.” 

Gon sighed but relented, as he turned to walk away, the man moved closer towards them shaking his fist in the air. 

��Just what I’d expect, running away with your tail between your legs. Lousy faggots! You-”

In an instant, everything halted and went cold. The air suddenly felt heavy and suffocating. A thick aura was spilling from Killua and enveloping the area surrounding the three of them. He was standing deadly still, ice cream discarded and hands clenched in tight fists at his sides, head hung and jaw clenched, seething. His eyes looked up from the ground, shining a deep and unforgiving blue-black through the silver frame of his hair.

“What the fuck did you just say?” His voice was flat, and seeped with venom. 

The man started to visibly sweat, but he gulped and held his ground. 

“I s-said you’re a f--” his words were muffled by a wet choking sound. 

“Shit!” Gon hissed, jumping out of the way as blood splattered against the ground where he had been standing. The man fell to his knees and collapsed forward, the crack of his skull against the sidewalk was enough to make Gon grit his teeth. 

Killua remained frozen in the same spot, not a hair out of place. The only hint that he’d moved at all was the heart now weakly beating in his hand. More blood went flying with a wet pop as he squeezed his fist closed around it.

Gon carefully stepped around the man’s body, flinching when he noticed a deep slit across his throat. 

“Well...” he sidled up next to Killua, “You tried to warn him.” He glanced at the ground, their ice creams now melting into the concrete. “It’s a bummer that we wasted our ice cream though. You were so excited about that new flavor!” He let out a nervous chuckle, hoping to lighten the atmosphere a bit.

Killua didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. 

“...Killua?”

No response. 

Gon quirked an eyebrow.

“Killua?” A little firmer this time. 

Nothing. 

He rested his hand against the small of Killua’s back, rubbing at the tense muscles there. It grounded him. 

“Gon…” His voice was barely above a whisper. He stood motionlessly, staring down at his hand, claws still extended and covered in blood. 

Gon quickly pulled out his phone, sent a text, then pocketed it and grabbed Killua’s clean hand, pulling him away from the man’s slumped form. 

 “Come on, let’s go.”

About 45 minutes later, they were standing in the hallway of a high rise apartment building in front of a door labeled #404. It swung open to reveal a deeply concerned Kurpaika who quickly shuffled them inside. 

Killua walked straight to the bathroom without a  word. Kurapika just sighed and turned towards the kitchen, Gon kicked his boots off and followed behind him.

“Gon!” Leorio stood up from his spot at the table and immediately wrapped him up in a tight hug. 

“It’s good to see you Leorio, thank you both for having us over.”

“Of course! It’s good to see you!” His smile was wide, but his eyes still shone with worry. “Have a seat, get comfortable!” He motioned to the table and took a seat, Gon followed suit.

“Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?” 

“No thanks, we just ate. We were having dessert when the guy started trouble. We were on our way to the train station, but you guys are also in the area and with what happened it seemed better to come someplace safe than to travel or find arrangements elsewhere. Plus, he was covered in blood…” he trailed off, eyes cutting to the hallway that led to the bathroom. 

“It was smart to contact us, Gon. You two can sleep it off here and figure out plans later.” Kurapika said, leaning against the kitchen island and crossing his arms.

Leorio blew on his coffee and took a sip. “So what happened, exactly?” He quirked an eyebrow at Gon. He nodded solemnly and caught them up.

“He’s taking it really hard, didn’t say a word the whole way over. It’s been so long since he’s snapped and killed someone, I think he’s upset he broke his clean streak. I haven’t felt bloodlust like that coming off of him in years.” 

“And the guy was just a normal civilian? I’m sure that’s not making him feel any better about it.” Kurapika chimed in. “Not that he didn’t deserve what he got, of course.”

 “You bet your ass he deserved it!” The veins in Leorio’s forehead were throbbing and his eyebrows knit together in a tight line. “Killua should be proud of what he did if you ask me. The world is a better place with that man dead!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly. “No, he’s not a man. He’s trash! Nothing more!” He spat, turning his nose up in disgust. 

Kurapika walked over to Leorio and put a calming hand on his shoulder. “I agree, but Killua might not feel that way right now. Gon, you said he took his heart? At least it was a quick death, he probably didn’t even have time to register what was happening before it was all over.”

“No, I slit his throat first.” Killua’s voice cut through the room abruptly. 

They all turned to where he was standing between the living room and the dining room, a towel draped across his bare shoulder and his silver hair wet and flat against his head.

“Killua-” Gon started, but he continued on. 

“I wanted him to choke on those words before I ended his pathetic life.” He clenched his fist and stared down at the floor. “I promise you, it may have been quick but it was also extremely painful, and he was aware of every second of it. I made sure of that.” 

His shoulders slumped and his hands fell to his sides. “He was a waste of a kill, but I lost my temper.” 

Leorio puffed out his chest, “Killua! I’m proud of you!” He stood and clapped him on the shoulder. Unphased, Killua huffed out a bitter chuckle. 

“What is there to be proud of, exactly? The fact that I wasted my time and my damn ice cream on some weak scumbag? It’s not like he was a challenge to fight, or like killing him changed the world. I did nothing commendable. He pissed me off, so I killed him. That’s it.” 

He turned his back to them and waved a hand in the air. “Thank you for letting us crash here, I’m gonna head to bed.” 

They looked around at each other, a hint of worry in the air between them. Gon stood with a sigh. He rubbed at the back of his neck, “I’d better turn in early too, thanks again you guys, we’ll talk more in the morning!”  Kurapika and Leorio both nodded knowingly, and he turned and left the kitchen, following Killua down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

It was dark when he stepped into the room, Killua was on his back sprawled across the bed in his boxers with an arm thrown over his eyes. Gon shimmied out of his tank top and shorts and climbed onto the bed, nestling into the open spot on Killua’s left side. He rested his head on his shoulder and wrapped his arm around Killua’s torso. When Killua didn’t move, Gon whined and slung his leg around him as well. With a sigh, Killua turned to face him, tangling their legs together in the process. Gon hummed contentedly and wriggled his shoulder. Killua recognized that cue immediately and wrapped his arms around Gon without arguing. 

Gon let his eyes fall shut and Killua thought he was safe from conversation for a moment, but after a deep breath they opened and intense amber eyes like molten honey burned into his own. 

“What’s on your mind, Killua?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m just upset. Today was such a nice day, and then some spineless moron had to make me ruin it.”

Gon’s gaze was unwavering. “You didn’t ruin it, but even though that man tried to, today was still a nice day. Plus, thanks to you we can rest easy knowing he won’t bother anyone again.” 

 “Yeah, I guess. I still can’t believe I lowered myself to that pathetic level. And for what? It solves nothing because for every homophobic asshole you come across, there’s 50 more waiting to fuck with someone else. And it’s not like I can just kill them all.”

“You know the best thing we can do to fight people like that?”

Killua sighed. “What?”

Gon leaned over and kissed him gently. “That.”

Killua sighed against his lips before Gon pulled back, cupping his cheek with his hand. 

“Our love battles homophobia everyday. As long as we are who we are, we are fighting. You made the world a little safer today by killing that guy, but you make the world a better place everyday just by being in it.” 

The room was dark, but Gon didn’t need to see Killua to know that he was rolling his eyes, and with his hand still on his cheek, he could feel the blush that bloomed at his words. 

Gon kissed him softly once more and then settled back down against his shoulder. 

“Get some rest, you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep. Maybe we can stop for ice cream again tomorrow before we leave the city, maybe with Leorio and Kurapika.” 

Killua’s arms tightened around Gon and he nuzzled his nose into his hair, a small smile on his lips. 

“Yeah, that sounds good to me.” 

He hummed. “I love you, Killua.”

“I love you too, Gon.”

And so another fight was won. 

#hunter x hunter #hxh #killugon #killugon fic #gonkillu #killua zoldyck #killua #gon #gon freecss

[welllpthisishappening]

pretty much answers it. i was basically like, um, there is no way the dwarves don't give killian a metric fuck-ton of shit over it. especially while he is arresting them for drunk and disorderly. leory has definitely called him "your highness" or something and lived to regret it and then did it again anyway. and a pirate law enforcement officer is already a stretch, right?

Insert shrug emoji here. I’ve got words. All the time. 

The first time it happens, he’s almost positive he’s misheard. 

Ariel’s daughter is, after all, young and prone to babbling and the words don’t sound so much like words as they sound like elongated syllables and shouts and, possibly, something about the current state of the waves in the harbor. 

Killian blinks, eyes flitting from the lass to Ariel and she’s smiling. Knowingly. Far too knowing to be entirely supportive. 

“What did she just call me?” Killian asks, careful not to sound like he’s accusing the young royal of something particularly nefarious. Ariel shrugs. 

“Do you know if there’ll be food at Snow White’s meeting?”

“I can’t possibly imagine a situation where Snow White would not have food. She acts as if she’s feeding a rather large armada at all of these meetings.”

Ariel’s lips quirk. “I’m going to tell her you said that.”

“And I won’t let you back in Storybrooke again.” Her lips appear to defy gravity that time. Killian’s fingers flutter against his side, like he’s thinking about reaching for his sword and there is no sword strapped to his hip. This is Storybrooke. “What are you thinking?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Ariel.”

“Nothing. We’re going to be late.”

He almost forgets about it. He, at least, does not ponder it much – is far too busy with a sudden issue of break-ins up and down Main Street and a baby who appears to only get fussy at the least opportune moments and the second time it happens it’s Leroy. Who does not babble. He shouts. Loudly. 

Killian’s doing his best to promise that it will be fine – we’re looking into it and doing all we can and the lies feel heavy as they spill out of them, but he’s so bloody exhausted he can hardly see straight and Emma’s in some meeting with her mother and Regina and they’re probably eating. And doing something vaguely royal. 

“Well, if our prince isn’t going to do anything about it, then who are we supposed to trust?”

Killian snaps his head up so quickly, he’s momentarily worried about whiplash. “What did you just say?”

Leroy’s eyes bulge, the dwarf that had been running towards him in some kind of undeniable support freezing immediately in his tracks. “Uh,” he sputters. “Prince. As in…well, your highness, you’re…”

He’s not sure what expression he’s making, but it must be vaguely terrifying because Leroy’s jaw snaps shut. Loudly. Again. Killian inhales slowly, closing his eyes and lifting his hand. So he won’t be tempted to grab his sword again. 

He walks to Snow and David’s farm. It smells like lasagna. 

Emma blinks as soon as the screen door slams shut behind Killian, gaze flitting across his face with an almost palpable concern. “Hey,” she starts, standing up slowly and he must still be making that face. “What’s–”

It doesn’t take her long. If he weren’t torn between so many different emotions and whatever it is his heart is still doing at the sound of prince ringing in his ears, Killian would be very impressed at how quick his wife is on the uptake. As it is, he assumes this is probably penance because he likes to mutter her title in her ear at any possible opportunity. 

It regularly and consistently makes her blush. 

“Dwarves or Vikings?” Emma asks. 

“Leroy.”

“Ah, that’s the worst possible option.”

Killian hums, letting his hand fall to her hip and she’s doing an almost admirable job of not laughing. “He was complaining to Dad about the lack of monarch control the other day, so I figured it was only a matter of time. And, you know, he’s not totally wrong. I don’t know the technical term, but you’d be like..” She glances back over her shoulder towards a clearly amused Snow White and Regina. “Prince consort, right?”

“He wouldn’t have much authority,” Regina says. “Technically. Couldn’t actually rule anything.”

“I’m not trying to rule anything,” Killian exclaims, but Emma’s given up on not laughing and her fingers tug lightly on the charms that have fallen over the front of his shirt. As if she’s trying to remind him of something. 

“I can’t believe we didn’t consider this,” Snow White muses. “I suppose we’ve only just gotten down to the brass tacks of ruling each duchy, haven’t we?”

Emma’s head falls forward at her mother’s use of the phrase brass tacks, and Killian takes a shuddering breath because even at his most optimistic, he’s not sure he’d ever allowed himself to imagine the title of prince consort. It’s disconcerting. He wishes the farm were closer to the ocean. 

“And,” Regina adds. “There’s been some discussion. Not just the dwarves and the Vikings. Henry said Aurora was hoping for some kind of official ball.”

Emma groans. “No ball!”

Snow White’s shoulders noticeably slump. Killian has to move slightly when most of Emma’s weight presses against his chest. She hasn’t actually let go of the charms yet. 

“No ball,” he echoes. “But if either one of your majesty’s is set on this then–”

“–An announcement,” Mary Margaret exclaims. “We’ll make an announcement instead. So there’s no confusion and people know how to address you and–”

“–Captain is fine.”

Regina clicks her tongue. “Not quite as royal though, is it?”

“That’s never been entirely my goal.”

Her answering laugh is loud even through her pressed lips. Emma’s whole body shakes, but Killian feels her brush her lips across the front of his shirt as well, so he figures it’s a wash.  

There is, in fact, an announcement – because Snow White is the kind of ruler with fireside chats at her farmhouse and more baked goods than any military battalion could finish and Emma has to turn her head into Killian’s shoulder to stop herself from causing a scene when he’s announced as prince consort of Storybrooke. “But he’d prefer Captain,” David adds, glancing meaningfully across the room. 

Killian rolls his eyes. 

And, two weeks later, after a particularly raucous evening at the Rabbit Hole between several dwarves celebrating the distinct lack of recent break-ins, Killian answers a call from Will Scarlet. He pulls his sword on one of them – possibly Sneezy – when he mumbles thanks for the help, your highness and no one calls him that again.  

#cs ff #captain swan #laura writes canon #THIS IS NONSENSE #ohmightydevviepuu #laura rambles

[babybluebanshee]

Seared With Scars - Chapter 8 (Mystery Nerds AU)

“A company of believers is like a prison full of criminals; their intimacy and solidarity is based on what they can least justify about themselves.” John Updike

--- The ropes biting into Stan’s wrists brought back a slew of unwanted and unpleasant memories - the stifling heat of the trunk of a car left in the desert. The tight handcuffs slapped on him as he was ushered into a tiny, dirty prison cell with two guys who were bigger and much tougher-looking than him. The vice-like grip of an angry, uncaring nurse who warned him what happened to patients that stepped out of line.

All these memories flashed in his mind, churned up like chunks of a shipwreck in a frothing sea, each one a new exercise in fear.

But he couldn’t let that fear overcome him. He had to think. Every time he brought his gaze back to his brother’s prone figure, gasping on the ground under Matthews’ foot, he reminded himself what was at stake.

Those broken ribs could puncture lungs.

Those blows to the head meant traumatic brain injuries that needed attention.

The leg that was now a disgustingly twisted mess could, at best, not heal right, and, at worst, cause a whole host of infections that could-

No, he wasn’t going to think about that. He’d just gotten his brother back after ten years. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lose him again, especially not to the snot that stood before him and his friends, trying his damnedest to look tall and imposing, and called himself Blind Ivan.

Stan would have laughed at this young man, barely even an adult, trying to convince the world he was not to be trifled with if it hadn’t been for the way he looked at them.

His eyes passed over each of them lazily, like their presence before him was the most mundane thing in the world, something he dealt with every day, a simple chore that needed tending to. And yet, there was...something wrong in his face. Stan couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Maybe it was how, no matter which direction he turned, his eyes never seemed to catch the light. Maybe it was his skin, so ashen and pallid it made him look like a creature of the undead. Maybe it was his bony hand clutching Fiddleford’s knapsack, knowing exactly what was in it and why it was so dangerous that Ivan had it now.

It stirred a primal repulsion in Stan’s gut, that set all his instincts into overdrive to find a way out of this.

A quick glance at his immediate left showed him Fiddleford looked exactly the same as Stan felt. Guilt mixed ever so subtly with the apprehension as Stan recalled how he’d slung the little nerd around earlier, throwing all kinds of insults and threats at him. Now Fiddleford’s face looked like his entire world had just been shattered, and in a way, Stan supposed that it had.

Ivan, this person Fiddleford obviously thought that he could trust, was staring down at him like he was a fly to be swatted. Stan didn’t blame him for looking afraid.

“Get your hands off me, you bathrobe-wearing freaks!”

Helen, however, did not seem in the least bit intimidated by Ivan or any of the other cultists currently trying to restrain her. If anything, it all made her struggle harder, and most of that struggle was focused on her desire to break free and throttle Matthews.

“You absolute bastard,” Helen shrieked at him, lunging forward so hard that the cultist trying to tighten the rope around her wrists was nearly jerked off balance. Stan had never seen her so angry, not even after she’d gotten her first glimpse at the portal a few hours before. That had at least been brought on by the culmination of all the crazy shit she’d been forced to endure up to that point. Now, there was nothing in her eyes but cold, hard fury. “I believed you!” she yelled. “I gave you a second goddamn chance!”

“What can I say, Helen,” Matthews replied, flatly. “Thanks.”

Helen let out a low growl, reminiscent of a rabid dog. One of the robed figures tried to grip her by her arm, in an attempt to wrangle her back to a more prone position, but she merely shot her elbow back and up, managing to clock them square in the jaw.

The figure stumbled backwards, their hood falling back, but before Helen could take advantage of it, another cultist grabbed a clump of her hair and pulled hard. With a pained shouted, she was forced back into a kneeling position on the floor. The figure she’d struck slowly straightened up, the doughy face of Sheriff Leory Muggins glaring icily back down at her.

“Sure wish you hadn’t done that, Mrs. Stillwell,” Muggins said, massage his jaw where he’d been struck.

Helen stopped moving and her eyes went wide. “Muggins?” she breathed.

“That’s right,” the figure clutching Helen’s hair said, voice snide and mocking. Reaching up their free hand, they pulled back their own hood, revealing the grandmotherly face of the secretary from the hospital, her lips pulled back in a sneer through a jagged cross-hatching of scars.

She had seen them with Fiddleford when they first entered the hospital. That’s why she thought he’d be in Helen’s house. That’s why she’d been there, waiting to attack them.

She’d played them.

“Louise? Y-you…” Helen began. Stan could almost see the fight dripping out of her. “You were the one...the one in my house?”

“Sure was,” Louise replied, her tone sickeningly sweet. “And speaking of what happened at your house…”

In a blur of motion, Louise shot out her fist and punched Helen directly in her eye. Helen’s head snapped to the side as she let out a surprised cry of pain. Stan heard her glasses crunch under the force of the blow, then watched as they went flying from her face, shattering completely as they made contact with the floor.

Helen lowered her head, panting heavily. Stan watched blood drip from her nose and spatter on her pant leg. She didn’t look back up.

Any fear that Stan felt dried up in that instant, and he growled, “You’re gonna regret that, you hag!”

Finally, Ivan spoke up. “There you go, Stanley, making threats you couldn’t possibly hope to carry out,” he said, his deep, smooth voice cutting through the mayhem unfolding before him like a surgeon’s scalpel. “It would seem you and your brother share the idiotic tendency of trying to get out of problems you created by playing the brave hero.” Ivan’s smug grin widened. Stan wanted to claw it off his face.

“A pity,” Ivan continued, “that you’re not the only ones its gotten into trouble.”

Stan growled again, and barked, “I’ll show you trouble when I get out of this, you bald son of a bitch.” He then turned his attention to Matthews, and spat, “And once I’m done with him, I’ll be sure and fuck you up, nice and slow, you fucking traitor.”

Matthews didn’t respond. He just stared almost sleepily at Stan, right before digging his heel directly in his brother’s back. Ford practically spasmed beneath him, and let out a weak whimper of pain.

Stan forced himself to be still, even though the boiling heat of his rage still simmered inside him.

He needed to think.

Ford’s struggles were lessening. They were running out of time.

“You need not waste so much of your energy being angry with Dr. Matthews, Stanley,” Ivan said, taking a step closer to him. “He was only acting on my orders to finally bring our leader back to us. And then, of course, it dawned on me that this would be the perfect opportunity to reel in and dispose of not just one problematic interloper, but three, all in one fell swoop. All we needed was the proper lure.” He nodded his head in Ford’s direction. “And your brother more than proved effective for that.”

Ivan turned his attention over to Darryl, who’d been so quiet that Stan had almost forgotten he was there, and said, “But the person I really owe the most thanks to is you, Private Little.”

Darryl didn’t say a word in response. His expression didn’t even change. Despite the ugly bloody lip he’d received from the other cultists, payment for throwing his lot in with their enemies, his spine remained rigid, his eyes focused intently on the air in front of him. He gave no indication to Ivan that he’d even heard what he’d said.

“Had it not been for your bleeding heart and wavering faith, I would never have had the idea to...extend the olive branch, as it were,” Ivan continued, stooping low into Darryl’s field of vision, seemingly intent on getting some kind of reaction from him. He came within inches of Darryl’s face. “So, thank you, Private Little, for making all this possible.”

Darryl remained stonily silent, but Stan didn’t miss the flicker of shame in his eyes.

Ivan’s smile melted away, so quickly and so fluidly that it seemed almost inhuman, like the removal of a mask. “It does sadden me though, Private Little, that I simply must punish you for your transgressions against us.” There was not a hint of sadness at all in Ivan’s voice as he reached out a hand, his fingers ghosting dangerously close to Darryl’s neck.

“Leave him alone, Ivan!” Fiddleford called out.

Ivan’s hand froze in the air. Everyone in the room turned to look at Fiddleford.

It was like looking at a completely different man. Gone was the quivering, jumpy beanpole from before, trying to make himself small, avoid confrontation, appease rather than fight.

The man before them now had fire in his eyes; not an angry fire, but a righteous one, intent on stopping the cruel sideshow of horrors unfolding before him. His jaw was set in a determined line. He was straining to pull his arms free from the two cultists attempting to hold him down. Stan wondered where this side of this man had come from, so suddenly.

Then again, as he thought of the skinny nerd’s convictions at their kitchen table, the way he’d thrown back as good as Stan had given him when they argued, the finality of his proclamation that he was willing to stop Ivan by any means necessary...maybe it was safe to say this had always been a part of who Fiddleford McGucket was. And now he had reason to unleash it.

Ivan seemed to regard Fiddleford’s outburst more with annoyance than anything else, straightening up and turning that eerie gaze directly to this angry man on the floor. Fiddleford didn’t seem at all bothered by that look, and instead said, his voice as stern as if he were talking to an unruly child, “You got what you wanted, Ivan. You won. Your plan is over.”

Stan noticed that the room had gone completely still and silent. All heads - even Helen’s, despite her missing glasses and swollen eye - were turned towards Fiddleford, watching, waiting for whatever was going to happen.

Ivan blinked at him, then straightened himself back up to his full height. Although that meant that his hand was no longer anywhere near Darryl’s throat, he now began taking slow, deliberate steps towards Fiddleford. Stan’s stomach gave a lurch as he watched Ivan reach down into the knapsack and pull out the memory gun from inside it.

Fiddleford saw it too, but rather than showing any sign of fear, he kept talking. “Ya see?” he said. “You’ve got me, you’ve got the gun. You have everything you set out to get. No one else needs to get hurt tonight.”

Ivan closed the distance between them in a few steps, never once taking his piercing gaze off Fiddleford. It was the predatory gaze of a wolf that had just found an injured fawn in the forest, lean and hungry and ready to give itself up to whatever feral impulse came first.

Still, Fiddleford did not back down. “Stanford needs help, Ivan. If he doesn’t get to a hospital, he could die. I promise - I’ll stay here, things can go back to the way they were. I won’t fight you. I’ll do whatever you want. But you have to let Stanford and the others go.”

Ivan raised the gun until it was level with Fiddleford’s forehead.

Fiddleford kept his hard gaze trained on Ivan, but Stan saw the faint flash of his throat as he gulped, betraying his terror.

“I don’t want things to be the way they were,” Ivan said in a harsh, low whisper. “And I don’t want your pathetic, malfunctioning toy.”

With that, Ivan hurled the memory gun to the ground. It slammed into the stone, the sound of breaking glass and buzzing wires filling the space for the briefest of moments, before settling into a smoking pile of debris.

Ivan reached out and grabbed Fiddleford’s face, digging his fingers hard into the other man’s flesh, pulling him close. “You don’t understand anything,” he hissed. “You with your arbitrary rules, your moral pontificating about trauma and endurance and how resilient humans could be.” Ivan’s tone dipped into a high-pitched parody of Fiddleford’s voice, complete with exaggerated accent. “‘Humans were meant to deal with the trauma of the every day, and overcoming it makes you stronger.’”

He barked out a harsh, humorless laugh and said, “Trauma doesn’t make people stronger. It just breaks them, a little more every day. It never gets easier and it never gets better. You were content to let these good people suffer because of your self-righteous nonsense. I offered them real help. The only reason I wanted you to be returned to us is so you could fix the flaw of the gun and we could be done with you. We are better off without you.”

Ivan flung Fiddleford’s face away, and flounced to the center of the room. A pedestal holding an ornate wooden box stood next to a chair with straps on the arms. It wasn’t hard for Stan to put together that this must be where the Society conducted their freaky little rituals.

He was quickly proven right when Ivan reached inside the box and pulled out another memory gun. It was bigger than the one he’d destroyed, almost ridiculously oversized, but he realized this must be the original. He remembered Fiddleford explaining how this gun could hold any amount of memory, no matter how long or how long ago they happened.

They were fucked.

“What I want is to help the Society reach its full potential,” Ivan said, studying the gun in his hand as if it were a beautiful and rare flower. “We will help heal this town, make every scar it’s ever been seared with seem like nothing more than a bad dream. You and these interfering fools you call your friends are the one thing standing in our way. But I intent to change that.”

Ivan began to twist the dial. “None of you will be telling anyone else about what you’ve learned here,” he said as he reached Matthews’ side. He knelt down and, almost tenderly, reach out and lifted Ford’s head in his hand, by his chin. For the first time since the cultists had jumped them, Stan managed to get a good look at his twin’s eyes. They were glassy and distant, eyelids drooping down heavily, creeping ever closer towards unconsciousness. Without Ivan supporting him, Stan was sure Ford’s head would flop right back against the concrete.

“I believe we will begin with you, Dr. Pines,” he said. His mood seemed to have shifted again, and he almost sounded kind, compassionate, even as that evil grin split his features once more. “Perhaps, once I’ve wiped your friends’ memories, they won’t even remember why you need to go to the hospital.” Ivan chuckled darkly. “I can think of a few people here tonight who would love to watch you slowly die.”

Rage burned in Stan’s gut. He strained his wrists pathetically against his ropes. They wouldn’t give.

He was going to be forced to watch his brother die, and he wouldn’t even remember why.

Ivan pressed the bulb of the gun against Ford’s forehead, and began to ease the trigger.

“Do me first!”

Helen’s voice rang out like a church bell in the deathly silent chamber.

What the fuck?

Stan snapped his head in Helen’s direction, and saw her looking wildly at Ivan, tears streaming down her face. “Please,” she said, her voice now tiny and broken. “I want to join you.”

What the actual fuck?

Fiddleford looked about as stunned as Stan felt, staring incredulously at Helen, his mouth hanging open, probably burning to question what the hell she thought she was doing.

Then Stan remembered their conversation on the porch.

Every morning I wake up and it’s still there.

Oh god...she wouldn’t…

Would she?

Ivan certainly seemed very interested in the possibility. He turned his head every so slightly to look in Helen’s direction, carrion eyes narrowed and inquisitive. After a moment, he lowered the gun from Ford’s head, and once again stood to his full height. In a few long strides, he’d come face to face with Helen.

“This is a trick,” he said simply.

“No,” Helen said, sounding so very, very small. “No tricks, I promise. I just...I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. You’re right. It doesn’t get easier or better. It never will.” Helen exhaled shakily, and bowed her head. Two fresh streams of tears fell from her eyes.

“Helen, what are you doing?!” Fiddleford cried. He looked like his world was crashing down around him.

“Trying to get some goddamn peace,” Helen yelled back, turning her burning, tear-filled gaze to him. “Ivan is right. You don’t care about how much people have suffered. How much I suffered. You’re nothing but a cowardly idiot who won’t do what’s necessary! I just...I want my mind to be clear…”

Dear god, he was so sorry he’d ever dragged Helen into this. What had he done?

Suddenly, Stan felt something poke him in the arm.

Tearing his eyes from Helen, he looked down, and saw a folded pocket knife. Darryl was jabbing it into his arm. Stan looked back up at the other man, and saw his eyes frantically jump from the knife to Stan’s face.

Stan stole a glance at Darryl’s wrists. The ropes had been cut.

He wanted Stan to do the same to his own restraints.

Stan looked back over to where Ivan was still scrutinizing Helen. It almost seemed like Ivan was specifically focusing his red, filmy eye over her, as if it held some power to see into her soul, strip her bare, and expose any falsehoods. Helen sniffed heavily, trembling under his gaze, anguish plainly written on her bruised face.

His heart ached at the sight of it. If it was the last thing he ever did, he’d get them out of here and make it up to her.

Darryl slid the knife into Stan’s waiting palm. He flicked it open, and with a flick of his wrist, turned up the blade and started sawing through the ropes.

Never once removing that piercing gaze from Helen’s face, Ivan said, “What is it that you have seen? Speak honestly, or you will live to regret it.”

Helen gulped heavily, and then replied, voice trembling, “My baby...I...I lost my baby.”

“When?”

“Two years ago.”

“How?”

A beat of silence as Helen drew a deep breath, and let it out shakily. Then she said, voice thick, “I miscarried. Seven months in. They couldn’t tell me why. It just happened. My little boy...my Richie…” Stan stopped sawing as Helen’s words were swallowed up by a sob.

Little boy? Helen told him she was going to have a girl. Christina...

Realization hit him like a rock to the face, and he frantically began sawing again.

“You have to help me,” Helen said, her voice raw. “You’ve helped all these people. You understand. I can’t live this way.” She lifted her head, and Stan saw those dark green eyes of her, usually so full of warmth and maternal love, now desperate and full of pain. “These...these horrible men...all they’ve done is make it worse. Dragged me into their deranged world. I realize now that nothing good can come from them. I can’t trust them. But I trust you.”

Ivan’s face softened, ever so slightly, and he turned to Louise, who stood dumbfounded behind Helen. “Untie her,” he said. “She is no threat to us.”

Louise didn’t move for a moment, a symphony of conflicting emotions playing out at rapid speed on her face. She managed to open her mouth a bit, as if to protest, but Ivan snapped, “Have you gone deaf? I said untie her. She has clearly seen the light. She will make an excellent addition to the Society.”

Louise quickly moved to obey, and undid Helen’s restraints. Helen didn’t move as her ropes coiled to the ground limply. Ivan reached out, offering his hand to help her up.

After a moment, Helen, her hand shaking like a leaf in an unforgiving winter wind, accepted it.

“There, there,” Ivan said, the way one might soothe a frightened child. “Soon this will all be over.”

Stan could feel the ropes under the knife start to give. Just a little more...

Helen’s face fell in pure relief. She reached up her other hand, and breathed, “Thank you. Oh god, thank you so much. I knew I could count on you.”

Then, with a furious shriek that echoed off the walls, Helen slammed her forehead into the center of Ivan’s face.

Ivan roared in pained anger and stumbled back, shooting out the arm that held the memory gun, obviously hoping to strike Helen with it. Instead, she caught his arm and began to wrench tightly, gritting her teeth as she applied more force. Stan got a good look at her eyes, and saw the furious hellcat from before, heard it in the angry yell she unleashed as she gave a final tug, and Ivan’s hand opened involuntarily.

The memory gun fell from his hand, and Helen caught it before it hit the floor. Before Ivan could recover from her attack, she’d thrust the gun in his face, finger itching on the trigger. Her hands no longer shook. Her tears had quickly dried. The desperate pain in her eyes was gone, replaced now with white hot fury.

“I would never want to forget my baby, you arrogant piece of shit,” she growled.

Stan felt another of the ropes snap as the knife sliced through it. Come on, he was almost there…

“This is how it’s gonna go, Ivan,” Helen snarled. “You’re going to untie my friends. You’re going to tell Ed to back the fuck off and let us take Ford out of here. And before we go, we’re going to make sure none of you ever threaten or hurt anyone ever again. Understand?”

Gurgling was the only answer she received. Stan turned his attention toward the sound, and felt his heart stop for a moment. Matthews, his eyes still far away and glassy, had moved his foot from Ford’s back to his neck. Then he started to press.

“Put the gun down, Helen,” he said firmly.

“Ed, if you don’t get the hell away from him right now, I swear to god I’ll make it so this bastard forgets how to fucking breathe!”

“Stanford will be dead before you can pull the trigger!” Matthews shouted back. “Now put. It. Down.”

Stan could see the indecision play across Helen’s face. The gun shook minutely in her hand.

“Face it, Helen,” Ivan said, his tone superior even as he was held at gunpoint and his nose gushed blood. “You can’t possibly hope to defeat us all.”

The last rope finally gave.

“Maybe not,” Stan said. “But I sure as shit can.” In one fluid motion, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his knuckle dusters, slipping them on like a worn, comfortable pair of gloves.

He launched himself at Matthews. In the blink of an eye it took to close the distance between them, he got a good look at Ford, still under Matthews’ heel. This close, he could see the evidence of the brutal assaults his brother had been subjected to - his face was a mess of black and blue, mixed with blood and tears. His glasses were cracked. The leg Matthews had smashed was twisted in a horrifying way, a way that made Stan want to vomit and weep all at the same time. And then there was that goddamn shoe, pressing into his twin’s throat.

There was no two ways about it. He was going to kill Matthews for this.

With a furious roar, he slammed himself bodily into the old bastard, then raised his fist. The brass knuckle made a deliciously satisfying crunch as it made contact with Matthews’ face, and sent him stumbling backwards, into a stone pillar. He wheezed as air was forced from his lungs when his back made sudden and forceful contact with it.

Beneath him, Ford coughed a few times, no doubt sucking in as much air as he could now that his airway was free.

Stan forced himself to look away from his battered brother and focus on the cultists now moving in to surround him.

He threw out his arms, welcoming them to give it their best fucking shot.

“Anyone else want a piece?!”

The chamber exploded in noise.

Muggins was the first one to move toward him, his face drawn tight in animalistic rage. Stan shot out a left hook, catching him in the temple. It disoriented the pig, making him sway dangerously. Stan finished him off with a good one-two to the side, then an uppercut under his chin. Muggins fell like a sack of potatoes.

Another cultist tried to come in on his right and blindside him. Stan whipped around to face them, and shot out his left arm in a cross, catching the hooded freak in the cheek. When they bent down, a natural response to nursing an injured face, Stan gave a small jump that morphed into an overhand, landing squarely on the back of the cultist’s head, and they crumpled.

The next idiot who came wide at him received a right hook directly to the teeth.

It was all coming back to him now.

A heavy weight was suddenly thrown on his back, and Stan was thrown off balance. Someone was shrieking angrily in his ear, attempting to get sharp fingernails close to his eyes. He tried to shake them off, but they held on as tightly as they could, and suddenly a fist was flying in his face, sloppily, but doing enough to distract him and throw off his rhythm. One of the fingernails caught, and he grunted in discomfort as they dug into his skin, dangerously close to the stitches on the side of his head.

Then there was a loud crack, like the snapping of a twig, and the weight slipped from his shoulders. Whipping around, he saw Louise laying there, her fingernails stained slightly with the blood she’d drawn from his head.

Standing over her was Fiddleford McGucket, brandishing a baseball bat. He looked quite proud of himself.

The disbelief Stan felt must have been evident on his face, because Fiddleford shrugged and said, “Fight like a hillbilly.”

Behind Fiddleford, Stan saw Darryl, grabbing a cultist behind the neck and jamming a knee right into their midsection. The cultist fell to their knees, and Darryl quickly slammed his elbow into the back of their neck, splaying them out on the cold stone.

Helen, Stan saw, had abandoned Ivan and rushed to Ford’s side, saying something to him Stan couldn’t hear. All the while, she frantically twisted the dial on the memory gun.

One of the hooded figures started sprinting towards her, clearly seeing her and Ford as easy targets. Helen saw them, then simply leveled the gun at them and fired.

A brilliant column of blue light shot from the bulb, the force of it actually succeeding in knocking Helen back a bit. It smashed directly into the cultist’s face, and they gave a cry of surprised pain. Then they stopped, as still and lifeless as a statue. Even after the blue light faded, the cultist didn’t move, simply standing there, swaying slightly.

Helen had wiped their memory.

Made perfect sense. If these guys wanted to forget so bad, Stan had no problem helping them.

Fiddleford came up behind the mind-wiped cultist and brought the bat down hard on their head, bringing them down like a felled oak.

“We need to start wiping as many of their memories as we can,” Fiddleford cried. “Helen, as soon as we bring them down, hit them with the gun, got it?”

Helen gave him a stiff nod, then turned the gun to Matthews’ limp body behind her. She barely had a moment to put a flicker of pressure on the trigger before a shot of red slammed into her side, knocking her away from Ford and Matthews.

As the tangled ball of limbs rolled to a stop, Stan made out Ivan as he pinned Helen to the floor, teeth bared and eyes wide in animalistic fury. He snatched at the memory gun she still clung to and held just barely out of his reach.

“Give it back!” he roared.

Helen didn’t reply, simply reared back her foot and slammed it into Ivan’s midsection. He fell back with a pained grunt, and Helen rolled away from him until she was on her side.

She lifted her head, and saw Fiddleford, currently bashing the bat into the side of a cultist whose hands were dangerously close to his throat. She called out, “Fidds! Catch!” Fiddleford turned just as she tossed the gun.

The world seemed to suddenly descend into slow motion as the gun arched through the air towards him. Fiddleford turned sharply and reached up.

Then Stan saw Ivan getting to his feet, and spring across the room. Stan could only yell out Fiddleford’s name before Ivan’s fist suddenly connected with the other man’s face.

As Fiddleford stumbled back, the gun sailed directly into Ivan’s hand, and he began sprinting. Within moments, he’d vanished behind the curtain that lead to the stairs back up to the museum. Stan didn’t even stop to think about it. He ran after him. He couldn’t let him escape with that gun. They could take down every one of these loons, but if Ivan got out of here and still had that memory gun, then all of this would be for nothing.

He threw open the curtain and bounded up the stairs, two at a time. His heart pounded away, like it was about to burst out of his chest. He never let his sights waver from Ivan, keeping them trained on that red robe swirling around that bony, colorless frame.

As they reached the upper level, into the room with the secret passage, Stan found himself wondering what Ivan had to gain from all this. It was an odd thing to wonder now, after everything that had just happened, but it still wiggled its way to the front of his thoughts.

Ivan claimed that all this - the violence, the threats, the attempts on their lives, even the Society as a whole - was all in the name of protecting Gravity Falls. But as he’d pointed out to Fiddleford, this town wasn’t as fragile and unsuspecting as Ivan seemed to believe. The town wouldn’t even be there if the people weren’t tough enough to deal with whatever was here and endure it. Gravity Falls didn’t need anyone to protect it. It’d done a pretty good job of that all on his own.

So what did Ivan have to gain? Power? Control? Pure sadism? They were indeed pretty powerful motivators, as Stan had learned from years of dealing with criminals. But Ivan had proven himself so different from the run of the mill criminal scum that Stan had dealings with in the past.

Ivan didn’t seem to take any pleasure from having the control the Society afforded him. If anything, he seemed to view it as a burden, a hard, thankless task that only he could perform, now that he’d deemed Fiddleford inadequate. And while he did seem to relish in swiftly dealing out retaliation to any and all who opposed him, he clearly had managed to get away with the secret of the Society for some time without ever having to resort to it. He didn’t need to, as what he was offering seemed to be enough to keep members coming.

So the question still remained: at the end of the day, when everything was said and done, what did Ivan get out of all this?

Stan didn’t have time to ponder it any further, as Ivan neared an emergency exit. He must have been running on pure adrenaline, as there was a sign next to it that plainly stated that an alarm would sound if the door was opened, which Stan knew would also immediately alert the police to their location. As little love as he had gained for law enforcement over the course of his life, Stan knew that right now, authority figures were exactly what was needed, because they generally had ambulances in tow. But the only reason he could find for Ivan to do something so monumentally risky to himself was sheer desperation.

And Ivan being desperate just made Stan’s job a whole lot easier.

He slammed himself through the emergency exit and followed Ivan out into the darkness. ---

As Fiddleford brought the bat down on the head of the last charging cultist, Helen heard the distant clanging of an alarm bell, so faint and far away that for a moment she thought her ears were ringing. It wouldn’t have been the first time, as she gingerly touched the cheek where Louise had socked her. Who would have thought that this roly-poly grandmother had such a powerful punch?

It gave Helen a bit of sick satisfaction as Fiddleford went over to help drag Louise’s limp body over to the ever-growing pile of unconscious cultists they’d started in the center of the room. She was, quite frankly, tired of the gut-punch feeling that came with every one of these crazed yahoos dramatically flinging back their hood to reveal themselves as someone Helen worked with and even considered to be her friends. It made one feel rather indignant.

She ached all over and her face felt like one big bruise. The world was a blurry mess, thanks to the fact her glasses now lay twisted on the floor, shattered beyond all hope of repair. Somehow, the fact that meant she’d have to schedule an eye exam and get a new pair just rankled her all the more, to the point where she had to fight the urge to go over and plant her foot directly into Louise’s gut.

Her exhaustion was overruling her desire for retribution, however. They still had to drag all these idiots back upstairs, after all. It was going to be difficult enough to explain this all to the cops. They didn’t need to throw in a hidden chamber hidden under the history museum, at least not right now.

She’d honestly rather just curl up next to Ford and go to sleep for the next ten years or so.

As if on cue, she heard Ford groan quietly from his current position in her lap. She absentmindedly ran her hand through his blood-crusted hair, trying hard not to catch any tangles and hurt him any further than he was. He’d already been unsettlingly still since Ed had brought him down with a swift, merciless kick to the leg, which was now most likely broken. Even after spending nine years practicing medicine, seeing people mangled by car crashes and attacked by wildlife, looking at her poor young friend in obvious, exhausted agony made her stomach turn violently.

“Shhh, Ford,” she found herself muttering. “It’s okay. Everything's gonna be okay now.”

A dark chuckle echoed through the chamber. Helen turned her head and saw Ed, cheek swelling where Stan had struck him, but very much awake, as he lazily swung his head up like a rickety theme park animatronic to meet her gaze. His eyes were still glassy and vacant. That same distance from before, that stare that made him seem so very far away, was there again, but was now saturated with sadness. There was something broken in those eyes.

Ed’s eyes were the eyes of a man ready for death.

It sent a shiver up dread down Helen’s spine.

“They’re pretty words, Helen,” he said. “But we both know that, without that gun, all this struggle has been for nothing.” The truth of those words taunted her, but there was nothing taunting in how Ed spoke. His voice sounded like it was being carried away by the wind, raspy and soft. He sounded as tired as Helen felt.

“Shut up, Ed,” was all she could muster. She wanted to look away, away from that horrible look in his eyes that filled her with an apprehension she didn’t fully understand. But she couldn’t. It was like a car crash; the morbidity of it was almost fascinating.

Fortunately, Darryl spoke up, breaking whatever hold the gaze had on her. “That’s about enough out of you,” he muttered. He entered Helen’s field of vision, a coil of rope in his bloodied hands, moving behind Ed to lash his wrists together. Helen briefly wondered why he or Fiddleford didn’t just knock Ed out the way they had all the others, but then Fiddleford came to her side, at just the right angle to see his face, drawn and serious and above all tired, probably more tired than any of them. His entire world had pretty much imploded on him in a less than twenty-four hours.

“You can do whatever you like,” Ed muttered. “But you know I’m right. I guarantee you that Ivan won’t give up that gun without a fight. And I also guarantee that oafish friend of yours won’t be coming back with it, if he comes back at all. Not when he goes up against Ivan.”

“Stan can take him,” Helen replied, ignoring another jolt of dread that tripped down her back.

“He’s nothing but a dumber, sweatier version of that freak down there,” Ed shot back, nodding in Ford’s direction. “And he won’t stand a chance against Ivan when he’s angry.”

Ford let out another groan from Helen’s lap, and when she looked down to console him, she realized that he’d shakily brought up his head just enough so he could look Ed in the eye. Helen could feel him trembling against her, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to relax and save his energy. He ignored her, and ground out, “Y-you...don’t know shit about my brother.”

Helen couldn’t help but smile.

Ed simply sighed and fell back against the pillar as Darryl finished binding his wrists.

“At least we can trust Stan,” Fiddleford said, every word heavy and accusatory. He sounded like a father whose child had just committed a terrible crime, and had left him wondering where he’d gone wrong. “Which is certainly more than I can say for you. All that pretty talk about wanting to help us, about wanting to help Helen...and the entire time you were just lying to our faces.” He turned his steely gaze to Ed. “And you had the gall to tell me that I was lowering myself to Ivan’s level. If anyone here is no better than him, it’s you.”

Ed’s eyes flicked up to meet Fiddleford, and once again, Helen was unnerved by the utterly inhuman way it made him look. Like a rusted robot, going through the motions of its ancient programming, just waiting to break down completely.

“McGucket, believe me,” Matthews finally said, sounding exhausted. “I never wanted Helen to get mixed up in all this. I meant it when I said all I wanted was to help her. I understand the kind of pain losing the baby caused her-”

“You don’t understand dick, Ed,” Helen spat, fury bubbling in her belly. “You’re the one who joined this freakshow because of some lake monster.”

Ed let out a harsh bark of a laugh, and said, “If you really bought that I’d go through all this just because I saw some monster in the lake, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t understand anything.”

“What are you talking about?” Darryl asked, looking up from tying Ed’s wrists, a quizzical look on his face.

“I didn’t erase memories of a lake monster. I erased Andrea.”

“Andrea?” Helen felt her heart sink. “You erased your memories of Andrea?”

He shook his head, and said, “No. Not of her. Of her death.”

Oh dear god…

“Everyone believed me when I said that she was already dead when I came back from my rounds,” he continued. His voice quivered ever so slightly, the broken robot mask slipping further and further the longer he spoke. “But she was still hanging on. Not for more than five minutes, not long enough for me to actually be able to do anything. She was struggling to breath and I could tell she was scared and trying to claw her way back to life.” He gulped heavily. “And then, she looked at me. Those beautiful brown eyes locked on me and they were begging me to help and I couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch her die!”

Ed’s shrill cry echoed through the chamber. Helen saw tears pricking at his eyes as she stared at him in disbelief.

He took a few shaky breaths, and then said, “It kept me awake for weeks before I found out about the Society. This group is the only reason I didn’t just fall apart after Andrea died. That gun was what kept me sane. She was my whole world, Helen, and in the end, I couldn’t save her. I thought you, of all people, know what it’s like to be able to do nothing as someone you love painfully slips away from you. I thought you’d understand.”

For a moment, no one said anything, and the only sound was Ed’s raw, pained gulps of air, desperately trying to hold himself together.

Helen pitied him, much as she was loathe to admit it.

She thought back to the details of that horrible night.

Richard was at a late dinner meeting, so it was just her and the kids. They were at the dining room table, struggling through algebra, notes on the Industrial Revolution, the next chapter of The Great Gilly Hopkins, and she was filling the dishwasher. Her back had been hurting a lot that evening, but she also had been forced to sleep on it for the last week or so, since Christina really didn’t like it when Mom tried to lay on her side. Maybe she’d just leave the rest of the dishes for Richard and lay down for a while.

She’d just started to turn when the pain blossomed through her, like someone driving a hot knife into her kidneys, and a pained yell was ripped from her. She felt something hot and sticky trail down her leg through the haze of pain. She heard chairs frantically scraping at the hardwood floors and then Daisy was standing in the archway to the kitchen, staring down at her mother in abject terror, making her look about ten years younger than she was. Helen wanted to comfort her, say anything to ease her daughter’s fear. But nothing came out expect another pained gasp.

It was only when Scott and Amanda started trying to get past Daisy to see what was going on that she moved. Daisy began ushering them out, telling them in an authoritative voice Helen didn’t recognize coming from her that they were not to look, to go wait in the living room.

Daisy dashed to the kitchen phone, nearly pulling it off the wall as she frantically punched three numbers. Helen heard her speak four words that, to this day, made her insides clench and her brain send her into a mess of panic - “My mom needs help.”

She gave her head a hard shake, and looked back over at Ed. He looked much more human now than when this conversation had started. But Helen knew what he needed to hear.

“You’re right, Ed,” she said quietly. “I do know what that’s like.” Flicking her gaze down, she found that her hand had found its way to her abdomen. She didn’t remember putting it there.

Ed’s face flashed briefly in a look of relief. No, she wasn’t going to let him think he’d gotten to her.

“But you know what else I know?” she asked, her voice firmer, clearer. “I know that my pain doesn’t give me an excuse to hurt anyone else. Look at what this society has gotten you to do, Ed.” Helen gave Ford’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Look at what you’ve done to a man who never did anything to you. You never even met Ford until this morning. And you’ve broken every oath you had to take as a doctor, all because the man who made it so you didn’t have to face reality told you to.”

Ed said nothing. He merely looked away.

“That gun, this group,” Helen continued, “they’re not helping anyone. All it does is make it hurt worse. Every time the memories come flooding back to you, it’s like living through it again. No one can live that way, let alone heal. Even if you had offered me a chance to forget Ed, I wouldn’t have taken it. It wouldn’t have fixed anything.” She sighed. “These things can’t just go away, Ed. But they do get easier. Get some real help.”

The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment, no one moved. It was as if time had stopped, just to focus in on this moment of pure human misery, simmering between this group of people with scars invisible to the naked eye.

Finally, Darryl cleared his throat and stood up, brushing the dust from the floor off his pants. Then, he pulled his robe up and over his head, revealing a white t-shirt and black jeans underneath, the average street clothes he’d been wearing at Helen’s house hours ago. A pair of dog tags clinked together, on a chain around his neck. He tossed his robe off to the side, in the dark surrounding them. He didn’t watch to see where it landed. He merely reached down and grabbed Ed’s bound wrists, and pulled him to his feet.

“We need to head back upstairs,” he said. “That ringing sounded like the fire alarm. Gotta get all these guys back up before the cavalry arrives.”

“Can’t wait to see how you explain an unconscious group of bystanders,” Ed muttered. “With injuries made by an illegal set of brass knuckles, no less.”

Helen shot him a scathing glance, but he had a point. There was no way they’d ever be able to explain this to the authorities without coming off like a bunch of deranged psychopaths. Three of these people were practically pensioners. There was no way the police would believe that they were the ones who’d caused any of their injuries.

“I think I have a solution to that,” Fiddleford said, wandering over to the wall. He felt along the surface for a bit, before his hand hit a stone that gave under his fingertips. The wall pulled back with a rumbling groan, and revealed half a dozen more memory guns, all the same size as the one Ivan had destroyed.

Ed scoffed and said, “Those things? They can barely hold an hour’s worth of memory. How are they supposed to help you?”

Fiddleford ignored him. “Darryl, would you check and see if Muggins has his police radio on under his robe?” He pulled open the panel on the side of the small gun and began fishing about in the wires. Darryl bent over Muggins, and pulled up his robe until it was around his midsection. Sure enough, attached to his belt loop, was his radio.

“Well, what do you know,” Darryl muttered. “Muggins may be an idiot, but at least he’s a reliable idiot.”

“Give it here,” Fiddleford said, pulling a long red wire out from the gun, curling it about in his fist. When Darryl placed the radio in his hand, Fiddleford pried off the battery compartment, and dug his thumb into the guts of receiver, pulling out another, shorter wire from within it. As quickly as one might tie their shoe, he connected them, and the receiver crackled to life. He twisted the dial a few times, then set the device on the ground, in the middle of the small group.

The screen attached to the gun said “SOCIETY OF THE BLIND EYE”.

It began to whine.

Then he reached down and grabbed the hem of Ed’s robe. Ed only had time to give off a small, indignant sound as Fiddleford began tearing off a long strip, then tore that into two smaller strips. “Helen,” he said, handing the bits of cloth to her, “use these to plug up Ford’s ears. Then you and Darryl need to cover yours.”

She did as he said, but that didn’t stop her from asking, “What did you do?”

“I amplified its frequency,” he replied matter-of-factly. “It’s still not as powerful as the original, but it should have a wider range now. Enough to store bigger memories from at least everyone in this room.” He punctuated that last sentence with a mischievous smirk at Ed.

Ed’s eyes went wide as the implications hit him.

The gerry-rigged memory gun whined louder.

“Say good night, Sally,” Fiddleford said, putting his hands over his ears.

Helen and Darryl did the same, right before a brilliant blue light flooded the chamber. ---

Twigs snapped under his feet as Stan sprinted through the forest, keeping his eyes trained on the billowing red cloak roughly a hundred feet in front of him. He beat branches away from his face as he moved deeper and deeper into the dense trees, ignoring them when he didn’t push them hard enough and they came back to slap him in the face. He tried to block out the feeling of the frigid night air constricting around him, leaching through his jacket and clothes like he’d been submerged in a cold bath.

He wasn’t going to let this bastard get away from him, not with that gun. He’d chase him to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took, but he was not going to let all the pain they’d gone through - Helen’s heartache, Fiddleford’s mental anguish, Ford’s torture - go to waste because of Blind Ivan.

The branches suddenly parted as he stampeded into a clearing, hazy moonlight peaking through the clouds to illuminate patches of mud and dead grass beneath his feet. He whipped around, looking for that shock of red. It was nowhere to be seen.

No, no, he couldn’t have lost him.

“Come out here and face me like a man!” Stan shouted, his voice echoing in the inky darkness. “You can’t hide from me forever, you bony coward!”

A mirthless laugh answered him, though from what direction it came from, he could scarcely begin to guess.

Ivan was toying with him. Despite the fact he could have used this opportunity to escape, he still stuck around to taunt Stan, lord over him how much smarter he was than him for escaping him so deftly. And arrogance like that could be exploited.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Stan shouted into the night.

“The fact that you think you’re somehow in control of this situation,” Ivan answered. Stan still couldn’t pinpoint exactly where his voice was coming from, but that hardly mattered. All he had to do was keep him talking, and Ivan would do the rest himself.

“Your kind always think that they can solve their problems with their might,” Ivan continued. “Yes, I know your kind quite well.”

“You don’t know shit about me!”

Another chuckle. “Perhaps not as much as the others, but you present yourself so plainly, it’s easy to draw my own conclusions. And what I find is this - you’re young, but you bear the scars of an old man. Scars that only come through unimaginable hardship. They’re not from any singular source, but every one is as painful as the last. And the worst part is that no one seems to care. After all, your suffering has made you who you are. Toughened you up. Made you a man. Isn’t that right?”

Stan flinched at the familiar words of his father being flung at him, but he couldn’t let that or the thought of how Ivan knew about them distract him. He simply had to make Ivan think he was getting to him. “Shut up!” he screeched at the trees.

“You keep trying to reach out to someone, to help you deal with these scars, but they brush you off. They sympathize, but they never try to change anything, and you’re left all alone to deal with it.”

Stan shouted back, “At least I’ve got people in my life because they want to be there. All you’ve got is a gaggle of robed weirdos who stick around because they’re afraid of you. If I had to make a bet, I’d say you’ve never had anyone around you that you actually gave a damn about. You wouldn’t know caring for another human being if it bit you in the ass.”

Silence was his only answer. He feared that perhaps Ivan had finally grown tired of his game and retreated.

Then something heavy slammed into his back.

His face struck the dirt hard and bounced, and for a moment, stars danced in front of his eyes. But then he felt the cold bulb of the memory gun press into the back of his head, and he rallied all his strength to push himself upward, flinging Ivan up and away from him, close to another cluster of trees.

As Ivan scrambled back to his feet, Stan saw his eyes flash in the moonlight, the first time he’d ever seen them catch any sort of light. And what he saw there was nothing but fury. This wasn’t just anger or gloating or frustration.

Ivan’s eyes burned with murderous hate.

Stan didn’t let him get any further than a low crouch before he sprang at Ivan and slammed him into the underbrush. They rolled over each other, both clawing and grasping, Ivan trying to shove the gun into Stan’s face and fire, and Stan trying to wrench it out of his grasp.

Then something solid and sharp slammed into Stan’s temple, right where he’d been stitched up, and his vision was flooded with white. He felt himself being slammed onto his back, and Ivan’s weight being pressed into his chest. As his vision cleared, he saw that Ivan wasn’t holding just the memory gun anymore. High above Stan’s head was a large, blood-stained rock. It must have been what Stan hit. And now Ivan was going to use it to smash his head in.

Acting on pure instinct, Stan shot out a fist, managing a hook right into Ivan’s right eye. The brass-aided punched forced Ivan from his position on Stan’s chest, and caused him to lose his grip on both the rock and the gun, and he fell to the ground with a thud.

Stan rolled just as the rock came down. The sound of rending metal and shattering glass caught his attention, and he looked up. The memory gun had landed directly on the rock, and lay broken in pieces. Ivan seemed to forget all about the pain from his injured eye. He simply gaped at the destroyed memory gun laying before him, occasionally sparking uselessly. “No,” he said quietly. “No...nononononoNO.” Suddenly his bellows filled the entire forest, and that burning gaze was back on Stan. “What have you done?!”

Stan took a moment to take in a few deep breaths and get his bearings. They’d managed to roll into another clearing. He faintly heard water rushing, and realized that behind Ivan was a cliff. Below it must have been the river that fed into the falls.

“It’s over, Ivan,” Stan said. “You’ve got nowhere left to run. You lost.”

The gaping devastation on Ivan’s face melted away like wax from a spent candle. From his throat bubbled up laughter, deep and unhinged. Stan felt the hairs go up on the back of his arms and neck, and he raised his fists in case this was the prelude to another attack.

But Ivan didn’t move, outside of his shoulders bobbing with his insane laughter. He raised his head to look at Stan, almost like he expected him to be in on whatever joke had played out in his head, like this was all some rollicking fun they’d partaken in together.

“You really think you’ve beaten me?” Ivan asked, his laughter now dying down into chortling hiccups.

“Look around, Ivan,” Stan replied. “You’ve got nothing left to throw at us.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Stanley,” Ivan said. Swaying slightly, he got back to his feet, not seeming to notice Stan readying himself to start throwing his fists again. “If you think that one night of your interference can stop what I have planned, you’re an even bigger fool than I imagined.”

Ivan stumbled back slightly, steadying himself a bit as he added, “I have plans, you see. Plans that I have worked too hard for too long to see stopped by the likes of you. You can’t possibly grasp the magnitude of what’s coming, Stanley Pines. Not like I can…”

Ivan took another step back. He was less than two feet away from the edge of the cliff. A gust of wind whipped around him dangerously, making him teeter closer to the edge. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to fall. Stan actually found himself taking a step forward, ready to lunge for him if started going over, not out of any sense of wanting to help. He just didn’t want an accidental fall to keep this twerp from getting the punishment he deserved.

But then Ivan turned his gaze back up towards Stan, and he stopped dead.

Ivan’s eyes were sharp and clear.

Ivan wasn’t in danger of accidentally falling.

He was backing towards the edge of the cliff on purpose.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stan called out, not even trying to hide how panicked his voice was.

“What I’ve always done,” Ivan said simply. “What is necessary.”

He took one more step backwards. Then he was over the cliff.

Stan rushed forward, though he wasn’t sure what he thought he’d be able to do. By the time he closed the distance between them, Ivan had vanished from sight.

He heard the splash as Ivan’s body hit the raging river below. Stan finally reached the cliff’s edge, and looked over. All he could see was swirling foam as the water settled back into its current. Ivan was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t think of anything else to say or do.

He heard the wail of sirens drifting over the trees. He needed to get back, make sure that Ford was okay. Be there for him, the way he’d wanted to be there for him throughout this entire thing. He gave himself a shake it get out of the stupor that shrouded him.

He took a step forward, and stepped on something smooth and hard. He raised his foot and saw a tube, laying in the grass. It was white, with two brass nodes at each end. Ivan must have dropped it when they’d rolled into the clearing.

He bent down and picked it up. The moon offered just enough light to see words, scribbled shakily in dark ink on the side of the tube.

Preston Northwest’s Memories.

Who the hell was Preston Northwest?

Why did Ivan have his memories?

And why were they so important that Ivan would carry them with him, even as he jumped to his doom?

He glanced over his shoulder, to the cliff’s edge.

The raging current below offered him no answers. ---

Ford knew he was safe as soon as he opened his eyes.

Not just because his surroundings were a clean, bleached white, clearly not that awful, dank chamber under the history museum. Not just because the pain that had permeated his existence for the last several hours had faded to barely a dull throb.

It was because as soon as he opened his eyes, he was greeted by Stan’s tired smile. Blurred though it may have been because of his missing glasses, he’d recognize it anywhere.

Still, he wanted to hear it, out loud.

“Stan?” he said, his voice a pathetic, dried-out whisper. The single word seared his throat, but he didn’t care. He needed to hear it.

“I’m here, Ford,” was the reply. That wonderful, caring, supportive voice that sounded like a fork in a garbage disposal. It was music to Ford’s ears. He felt his hand being squeezed warmly, and it made him want to cry out of sheer relief.

“Here,” Stan said, reaching over to grab something from the night table. He leaned close, and slid Ford’s glasses back on his face. The world became clear again, despite the glaring crack in the left lens, and he could finally make out his surroundings. He was in a hospital bed, and a glance down revealed that his leg, the same leg Matthews had kicked in, was now entombed in a huge plaster cast, a foam wedge tucked underneath it to keep it elevated. An IV was at his bedside, no doubt responsible for the fact he wasn’t moaning in agony right now. The lights had been dimmed and the dark curtains drawn, although Ford could still see the pale gray of dawn peeking through.

But that wasn’t what Ford eventually focused on. No, what he focused on was the angry red gash at his twin’s temple. A line of neat stitches ran down the length of it, but it had clearly been a bad wound when it was received. Despite all his limbs feeling heavier than lead, Ford reached up and put his hand on the scar, and lightly traced his thumb down the length of it.

“Hey, don’t you start apologizing for that,” Stan said, reaching up to move Ford’s hand away, giving it another reassuring squeeze. “This had nothing to do with you.”

“I know,” Ford replied. “I still don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“How do you think I feel?” Stan asked, a smile creeping into his voice. “I’ve only been staring at your busted-up mug for two hours. Believe me, you’re no oil painting.”

Ford chuckled a little, forever grateful for whatever painkiller was being pumped into him by the IV by the side of his hospital bed.

“So, how are you feeling?” Stan asked.

“Like I got beat up by cultists,” Ford replied. “But the drugs help. And speaking of cultists...”

“Taken care of,” Stan replied quickly. “By the time the ambulance got there, none of them could even remember why they were in the museum to begin with.”

“Should we examine the moral implications of us stopping a group of violent memory-wiping fanatics by forcing them to violently have their memories wiped?”

“Who are we, the Justice League?” Stan scoffed. “Those nuts were gonna do a lot worse to us than just wipe our memories. You’re, ironically enough, living testimony to that.”

“Irony hurts like a bitch.”

“You’re telling me.”

A beat of silence passed between them, the question Ford wanted to ask and simultaneously never hear the answer to hanging between them. Finally, he took a deep breath, and asked, “What about Ivan?”

Stan bit his lip, obviously struggling with how he was going to answer. Ford’s stomach roiled a bit. Ivan had to have escaped. That’s all there was to it. Stan wouldn’t have been this hesitant if that wasn’t the case. If those words left Stan’s mouth, he wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to not vomit, out of sheer panic more than anything else.

“He jumped off a cliff.”

Ford blinked. That certainly was not what he expected Stan to say.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Stan replied with a halfhearted shrug. “I chased him to a cliff near the river. He tried to fight me. He lost. The gun got smashed up, so I guess he panicked. Took the coward’s way out.”

“Then it’s really over,” Ford said. He wasn’t even embarrassed by how meek his voice sounded to his own ears.

“Yeah, it is.” Stan gave his hands another squeeze. Ford hadn’t realized until then that they were shaking.

Another beat of silence passed between them, this one less oppressive than the last. For that moment, Ford just let the relief that his tormentor was gone wash over him. It was better than the drugs.

Then, he asked, “Is everyone else okay?”

Stan nodded off to the other side of the room, and with a bit of effort, Ford turned his head enough to see Helen and Fiddleford, set up in a couple chairs against the wall, passed out on each other. Both of them were covered in bruises and cuts, evidence of their struggle against the Society.

“They pretty much passed out as soon as we got the word from the paramedics you were gonna be okay,” Stan said. “Can’t say I blame them. We really put them through the ringer for this. Helen, especially...”

Stan trailed off, for a brief moment, as if he were thinking hard about something. Then he quickly added, “Ford, she knows about the portal.”

Ford felt his stomach fall to his feet. He gulped a bit, even though it made his throat stick, and asked, “How did she take that?”

“‘Bout as well as expected.”

“She freaked out?”

“Big time.”

“Oh boy.”

“To be fair to her, she found out about it directly after the whole thing with the crazy old lady attacking us in her house, so...maybe she’ll be a little more open-minded about it when she wakes up?”

“I know intense physical abuse always helps me process any bombshell secrets my friends drop on me.”

“You’re lucky your face is already one giant bruise, smart-ass, or I’d knock that sarcasm right out of you.”

Ford gave a weak chuckle, but he couldn’t fight the shame that bubbled up in his chest. He’d hoped no one else would ever find out about that damnable portable, that gargantuan testament to his shame, let alone someone he trusted and respected like Helen.

“We never should have dragged her into this,” he muttered.

His inner turmoil must have shown on his face, because Stan reached out an put a reassuring hand on Ford’s cheek, tilting his head so that his twin was looking him in the eye. Stan’s gaze was alight with compassion and love. It made the shame twisting in a Ford’s stomach seem like nothing.

“Hey,” Stan said gently, “Knowing her, she would have found a way to get involved. She’ll come around to this. And I’m sure she’s going to be much happier about the fact you’re alive to help her understand it.”

As if on cue, Helen let out a sleepy sigh. Ford turned to look at her just as her eyes fluttered open. She shifted slightly in her seat, which roused Fiddleford. Both of them looked around the room blearily before realizing what was happening in the bed in front of them.

“Oh, Ford,” Helen breathed, on her feet and at the bed in the time it took Ford to blink. She sat on the edge of his bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close, and planted a soft kiss directly on his forehead. He leaned into it greedily.

“Don’t get too cozy, you little shit,” Helen mumbled into his hair. He could hear her voice getting thick. “I’m still mad at you for stealing my car.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled back. “I’ll get you some cash for the gas.”

She only responded by holding him tighter.

Ford turned his head slightly, and saw Fiddleford looking back at him, near the end of the bed. His face was a strange mix of exhaustion, confusion, and relief. Ford couldn’t help but think back to that morning - or rather, yesterday, he supposed - when he’d seen Fiddleford’s face for the first time in four months. The haggard, gaunt, lost little man in the alley seemed to have vanished over the course of a day. Every time Ford looked at Fiddleford, he saw a bit more of his dear friend creeping back to the surface, out from under the smothering electricity of that horrible device he’d created.

Ford wanted to say so much to him. He wanted to apologize, but Fiddleford had told him not to, that he didn’t blame him, not anymore.

He wanted to promise to be better, but the smile Fiddleford wore, that smile that always made him feel like he somewhere safe and warm, seemed to advertise plainly that Fiddleford always believed in Ford’s ability to improve, that there’d never been a doubt in his mind.

He just wanted to talk, and listen to that soft, kind voice - the one that knew and could sing every John Denver song ever written and talked endlessly about James Baldwin and theoretical physics - answer him for the rest of his life.

Instead, all he said was, “I’m glad you’re okay, Fiddleford.”

“You too, Ford,” Fiddleford replied.

Before Ford could think of anything else to say, Fiddleford had come up to his side. Helen, almost intuitively, had moved to the side to let him through. And then Fiddleford’s arms were around his neck again, his head buried in his shoulder. His hair brushed against Ford’s cheek like thistledown. Ford could feel that smile stretch wider against his neck, and he knew that Fiddleford was exactly where he wanted to be. Ford brought an arm up and draped it over Fiddleford’s back, holding his friend as close as his worn out muscles would let him. He wished he had the strength to hug him forever.

Too soon, Fiddleford pulled away, looked up into Ford’s face. Ford saw tears welling in his eyes as he said, “I said some terrible things to you, and I’m so sorry.” He sighed shakily, and added, “I’m responsible for how I reacted to what happened to me. And now I’m responsible for fixing the damage I caused.”

Ford reached up and put a hand on Fiddleford’s. “Maybe we could try fixing things together,” he replied.

Fiddleford nodded, smile as bright as a hundred watt bulb, and said, “Sounds perfect.”

“I’ve got a portal of doom in my basement that needs dismantling,” Ford said. “If you’re up for that, I mean. I’m a little...indisposed at the moment.” To illustrate his point, he gave his plastered-up leg a small wiggle.

Fiddleford chuckled, and said, “I think I can handle that. I imagine it’ll feel pretty good reducing that thing to scrap.”

“Well, you might wanna put the kibosh on portal talk for a while,” Stan interjected, “and start thinking about how you’re gonna be getting around the house with a pair of crutches. I’ve walked around on crutches enough to know that going up and down stairs constantly with them eventually makes your armpits go numb.”

“I’m not even going to bother asking why you’ve been on crutches so many times,” Helen said, voice flat.

“That’s for the best,” Stan replied.

“Well, I suppose I could move down to the couch for a few weeks,” Ford said. “Especially since we are gonna have a house guest for a while.”

Fiddleford looked at Ford like he’d just said he’d give him his kidney as opposed to his bedroom. “Oh no,” he said, a bit of color flushing to his cheeks. “I can’t ask a man with broken ribs to sleep on a lumpy couch.”

“You’re not asking,” Ford said playfully. “I’m telling you that’s what I’m doing.”

“And I’m siding with Fidds on this one,” Stan said. “I’ll take the couch. Since I’m on the bottom floor, you can take my bed, and Fidds can have yours.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Stan,” Fiddleford said, giving him a cheery smile.

Ford looked between them in confusion. Where had this chummy camaraderie come from? A few hours ago, Stan was regarding Fiddleford like a forest creature that had wandered into their house and wouldn’t leave. Now, he was returning the smile, with a kind of conspiratorial smugness, like he and Fiddleford were in on some kind of joke together.

“Who are you two, and what have you done with Stan and Fiddleford?” Ford asked, only partly joking.

“Hey, someone’s got to keep you from falling apart completely,” Helen chuckled. “And between the three of us, I think we can manage it.”

Ford laughed a bit himself, just as the door opened slowly. He saw Darryl peek in, and, seeing everyone was awake and talking and even looking rather upbeat, open the door to come in. “Glad to see you guys looking better,” he said with a toothy smile, a blue jacket slung over his shoulders. “How’re you feeling, Dr. Pi-I mean, Ford?”

“They tell me I’ll live,” Ford replied. He found it so odd how the light tone rolled so naturally off his tongue. Here before him stood a man who’d risked his own safety, just to help this group of people he barely knew, and had really no reason to trust. “Listen, Darryl,” he said, “I wanted to thank you. For everything. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am for everything you did for me.” “None of us can,” Stan added. “You were amazing back there.”

Darryl reached up to rub his hand down his neck bashfully, obviously trying to hide the faint glow that had suddenly risen to his cheeks. “There’s no need for that,” Darryl said. “I was just doing what was right.”

“So how’s everything going out there?” Helen asked.

“‘Bout as chaotic as you’d expect,” Darryl replied. “I don’t think anyone was ready for a bunch of injured amnesiacs to turn up in the history museum in the wee hours of the morning, let alone small-town cops.”

“Not even factoring in that the sheriff was one of those amnesiacs,” Helen muttered darkly.

“You got it,” Darryl replied. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small sucker. As he pulled the wrapper off and popped it in his mouth, he said, “Damn, my wife picked a bad time to convince me to give up smoking.”

Ford saw Helen and Stan exchange a glance over the bed. “You got two more of those?” Stan asked as he turned his attention back to Darryl.

Darryl didn’t reply, just pulled two more suckers out of the jacket pocket and tossed them to Stan.

Stan caught them, took one, and offered the other to Helen. She accepted it without a word.

It seemed to Ford that everyone had these little secrets together tonight.

Stan pulled the wrapper off his and asked, “So, what are we telling the cops, exactly? We need to make sure we keep our stories straight.”

“Officially, Ivan’s the main mastermind behind everything,” Darryl replied. “As far as everyone else from the Society is concerned, they were victims of a terrorist with a weird gun.”

“Not far from the truth, if we’re being honest,” Stan said.

Darryl smiled wryly and continued, “I even managed to convince them that you all were brave heroes who couldn’t stand by and let innocent people be tortured by some madman, so you gallantly stormed the place and beat the shit out of him.”

“And those were your exact words?” Fiddleford asked, clearly biting back a laugh.

“Well, the rookie cops may have started embellishing things a bit,” Darryl said with a shrug of his shoulders. “You know how things travel in a small town. Also, Ford, if someone asks you how you managed to wrestle Ivan’s trained attack deer with your bare hands, just know that I did not come up with that part.”

That finally drew a laugh out of the whole group. It was a marvelous sound, after all they’d endured. Honestly, it was all rather difficult for Ford to believe. All the secrets that had been spilled, all the conspiracies that had been blown wide open, all the wounds they’d been dealt, physical or otherwise - that had all happened over the course of one day. It felt like they’d been at it for years. Ford felt Helen lean up against him a little more, and he got a look at her face. Even once you got past the deep blue bruising, she looked utterly exhausted, absently swirling her sucker around in her mouth. Ford saw that she’d draped an arm over her abdomen. As much as he didn’t want to, he thought back to that dark chamber, heard Helen’s broken plea ringing in his ears.

Before he had a chance to stop himself, he said, “Helen?”

“Hmm?” She flicked her eyes down at him, sucker stilled for a moment.

He almost took it back. For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to ask what he wanted to know. If it was true, he didn’t want to be the one responsible for upsetting her again. It wasn’t his place to ask that question.

But his mouth had other plans, and he said, “That...thing. About the baby? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but...was what you told Ivan true?”

Helen didn’t respond right away.

He’d fucked up. Oh man, he’d fucked up.

He averted his eyes from her and quickly added, “I’m sorry! Like I said, you don’t have to tell me. If you think it’s none of my business, just say so. I don’t -”

Suddenly a finger was pressed to his lips. He looked back up at Helen. She was giving him a lopsided smile. “Yes, Ford, it’s true,” she said. She gave the other three men a quick glance. “It’s not like everyone else in this room doesn’t already know.”

Ford wanted to say something, but then he looked again into Helen’s eyes. They were sad, as anyone’s would be when they had just admitted to something so heartbreaking, but there was something else too. To Ford, it looked remarkably like peace.

Stan sighed, and muttered, “We’re all just a bunch of sad idiots, aren’t we?”

Ford and the others gave grunts of agreement, but he saw that Fiddleford’s eyebrows were scrunched up in thought.

After a moment, he said, “I suppose it could always be worse.”

“Ugh, booo,” Stan groaned, rolling his eyes so far back in his head they might have been in danger of popping out.

“Man, you did not just say that,” Darryl said with a wry laugh.

Fiddleford gave them bother a withering glance, and said, “If you two would let me finish, I was gonna say it could be worse, because we could all be alone.”

No one interrupted him this time.

“I mean, we’ve all been through some kind of hell that no one else can really understand,” Fiddleford continued. “We don’t even understand each other’s trauma all that well. But we can at least be there for each other, when things get tough. We’re lucky in ways a lot of other people aren’t.”

Ford felt Stan’s hand tighten around his. Helen’s arm was back around his shoulder. Even Darryl had closed the distance between himself and the bed, and leaned against the edge.

Each of them had a pain unique to them.

They could drown out that pain together.

In that moment, Ford did indeed feel like one of the luckiest men on the planet.

---

Rfc Kwqrcpw Lcpbq fyxe qytcb rfc byw Ylb dpccb rfc rmul dpmk rfc Znglb Cwc’q quyw Dpgclbqfgnq qyjtyecb, zmlbq ypc kclbcb Lmu gr qcckq rfc qrmpw’q clbcb

#gravity falls #mystery nerds au #seared with scars #stanley pines #stan pines #stanford pines #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #helen bergstrum #blind ivan #the society of the blind eye #tw violence #tw suicide #tw miscarrige #tw ptsd

[leori-the-unlearned]

observe with me the hi fi rush cast for a moment.

full grown man:

woman:

yeah sure this guy’s an adult:

and then we have

BABY. why does cutscene peppermint look 15!!!! you are NOT telling me this ^ kid was living on her own for years with only a cat to help her

#ok partially exaggerating but she really does look younger animated than when you look at her model #right???? like she looks young??? it’s not just me??? #like chai has a youthful air about him but his face looks like an adult’s #i just think it’s really funny the whole game basically hides the fact that peppermint’s the youngest till you get to the end #especially with chai as a foil cause you think ‘oh peppermints DEFINITELY older than THIS guy right’ #nope!!! she is the gus porter of hi fi rush #hi fi rush #hi-fi rush #hfr #leori words #hfr peppermint #im only tagging peppermint cause this post is about her

[leorieshearts]

blind love for a crazy man

In a world of chaos, where reason seemed to slip away, there was a woman named Emily who found herself drawn to a man so utterly unpredictable, he could only be described as crazy. But it was in this madness that she discovered an inexplicable and undeniable love.His thoughts spiraled like a whirlwind, his words an enigma, and his actions wild and unpredictable. Some called him mad, while others simply dismissed him as eccentric. But Emily saw something else within him, something raw and untamed that ignited her soul.She watched as he danced through life, his laughter ringing through the air like a symphony of madness. He didn't conform to societal norms or expectations; he was a rebel of the mundane, a free spirit unburdened by constraints.Every encounter with him was an adventure, a rollercoaster ride that left her breathless and exhilarated. He showed her a world beyond routine and monotony, a world where anything was possible. It was in his presence that she felt truly alive, a feeling that defied all logic and reason.Others warned her, cautioning about the perils of getting involved with someone so unpredictable and erratic. But Emily couldn't help herself. She was captivated by his magnetic energy, the way his eyes held a glimmer of mischief and curiosity. She saw past the chaos, past his unconventional behavior, and glimpsed the depth of his spirit.For the crazy man didn't just possess a capricious nature; he also had a heart that was fiercely loyal and a mind that held a wisdom beyond what could be understood. He saw the world through a different lens, with a childlike wonder that reminded Emily of the beauty that exists in the simplest moments.Their love was a dance, an intricate choreography that wove through the highs and lows of their unconventional relationship. It was a love that couldn't be defined or confined, a love unburdened by societal norms and expectations.In their moments together, amidst the chaos and unpredictability, Emily found a sense of freedom and authenticity. She learned to embrace the madness, to find solace in the storm. Their love was a reminder that sometimes, in the midst of the crazy, we can discover our truest selves.And so, Emily chose to embrace the wildness of their love, to cherish the moments of laughter and adventure, and to hold onto the way his presence made her feel alive. In the midst of the madness, she found a love that was as beautiful as it was wild, a love that defied all reason, and a love that brought her closer to understanding what it truly meant to live authentically.

#leories #spilled ink #spilled words #words #english #leoriesheart #writers on tumblr #tumblr #spilled thoughts

[justmorefandomtrash]

Sugar, Honey, Iced Tea

Prompt: Crushes

(AO3 link coming asap)

Ft. Over dramatic Minami, crushes (obviously) and one very embarrassed Yuri Plisetsky (Phichit means well).

1.

“SUGAR HONEY ICED TEA!”

With a distressed wail, Minami flung himself over the rink wall, drawing the attention of his rinkmates and coaches.

“Minami, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Groaning, he lifted his head to meet his coach’s eyes.

“Dying coach. Dying of attraction to unattainable people. I fear that I may have to stop competing in order to save myself.”

“Enough with the dramatics and go stretch.”

Grumbling under his breath, he pushed off the wall and dragged himself away to an empty corridor. In his mind, he was being perfectly reasonable about the whole situation. Having a crush on a fellow competitor was probably the worst thing that could have happened.

Especially Phichit Chulanont.

With his flawless makeup and friendly attitude, and the determination to include everyone…

“DAMMIT!”

Folding himself flat to the floor, he let out a muffled scream. Really, why did crushes have to be so difficult?

2.

Oh hell no.

This was not happening again.

He’d befriended the Thai skater, gotten over the crush and had agreed to visit him as his home rink in America. Yet here was Katsuki Yuuri, with his flawless step sequences and beautiful movements, leaning on the rink wall drinking water and looking absolutely flawless.

Why was his life so cruel?

“I hate crushes…”

“Don’t we all?”

“I’m going to quit skating, this isn’t fair.”

“Please don’t.”

He huffed, settling on the floor.

“Fine. Skaters need to stop being so hot.”

“What?”

“NOTHING!”

3.

For gods sake.

What was it with him and falling for fellow skaters?

“Hey Minami! Hope to see you on the podium again this year!”

“Y-you too Guang-Hong!”

“Call me Ji! After all, I’ll be the one taking you all to dinner when I win gold.”

As his rival skipped away, he groaned and lent against his coach, feeling too emotionally drained to jump around like he usually did. Sighing in annoyance, she pushed him upright, scolding him for not doing his stretches.

Finding an area to stretch in meant he would likely see Guang-Hong again.

The glare from his coach left him no other option and he frowned, complaining before giving up and going off to find an empty corridor.

“If I did because of not being allowed to express my distress about being attracted to fellow skaters I’m blaming you.”

“GO STRETCH!”

4.

The realisation hit him at midnight. Of all time, especially when he was training at the same rink that very day (technically).

Jean-Jacques Leory was too good looking for him and engaged.

Burying his head into a pillow, he screamed. A knock on his door startled him and he squeaked, diving off the bed and sliding under it.

“Minami? Is everything okay? I heard you scream.”

“I’m fine JJ. Just saw a spider that’s all, I’ve got rid of it.”

“Alright, tell me if you need anything. Night!”

Never mind. JJ was a good person overall.

“Stupid stupid stupid.”

Hitting himself in the face repeatedly, he contemplated, not for the first time in his life, quitting skating because the competition met far too many of his dating standards.

5.

Really?

Wailing in distress, he rolled around the floor of his childhood home, much to the bemusement of his parents and brother. They’d insisted that he invited his friends along with him, and the first to arrive would be Leo and Ji.

Of course they would.

The issue wasn’t that they were together, it was the fact that he’d stupidly let himself fall for none other than Leo de la Iglesia.

“Minami dear? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing apart from the fact that I keep falling in love with people I can’t have.”

“Soon enough you’ll find someone you can settle with. Now come, they’ll be here soon.”

Begrudgingly, he stopped and stood, standing still for a moment as he swayed.

Right.

They’ll be here soon.

Dragging his feet to the kitchen, he listened as his parents and brother chattered to each other, freezing when he heard his name mentioned.

“Don’t you think that that Plisetsky from Russia had a similar program to Minami’s first senior one?”

“Well it was certainly more bouncy than his others.”

Plisetsky huh? Nah, he would never mimick my skating. He didn’t even remember that we skated together in Juniors.

+1

“Minami!”

He jumped, looking over his shoulder and frowning at whoever had dared to interrupt his peaceful respite from the music and dancing. Having spent most of his childhood skating, he found all the games and sound overwhelming inside the hall. It probably didn’t help that he wasn’t entirely sure what the etiquette was at weddings.

Who’s great idea was it to put him in the same room as his old skater crushes at the same time?

Speak of the devil, Phichit waved at him, dragging someone behind him.

“Here, this guy expressed an interest in saying hello, now I’m off to find Seung, bye!”

Sputtering in surprise, he caught the person pushed towards him as Phichit ran off and shut the balcony doors, leaving him alone with the person in his arms. They groaned, slipping out of his fading grip and straightening out their suit.

Oh god.

Yuri Plisetsky stood in front of him, glaring like everything that had happened had been his fault.

“Katsudon and Victor left me in the care of Phichit. Phichit of all people! Can’t trust that guy with any secret, he’ll try and help you out no matter what I swear.”

“E-eh?”

His eyes widened in surprise as Yuri lent on the balcony next to him, huffing quietly.

“I can do it myself, I just need time and to be co- never mind, you don’t want to hear me ramble.”

“It’s fine if you want to.”

A soft exhale of air made him turn to see Yuri looking… vulnerable and open to the world.

Where did the Russian Ice Tiger go and who replaced him with a kitten?

“Fine fine, if you’re willing,” he sighs deeply, looking out across the hotel grounds, “but you’re probably not going to like it.”

He straightened up at these words, realising that it was perhaps the most serious look he’d ever seen gracing Yuri’s face.

“Everyone seems to think that Otabek and I have something going on but you see, he’s aro so he’d never return my non-existing feelings. But whilst the whole world has been obsessing over that, they overlooked the person I’d truly fallen in love with.” Pausing for a moment, Yuri slid his hand along the railing and interlinked their fingers, squeezing gently. “They managed to overlook one of the most vibrant skaters in the world, someone who’s first senior routine I mimicked in a desperate bid to grab their attention. Somehow, they managed to overlook you Minami. I went and fell head over heels with you.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and when they do he squeezes back with a smile that says everything is okay. Sure, he’d had confessions from fans, complete and utter strangers, but coming from someone who he’d admired for so long?

That was an entirely new feeling and one that wasn’t unwelcome.

“Sounds like a confession Yuri.” “I-it is…” Lifting their entwined hands, he pressed a kiss to Yuri’s knuckles, chuckling at the light gasp emitted. “Then won’t you take care of me? Even if it ends up being a short amount of time, won’t you?” “Is that your way of saying yes?” “The Japanese way.” They giggle, pressing their foreheads together and winding their free arms around the other’s waist. There is something magical about standing on a balcony only illuminated by the soft glow of the moon and candles flickering in the wind, casting dancing shadows across their suits. "May I kiss you Yuri?" There is a moment where neither moves before Yuri nods and he's leaning forward, lips slightly puckered and willing. Hesitantly, he meets him in the middle. Soft lips meet his own, moving uncertainly against each other. He matches Yuri's movements, slow and leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world. Drawing away, their eyes meet once more and suddenly they're both giggling, clinging to each other in delight. Who knew that one day he'd find that special person?

#minamiweek #kenjirou minami #yuri plisetsky #plinami #phichit chulanont #yuuri katsuki #guang hong ji #jean jacques leroy #leo de la iglesia #victor nikiforov #skating fam is there and so are others #they're just not mentioned by name #what's a victuuri wedding without them

[ao3feed-victuuri]

The Hero and the Fairy

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2lydw1s

by jazthegr8

King Jean-Jaques Leory was an unkind king. He ruled over all of Aisusukeeto with a muddy fist. He had all of the lush, rolling, green hills and crystal, blue rivers under his command along with an entire kingdom of dedicated citizens who honor him without pause. His castle, complete with an impressive fifty or so turrets and his throne room was in the highest of them so he could look down on his people and figure out how to best use them to his advantage. He’d inherited the kingdom from his father and was nothing more than the spoiled prince he’d been raised to be suddenly given all the power he needed to demand the unreasonable.

His current demand was for the hand of the princess of the neighboring kingdom, Isabella, an equally selfish and rude woman. She was also incredibly beautiful and her kingdom was failing. If King JJ could pull off the marriage, he could absorb the dying kingdom and nab the most beautiful woman from it in the process.

Those events, torrid though they were, led up to the events of the first day of Spring that would unfurl a tapestry of adventure and romance and eventually lead Aisusukeeto to the leaders it deserved.

Words: 1610, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Otabek Altin, Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov, Jean-Jacques Leroy, Isabella Yang, Emil Nekola, Michele Crispino, Yakov Feltsman, Lilia Baranovskaya, Christophe Giacometti, Nikolai Plisetsky, Lee Seung Gil, Phichit Chulanont, Leo de la Iglesia, Ji Guang-Hong, Katsuki Hiroko, Katsuki Toshiya, Katsuki Mari, Minami Kenjirou, Okukawa Minako, More I'm Sure - Character

Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov/Katsuki Yuuri, Jean-Jacques Leroy/Isabella Yang, Michele Crispino/Emil Nekola, Yakov Feltsman/Lilia Baranovskaya, More I'm Sure

Additional Tags: Fluffy, Fantasy AU, Alternate Universe, hero - Freeform, Fairy, Obviously This was Bound to Happen, Sweet, maybe smut, Vote for Smut in Comments, Funny, otayuri - Freeform, VictUuri, Gay, Love, Long

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2lydw1s

#ao3feed #fanfic #victuuri #victor nikiforov #katsuki yuuri #yuri!!! on ice #yuri on ice #yoi

[ao3feed-ncis]

Going On From Here

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/39o3TXS

by ChibiEarth

Sometimes, goodbye is one of the hardest things to do…even if you were simply just a "partner."

Repost of an old oneshot from Fanfiction.net for an old fanfiction challenge. It was written when Cote de Pablo announced she was leaving the series.

Words: 1983, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: NCIS

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen, Other

Characters: Timothy McGee, Leory Jethro Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo, Ziva David, Jimmy Palmer

Relationships: Ziva David/Timothy McGee, Ziva David & Timothy McGee, Anthony DiNozzo & Timothy McGee, Ziva David & Anthony DiNozzo

Additional Tags: Attempt at Humor, Drama, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Family

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/39o3TXS

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #NCIS