#that being said i am proud of every single drawing i have ever created cause it got me to this point

[tloujm]

Part XXVI: Giving Grief

Author’s Notes: This is the first chapter I’ve posted in months (literally since April). I don’t know if this is a full comeback. I have a few chapters in the drafts that need to be edited and formatted for posting but after that, I still plan on continuing the series bc my plan was always have a long fic. With no new content after part II of the game was released, my interest in the fandom waned but was always there. Now with HBO creating a show based off the game, as well as me being apart of the Pedro Pascal fandom, I think I will soon become more consistent in posting as new content gets released. I will say that at least half of what appeals to me for Joel is Troy Baker’s voice and while I love Pedro’s voice too, I know it won’t be the same. I still think Pedro will do the voice justice bc he can do a damn fine country accent as seen in the movie Prospect on Netflix. If you’re a fan of his and have Netflix, please go watch it!

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Summary: You and Joel reconcile and bond over Ellie and Sarah. 

Ship: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Joel waited for you to come home. He paced back and forth in the kitchen switching from holding the card and setting it down on the counter. He was eager to talk to you about this new revelation partly because he was nervous to have the other conversation with you. After a while of calming his nerves down, you still hadn’t come home. The sun had set an hour ago and Joel was ready to throw on his boots and go looking for you. 

Just as he laced them up, the front door opened. You walked in and immediately stopped because his body blocked you from walking in the house further. 

“Going somewhere?” You asked as you slid past him. He was a grown man and could do what he wanted, but the thought of him leaving to go do other things before the issue between you was resolved upset you. 

He reached back down to unlace his boots. “Not anymore. I was ‘bout to head out and find you.”

“Why?” You asked dryly.

“I’d been waiting on you to come home for a couple of hours. We gotta talk.”

“You’re right, we do. I was helping Wendy walk the kids home from the daycare; that’s what held me up. I’m here now, though.” You leaned against the back of the couch and crossed your arms. The stance you took reminded you of what Joel would do.

He walked into the kitchen and came back. “Kiddo made this for us.”

You took it in your hands. “When did she have time to make this?” He shrugged. Your fingers brushed across the drawing of the hat before finally opening it. “Oh my God.” She looked at you for a split second before looking back down at her signature. “Her name has been ‘Ellie’ the whole time.”

“I know.” He commented. 

“She never said anything. All of us have asked her.”

“Technically, she still hasn’t spoken her name, but I guess she wasn’t ready for that.”

“She wasn’t ready to let anybody in.” You said. He nodded in agreement.

“Until now.” He walked up to you and pointed to her name on the card. “She’s doing so good, this Ellie. I can only try to imagine the horrors that she’s seen out in the world before she came to Jackson, but whatever happened out there, it led her to us. I’m...It’s just nice to see her opening up to this place.”

You understood what he was trying to say. “Yeah, I’m proud of her too.” You walked past him and into the kitchen to hang the card on the refrigerator. Joel followed. This time, his arms were crossed.

“(Y/N), I meant it when I said I was sorry back there. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t have said it.” You rebutted.

“I was upset with you because I expected you to react the same as me when Ellie climbed up that T-Rex, but I don’t want a carbon copy of myself. I love you and want to have a family with you because you are wise beyond your years, confident even if you don’t always think so, responsible even for things that aren’t your responsibility and most importantly, you’re level headedness. Where I have a tendency to lose my cool in certain situations, you are guided by this calm...patient sense of will that I envy.” He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, giving you the opportunity to say something. Seeing that you were still soaking in his words, he continued. “You’ll be a great mother. I saw it in the gentle way you juggled all those kids at the daycare. I saw it in the way you took care of Ellie the first day she came here. You’ll see though, if it’s meant for us to have a baby, how difficult it is to stop worrying. It didn’t stop when Sarah....even when I tried to push those feelings away. It doesn’t stop. I know she’s not her, but it’s hard for me to just stand by and watch her do something that could hurt her.”

“I wasn’t standing by, or at least that wasn’t my intention. I wanted to give her space. She’s so delicate, or maybe that’s my problem. I shouldn’t treat her like she’s some glass figurine. I just wanted her to grow comfortable with us by trusting her. Believe me, it wasn’t easy for me to do when there was nothing personally for me to go off of, but then I thought, she’s lived out there for God knows how long by herself. She’s not only seen things but has been able to survive things. It’s hard to see how clever someone is when they won’t let you in, but I knew she had to be to have made it this far. I get it though. I’ve never been a parent. I can only sympathize with your worries. I can not empathize with you until I’ve been where you have. I’m sorry too. I could have found a way to give her space without allowing her to be in such a dangerous spot. You must be disappointed in me.”

He moved up to you and placed his hands on your shoulder. “I’m not. Look at me. I’m not disappointed in you. She was both of our responsibilities earlier.” He brought you into a tight hug. “You’re right, she is smart. She felt comfortable enough to show a side of herself that no one else has seen. You know why? ‘Cause she felt safe around us. Despite the grief she put me through, it was nice to see her so happy.”

“I know it was, wasn’t it? I can’t believe she jumped though! I didn’t think she’d go that far.”

“At the end of the day, kids will be kids. It’s not an excuse to slack off on raising ‘em, but there's just a certain wild and carefree nature that every kid has. It’s instilled in their DNA or somethin’ and then it fades away as they get older, about the time their back starts to ache.” Joel chuckled as he explained. He kissed the top of your head before pulling away to get a good look at you. He made a face as if to ask if you were ok. You nodded. He took your hand and pulled you into the living room. You sat down next to him. “She reminds me of Sarah sometimes. Ellie’s about the same age as her. She ran me through the ringer, raising that one.” He chuckled at the memories. “I wouldn’t trade it in for the world, being her dad, but you shoulda seen the amount of grief she put me through. Especially being a single parent.” He wiped his hand across his face, letting it linger along the length of his neck. “One time, she snuck off to some skate park when I told her no. She was in this skateboarding phase. I bought her a customized skateboard for her birthday and she would practice using it up and down the driveway. She had barely learned that little flippy trick when she asked me to take her to the skate park. I told her no because it looked like it was for experienced skaters. I wanted her to practice more first. To say the least, she was mad at me. She told me she was staying after school for the science club, but she really went to the skate park with some friends. By the time I figured out where she was, I found her lying in the grass, holding her arm in pain. Turned out she had a hairline fracture in her...radius?” He pointed to the bone on his arm. You nodded that it was in fact called radius. “I grounded her for lying to me, but sometimes I wonder if I should have taken her to the park. I mean I’m no expert on skateboarding, but at least I could have been there to supervise; make sure she wasn’t on one of those tough looking ramps.”

“Did you ever take her skateboarding after she healed up?”

“After the cast came off, she switched interests to soccer. I installed a shelf on one of her walls to hang the skateboard on. Better that than being stuffed under her bed. Soccer was her life though. She made new friends from the team, won titles, learned tricks with the ball. Me and Tommy were regulars at her games. I was...am proud of her.”

You smiled as you envisioned his memories. “Did she give you grief with that as well?”

He nodded in an exaggerated way. “Oh yeah, but I’m sure I used to give her grief too.” You lifted your eyebrows with desire for him to elaborate. “I may or may not have argued with the coach and ref on a few occasions regarding plays.”

“You never dated any of the soccer moms?” You teased.

He scoffed. “Most of them were married and the ones who weren’t, I sent Tommy’s way instead. He wasn’t mad at it.” The two of you chuckled. “I did flirt with a few, married or not, so I could get my hands on some of their homemade baked goods.”

“I was under the assumption that soccer moms made food for everyone.”

“They did, but I still wanted a few more cupcakes for the ride home.” He admitted as you laughed. “Listen, I had a busy life. I didn’t have much time to hone my baking skills, so it was nice to be able to have homemade cakes and cookies for a change.

“Well, if you wanted cookies, that’s all you had to say! I can show you how to bake right now.”

“It’s late.” He reasoned.

“It’s never too late to feed your sweet tooth.” You rebutted as you pulled him back into the kitchen.

#TLOU #TLOU2 #TLOUII #the last of us #the last of us joel #the last of us fanfic #The Last of Us 2 #the last of us fanfiction #tlou ellie #tlou joel #tlou fanfiction #tlou oc #naughty dog #Joel Miller #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

[jaeminzie]

ignorance is bliss | h.rj

↳ huang renjun x gender neutral!reader

synopsis: staying true to the courageous gryffindor persona, you secretly admire renjun using unusual tactics, forgetting that the fellow ravenclaw is fairly quick witted.

genre: fluff

word count: 2,339

part of ‘the dreamies in hogwarts’ series

huang renjun, the ravenclaw wallflower who you’ve been stalking according to your best friends. indeed, it is odd to stay in the library until ungodly hours solely for the breathtaking view from a few tables in front of the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. though every view and every angle of huang renjun is breathtaking, it doesn’t take much work when you look like that. being as stubborn as ever, you would never admit to stalking the poor boy. you believed that that was an exaggeration, that your friends don’t understand how it feels to be so blinded by him and you are utterly confused on how they aren’t blinded by him. instead, you claim it as a way to get an understanding of the boy’s, who you do plan to interact with sometime in the future, mannerism — which you mentally admit sounds just as creepy as stalking, not helping your case at all.

so there you are, sitting alone in a table a bit further than usual from renjun using a book to cover your lower face to avoid any suspicion. not only are you stubborn, you are also unbelievably oblivious. so oblivious, in fact, that you aren’t aware that the boy who you’ve been “observing” has already noticed you staring at him the second week of your trips to the library. in your defense, you visit the library no more than four times a week as you loathed the smell of rotting book paper and dusty wooden furniture. unknowing of the boy’s acknowledgment of you, you continued to admire from a far. loving the way his plump lips pouted naturally while reading, his circular silver glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his god-shaped nose, how careful his eyes scanned through the pages and the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped on the table as a way to keep himself sane from the amount of studying he chooses to do willingly which appalled you. but once in a while, he’d give himself a break by sketching on his notebook causing all the lines on his forehead and the pout on his lips to disappear. this is your favorite part. seeing him find his peace in drawing made you feel the same sense of warmth and tranquility that you suppose he feels when creating art, completely unaware of a gryffindor staring him down — or so you thought. ignorance really is bliss, or else, you wouldn’t be so shameless right now.

renjun means to speak to you one day as his confusion progresses each time he sees you walk through the ginormous library doors and choose a spot where you both have clear views of one another. when you look away, pretending to read the book in your hands, renjun looks your way with furrowed eyebrows trying to figure out what exactly do you want from him. why you still manage to fail your classes despite spending many hours “studying.” yes, you can say that he observes you as well since your houses share a couple classes with each other. from his observations, he’s learned that you’re quite the helper. renjun wonders how you weren’t sorted in hufflepuff. perhaps, a hufflepuff isn’t bold enough to stare at a stranger in a nearly empty library for many consecutive weeks. though, a gryffindor should have the courage to at least speak a single word to that person, a simple ‘hello’ would be a nice place to start.

it took him some time to admit it, but he found pleasure in staring at you as well. his slytherin friends practically had to force it out of him once they kept noticing that his gaze was almost always set on you since his group sat in the back of your classes, it was easy to admire without being caught unlike your questionable tactics. renjun admires how you keep trying and trying to answer a question correctly even when your raised hand is being blatantly ignored by the professor after getting a handful of questions incorrect. and don’t even get him started when he catches a glimpse of you laughing with your peers, then he can’t keep his eyes of off you. there’s been countless nights of him unintentionally going on about you and your character to his peers relaxing in their ravenclaw common room. at this point, the whole house of ravenclaw has heard your name come out of his mouth at least once.

from your clear view, you notice how focused renjun is with his hands seeming to move themselves while his mind continued to run on you. renjun straightened his back after finishing the last few strokes on his sketch. a sketch of you sitting on top of a table identical to the one you seated at right now with your legs swinging and your red robe nearly hitting the floor, eyes crinkled as your smile that he loves to look at reached up to your ears. his first drawing of you, he was proud of it and was sure it wouldn’t be the last drawing of you he’ll make.

you were taken back when you had noticed renjun was already gathering his belongings. he usually goes back to reading after finishing a drawing, you recalled back to the mental schedule you created in your mind. wow you really are a creep. you thought. too caught up with being offended by your inner self insulting your actions, you were completely unaware of the boy dressed in blue standing next to you.

renjun gaped as he thought you were ignoring him. having enough, he finally spoke, “can i help you?”

freezing in your seat when you heard his smooth voice laced with confusion, refusing to face the boy since you are definitely not prepared for this moment. fixing your posture and clearing your throat, you mustered your left over confidence as you chose to not further embarrass yourself in front huang renjun.

completely changing your body language to a more laid back manner and facing the boy, trying not to evidently show your breath being taken away from seeing him up close. his left eyebrow raised with his lips pursed slightly, fingers fiddling with the books by his side. he looked even better close in front of you, you had previously thought that was impossible. but you were so wrong, making you slightly mad at how perfect he seemed to be.

“nope” popping your ‘p.’ “do you?”

renjun’s facial expressions relaxed slightly. “no, i don’t.”

“why’d you come here then?” you mentally cursed and slapped and pinched and kicked yourself for accidentally not sounding the friendliest, your nervousness acting for you. “you sure you don’t need my help?”

renjun was taken back from your tone, oblivious to your feelings. there’s the gryffindor. they always have to be boasting. renjun huffed at his thoughts. he had not expected your first talk to be like this. your tone lightly hit his pride, so he automatically had to retaliate, “you’re the one to talk. you have an explanation for not being able to keep your eyes off me?” renjun laughed mockingly but not at you, at himself for being such a hypocrite.

defeated, you couldn’t keep up your relaxed attitude, “i. . . i just. . .” the eye contact you both shared was so intense you couldn’t even think straight, and neither could he. “s-sorry for bothering you. i’ll. . . leave you alone.”

before you could stand up from the chair, renjun pulled out the one beside you and sat facing your body. he sighed, “i’m sorry too. that didn’t come out as intended. but i need to know if i’m being too hopeful or not?”

hopeful? you remind yourself to pinch yourself later in case this a dream or some sort of spell. you hoped that your friends didn’t do anything without telling you since they’ve been suggesting that you use a love potion to “make everything easier,” but you profusely refused their incredibly stupid proposition each time they had brought it up to discuss.

“do you need tutoring, is that why?” he continued. his arms sat on his knees.

each and every one of his words entered one ear and went out the other as you wondered on what he was feeling hopeful for. “hopeful?”

his lifted his elbows off his knees and placed them on the table slowly, looking as if he was thinking. “i just thought that maybe you had reasons other than academic ones for coming here when i do.” he spoke very, very slowly that it was torturing. “am i right?”

you hated every second of this for the awful awkward tension, but this is the moment that you’ve been daydreaming of for weeks. though, you were shocked at how renjun noticed you despite trying to be as sneaky as possible — but your friends and renjun would say otherwise. “if i say yes. . .” your eyes wondered around his figure seated in front of you.

“i would be correct then.” he finished the sentence for you, not baring to wait longer. he moved his head towards your gaze on the floor behind him to try and get your eyes to focus on him.

and when you did, you saw the sparkle and hint of joy in his eyes making you feel truly confident. “then yes.”

—

it’s been nearly a month since your first interaction with one another, and renjun never misses a day of making fun of your past actions that you now admit were creepy. though after his friend, lee donghyuck, informed you in his own sneaky actions that you weren’t able to notice before, you have not let him live peacefully. renjun’s friend group was ecstatic when he told them about finally speaking to you and being with you. but renjun’s fully aware that they were more excited over the fact he can finally stop moping over not knowing how to approach you, achieving their peace since he can finally stop talking. though, he has a new topic to gush over — your relationship.

being together side by side and actually conversing with one another allowed renjun to see you in a deeper level, giving him more reasons to appreciate the special being that you are. he loved every second he spent with you. hearing you laugh at something that he had said or done makes renjun feel like he had reached the top of the highest mountain. holding your delicate hands while walking through the hallways made him feel like the most successful man on earth, and he proudly bragged over it. renjun loved how he felt so at ease and encouraged whenever he felt your presence around him. you don’t even need to be right by him to make him feel reassured. your presence alone was enough.

and you especially loved how he still chooses to love all those things despite your questionable actions in the past.

you loved being with him so much that you tolerate being in the library and actually reading beside him, or at least try to read. though, he has to hold your hand in order for you to fully commit yourself into studying with him. but both of you don’t complain.

you sat in a vacant table in the library, but this time, you sat next to the boy who you used to admire from a far. bouncing your leg out of boredom, “can we take a break?” you whispered in his ear.

renjun let out a small breathy laugh. “we just got here.” he whispered back, his gaze not leaving the thick book in front of you both.

your mouth slightly hanged open and you tightened your grip on his hand, “lies.” renjun squeezed your hand back playfully, still not looking at you. “please, jun, we’ve been here for an hour and you need to give yourself a break.”

silence.

you let go of his hand and puffed when he still didn’t spare a glance at you. defeated once again, you slid his notebook toward you and flipped through the pages, trying to entertain yourself by reading his notes. how fun.

widening your eyes in awe when you came across a page that showed a sketch of a person who looked exactly like you, with small hearts and tiny sparkles surrounding the figure sat on a table. your fingers lightly brushed the page, admiring how talented your boyfriend is.

“i drew that the day i came up to you.”

still strucked, you faced him and you were finally met with his beautiful eyes. “i think you need to update it. i look a bit different now.” you suggested with a smile that he cannot let down.

he hummed, “yeah, a tad bit huh?” you nodded eagerly which he laughed at. “i suppose i should work on it right now.” he reached for his notebook and flipped to an empty page, fixing his position so he can get a proper view of your face.

renjun did not hesitate to start drawing. he knew every detail of yours by heart, he honestly could draw a portrait of you relying solely on his memory. renjun has got every line, dot, and scar on your divine profile engraved in his mind since he thinks about you every second, literally. though, he still chooses to look up from his notebook to get a view of your face. not because he had forgotten a detail, but because he can’t refuse an opportunity to admire that face of yours. returning back to sketching with the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen on a person, with his pupils dilated. you definitely didn’t mind going to the library more often if you get to see renjun like this each time. you speak for both of you as renjun seems to be enjoying this moment just as much as you are. renjun’s hand that isn’t occupied reached for yours, with a grip that made it seemed like he’d never let go.

#neoswitch #neothestars #dreamwritersnet #kpopscape #nct dream #nct dream fanfic #nct dream drabbles #nct dream imagine #nct #nct dream scenario #nct 2020 #nct dream fluff #nct dream hogwarts au #huang renjun #renjun #renjun angst #renjun scenarios #renjun fluff #renjun hogwarts #ravenclaw renjun #renjun drabble #renjun fanfic #renjun imagine #nct dream hogwarts #nct dream angst

[retroellie]

can you do an ellie x joel's daughter!reader headcanon or imagine? maybe like set during the first game when they are like first getting to know each other and bonding (and developing crushes on each other 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩)

Summary: Joel daughter’s falling in love with ellie 

A/N: UGHHH my heart melted at the thought of this, Thank you for requesting<3 Also i’m sorry i suck at writing Imagines and yes i did express my love for David Bowie, what about it?

Warning: None, just innocent teenage love :) 

Word count: 1.8K 

You watched her laugh, throwing her head back in a fit of laughter. Sam was telling her jokes he had heard and she laughed at every single one.  It wasn’t fair, you should’ve been the one making her laugh, you wanted to be the reason but Sam dropped in and whisked her away from you. 

You gripped onto your book, not able to concentrate on the jumble of words, too distracted by the laughter coming from the two of them. You weren’t used to feeling jealous, there weren’t too many people you felt jealous towards but this felt horrible. It felt like someone was hanging food above your head and you were starving but you were a few inches too short. 

You have been through hell and back, you saw your mom die in front of you, you have killed so many people that you almost feel numb to the feeling of it. So why did this feeling hurt so much, why did it feel like your heart was being stomped on. Were you finally at your breaking point? 

“Hey kiddo.” A voice interrupted your thoughts 

You looked up from your book, it was your dad. He gave you a comforting smile and plopped down next to you. 

“Hey dad..” You replied, He was bruised up from the group you guys had run into on the way here. 

“How are you holding up?” He asked, placing a hand on your knee. 

“I'm okay,” You said, your voice trailing off and your eyes lingering over the book hoping he wouldn’t read into your answer. 

You weren’t sure how to feel anymore, everything was coming at you so quickly that you haven’t had time to process it. New emotions that you didn’t even know you could feel and old ones that you feel too often. Grief, loss, jealousy... love? 

“How about you put that book down and get some sleep, huh?” He said, shutting the book. 

“I was just getting to the good part.” You chuckled, looking over at him. 

He shook his head and grabbed the book from you, setting it on a near table. He got up, allowing you to fully lay down. You rolled up in a ball, the coldness sending shivers down your spine. 

“I will never know where you get your smarts..” He joked, placing his jacket over you. 

You cuddled up underneath it, suddenly exhausted. You hadn’t noticed how you haven’t slept in almost 24 hours, you all had been on the move ever since meeting sam and henry only resting once through it all. 

“Get some sleep kiddo, you need the rest.” He smiled down at you, turning to leave. 

He walked to the other side of the room, next to henry. They were cleaning up after dinner, getting ready for bed. You looked over at Sam and Ellie once more, they both sleepily told stories and dreams they had. Your eyes had fallen heavy and you could feel yourself being consumed by sleep. 

-

-

-

You were asleep for a couple hours before you woke up, the quietness of the room creeped you out. You weren’t able to fall back asleep so you decided to get up and go read in the moonlight. You crept around the sleeping bags and backpacks that had been thrown around lazily. 

You found a comfortable looking windowsill you could sit on and opened your book. The book was some old book you found in a cafe you had been through, it was about a red headed girl that didn’t fit in and was just trying to find her way through life, find her purpose. You enjoyed it, feeling connected to the character somehow. 

“Can’t sleep?” A voice said from the darkness, causing you to flinch. 

You snapped your head toward the voice, ready to grab anything to protect yourself with. It was Ellie, your body relaxed a little bit. She chuckled at your alertness. 

“No, it’s too quiet here.” You replied, setting your book down. 

She walked slowly over to the windowsill you were sat on and took a seat next to you. She gave you a small smile, that tiny smile made your heart do flip flops. 

“Right, the QZ’s, they can be loud huh?” She said, turning her attention to the window. 

You’ve never had time to really study her face, you didn’t notice the freckles dotted across her face or how green her eyes were. She would be pretty painted on a piece of paper, with all kinds of greens and peaches creating a perfect masterpiece. 

“Would you ever go back?” She started. “I mean to a QZ?” She turned her attention towards you, her green eyes boring into your skin. 

“I mean I don't think we can go back to Boston. '' You remembered, you never really let that sink in. What the fuck were you guys gonna do now. “But even if i could, i wouldn’t.” 

She chuckled, she wanted to draw you especially right now. The moonlight brought out your eyes, making them more prominent and dreamy. She was afraid she would fall into them if she kept staring at them. 

“I thought i liked it at the QZ but now that i’m here i don’t think i ever wanna go back.” She looked back up at you.” it’s so pretty out here.”  You nodded, looking at anything but her eyes. 

“My mom really wanted to get out of the city.” You stated. “She and my dad always wanted to fix up an old farmhouse.” You smiled at the dream you all had, knowing now it will never happen. 

Your mom was always a fighter, hell she even died one, but she was a dreamer at heart. You were proud to be like your mom, she was the only person in the world who saw things in a different way, that was until you met ellie. 

“Hey,” Ellie attempted to get your attention. You gave it to her, looking up at her. “I’m sorry about your mom, she was a really good person.” You could tell she was trying to make you feel better but it was hardly working, but you just smiled anyways. 

“Thanks.” You chuckled. “You know, she was the only person who didn’t make me feel any less than others because of who I am. Now that she’s gone i don’t know what to feel.” 

Ellie remained silent, letting you talk and she actually listened. She was easy to talk to, you never really told anyone what you were feeling but of all the people you had met she just felt different. 

“That reminds me of my best friend riley.” She spoke, breaking the silence. “I’ve never really had a home or a family to love but she felt like both.” She fumbled with her fingers, her nervousness evident. 

“And where is she right now?” You asked. 

She fell silent for a minute, suddenly her nervousness dropped to utter sadness. You thought you said something you shouldn’t, not sure how to fix it. You just let her take her time, sitting there with her, the two of you alone... together. 

“She got infected.” She finally said. You could feel your heart break for her, the one person she had taken from her. Ellie was completely alone. 

You don’t know what came over you but you didn’t know what to do and you were so heart broken, so when you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her close, it surprised both of you. You both stayed like that for a moment, the shock causing Ellie to freeze up but she soon melted into your arms. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer. 

She would be lying if she said she didn’t have butterflies in her stomach right now. You could stay wrapped in her arms forever, it was so warm and cozy something you didn’t feel a lot in this world.

You both stayed like that for a minute, not sure when to pull away. But you guys finally did and when you did you both were blushing up a storm. Ellie looked out the window once more, trying to cover her red face while you looked in the complete opposite direction trying to hide yours.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, you just seemed upset and I....”

“No no, it’s fine” she interrupted, looking over at you. “I needed it.”

You blushed even more, all the blood rushed to your face made you lightheaded. There was a deep nervousness in your stomach, the thoughts of you messing up your entire friendship with Ellie made you sick to your stomach.

The self-deprecating thoughts zoomed through your head, calling yourself every single stupid name there was. You didn’t want to mess what little you had with Ellie up, what if she doesn’t like you now??

“Y/N” she said, getting your attention once more. “When we get older and after they find a cure... let’s buy a farmhouse together.”

Your heart could beat out of your chest right now, you could die a happy death. All your worries about messing everything up melted away with that single statement. You smiled, looking down at your dangling feet. 

“As long as i can get a horse, i’m down.” You chuckled, leaning against the window. 

She smirked, watching your every move. There was a tension that arose that was never really there before, it wasn’t an uncomfortable tension. This was the first time you had ever felt calm on this entire trip, actually looking forward to the cure now. 

“What would you name the horse?” she asked, trying anything to keep the conversation going. She found she really enjoyed talking to you. 

“Hmmm.” You thought for a minute. “Bowie.” You said, smirking over at her. 

“Bowie?” She asked. 

“Yeah, like David Bowie?” You said, watching as her face contoured into confusion. “Like the singer?” You said in disbelief. 

“Doesn’t ring any bells.” She replied, a blush forming on her face. 

You shook you head, wondering how anyone could not know who David fucking Bowie was. Even through the apocalypse he was an icon. 

“Well then, I have so much to teach you.” You joked. 

She smirked, looking down at her hands. She knew she had some kind of feelings for you but this interaction just confirmed her feelings. She didn’t know what love felt like but she had an idea of what it felt like and it’s what she felt now. She could fall in love with you. 

“Can’t wait.” She said with a smirk, hopping off the windowsill. “Goodnight.”

You watched as she walked away into the darkness, when she was finally out of sight you let out a small sigh. Your stomach did turns and your cheeks hurt from smiling, you’ve never had a crush before. 

You weren’t sure what you felt towards her but you liked the feeling, it felt like what the authors described love in the 19th century. It was no other feeling like it. 

-

-

-

(Credits to gif owner)

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #the last of us #the last of us x reader #tlou ellie #the last of us fanfiction

[demenior]

Dem’s Big Post About The Spn Fics Part 1/2

aka The Wrap Up to celebrate To Exist Again and To Become a Man now being finished!

(This will be a long post. This is your only warning.)

Admittedly this is a bit of a weird thing to be doing, but I wanted to try it out for 3 reasons: 

I love talking about my own work and 

It functions really well as a self-reflective tool for me to improve on, and 

I can answer some big questions people might have because there was a LOT of worldbuilding in these stories. 

We’ll start off with reflective stuff, and move into the juicier world-building focused stuff later into the post. There will be major spoilers for both fics to come!

To begin with a funny anecdote, Why Did I Write These Stories?

I was beginning to write and work out the story that I wanted to write for Spn (what will now be To Destroy a Man. As I was writing the scene, I realized I had a LOT of ideas and while I was trying to avoid as much exposition as I could, it became quickly apparent that I was needing to create my own au (this scene eventually became chapter 34 of To Become a Man). A short prequel seemed like a good idea, to quickly hash out the ‘prior’ events that I needed to go through so all the readers could be on the same page. While plotting out prequel points, I realized Sam and Dean were going to have drastically different experiences during the same time period, and I was trying to figure out who’s pov would be better for which scenes, and how to keep momentum when they’re going through such radically different types of changes. Ultimately I decided to split their povs, which I also thought would be a fun project! And I naively assumed each pov would take about 2 chapters each, rounding out to maybe 15k total.

I had my ending points: Dean n Cas soul-merged and (basically) married, Cas on the lam from heaven and a complete anomaly, and Sam juiced up full of powers and a weird mix of archangel and antichrist but still 100% human and ready to fight God. 

Now I needed to add weight to these changes, so I wrote 200k of build-up.

Am I proud of these fics?

OF COURSE I AM!!! These are the longest fics I’ve ever written AND finished AND in the fastest freakin turnaround ever (both were finished writing, barring edits, in like 6 months holy shit)

I didn’t write a single scene that I “didn’t” want to write. If I had trouble writing it, as in it was fighting me, I scrapped it. Most obviously was the scene in Dean’s pov where he and Sam were intended to meet some other hunters and Dean declines working with them because he’s nervous about being outed as queer. It was meant to be a good scene! I wanted to introduce some new characters! But it just wasn’t working so I said ‘thank you, next!’. 

But it means this story was an absolute joy to write. Because for a while all I was doing was ‘if I wanted to write one scene into supernatural, what would I write?’ and then just DID that!! It’s why there’s a lot of ‘Salmondean do dumb shit or have really dumb heartfelt conversations’ scenes.

Would I change anything?

If I’d been less eager to start sharing, I might have planned out the story beats a little tighter so there were less ‘soft’ chapters and a draw/pull for people to come back and keep reading. I felt Dean’s story specifically lagged at points and could have used some tighter editing (there was a noticeable lull in directed movement between Dean n Cas getting together, until Sam corrupts Amy).

I also probably would have held Sam’s story until I’d finished Dean’s so I could make the two line up better! Probably could have inserted more scenes into Sam’s fic that way, and made sure things were a little more consistent. In an ideal world one concept I had was to release 1 chapter from each pov every week that would correspond to the same time frame so we’d be getting real-time SalmonDean pov narrative. Unfortunately that didn’t work!

The biggest takeaway overall is for me to focus more on what moves the plot, and to make my scenes do more than 1 thing so I can cut down on wordcount and increase my efficiency. 

Of course every writer will find things they want to fix in anything they’ve ever written, so these are minor “mistakes” at best. I’m so dang proud of these fics. 

Onto more interesting things!

How Did I Put These Fics Together (because it’s different than anything I’ve ever done before)

Normally when I write a story, I plan out the beats I need to hit, see where I need to insert any kind of foreshadowing/buildup, and then write from A to B to C and so on and so forth. Hence, this is why I can normally post things as I complete chapters, because it’s all a linear progression. 

For these two stories, rather than linear plot/a normal story structure, I just sat and free-wrote any and every scene that came to mind and then pieced them into a kinda-linear form like putting a quilt together. You’ll note that this is why there’s not a lot of internal callback or a feeling of sense of time flowing within the fic (save for points where I went back and specifically edited it in). How long does the story take place over? Hard to say! Your author has the barest grasp on linear time even on a good day (how many times did I say ‘see you on [wrong day]’ at the end of chapters lmaaoooo)

This also meant EXTENSIVE editing on the back end once I decided in what order I wanted my ‘quilt pieces’ to be. Hard to say if this is a bonus or a negative!

But I did want to try and capture the vibe of the lives they lead, as a bit of a ‘slice of life’-style story, when the slice of life is the profound weirdness of the Winchester roaming life, and how things are status quo- until everyone almost dies oh shit!! And then they have to keep living because no therapy we die/undie like Winchesters. Do I think I captured this effectively? Hmm. Good question. 

Dem where the FUCK did the inspiration for a lot of the magic and creature weirdness even come from?

Honestly? Music, primarily. And completely mishearing lyrics!

Nightwish ‘Ever Dream’: the line is ‘my song can but borrow you grace’ and because my brain is scrambled eggs on a good day, I heard ‘grace’ ‘song’ and ‘borrow’ in that order and have had, for YEARS, the mental image of Cas borrowing Dean’s soul to power himself up for battle.

From there I’ve always been enamored with the ‘wavelength of celestial intent’ descriptor that Cas drops in s6 for “what he is”. 

I also really like ocean metaphors mostly because I’ve been obsessed with the ocean and things in it since I was like… 5??? So really this was me just rolling with what I know lmao. I love using (somewhat) accurate scientific metaphors for very intangible things!

I was also finishing my degree in biology/ecology while writing these fics and I think it shows

Stars ‘The Night Starts Here’ gives us the series title and the fic titles. Except for ‘To Exist Again’. TEA was almost titled ‘The Upwards Fall’ because I wanted all 3 of the Main Stories to have titles from this song, but I couldn’t make anything else work in tandem with the series name ‘The Love It Takes’ while also working for Sam’s personal story. So Sam, as always, is the rebel <3

Stars ‘Up In Our Bedroom, After The War’ is basically the vibes of the whole story. TFW has been, literally, to hell and back!!! There’s a bit of melancholy and sadness, a lingering dark, but the chance of a bright new tomorrow and a soft start.

Let’s Talk About Themes in The Story! What were you looking to accomplish? 

My earliest notes for TFW are, as follows:

Dean’s journey of self-discovery (who am I when I’m not trying to be Dad?)

Dean wants to settle down! He wants a big family! He wants to be domestic!

Basically: Dean doesn’t want to have a short life of hunting. He wants to live!

Dean’s journey of realizing he’s bi, and him accepting that

Dean’s relationship to Sam is both older brother/parent 

And continuing Dean balancing these roles while also letting Sam be an adult 

Dean’s Big Issues/Fears about never being good enough for people to want to stay with him (these are effectively highlighted in that Cas thinks he’s not useful enough to be wanted)

Sub Plot:

Castiel’s autonomy

Cas’ fall from grace, to trying to restore Heaven, to wrecking it further

He’s majorly depressed by the end of s7 (before purgatory)

Wants to stay in Purgatory but doesn’t tell Dean

Remains depressed after leaving, but resolved to keep living on because he’s clearly meant for something

After the seraphim reveal: does he have free will?! How does he grapple with this? How does he live in a way he can be proud of?

And lastly

Sam gets his powers back CAUSE THATS HOT

where tf did they go????

he got them from Lucifer?????

sleeper agent??????

Sam is The Chosen One

Accepts that he is More Than Human and to celebrate all parts of him

Lucifer and Sam friends?? Work together????

Sam needs autonomy in his choices/his life

If you compare these to the overall arc of TFW within the two stories, I think I got a lot of them! But you’ll also note a lot of these things aren’t concrete goals that are easily measurable (ex: Dean wants to learn to bake pie. In chapter 1 he starts a fire in the kitchen. By the end of the story he finally makes A Good Pie.) part of the lack of concrete milestones was why I felt it was important to tell Dean (and Cas’) story by going back to the point they meet, in s4! Dean’s gradual change towards his feelings for Cas, his relationship to Sam (heavily influenced by the s7 events of this fic) and then his own relationship with himself were such slow burns that I felt it would be a disservice to try and cram a change like that into a timeline like “1 year”.

I felt like these subtle changes and adjustments actually felt a lot truer to life-- people often change in very small, gradual ways over time, even without realizing it and often times not consistently! If only we could all gain skills like the sims, where we can easily level up and remain at that high level of performance! 

So the Guy Who Ate Satan, A Celestial Nuke that Developed Sentience, and Dean walk into a bar…

Sam’s story in Spn The Show has always been a ‘chosen one’ kind of narrative. Sam is living with one foot in the realm of the monsters, and I wanted to bring that back full force! It really makes sense for him that he should only continue to grow in power, might, and magic!! As the story progresses.

Cas also got a power up! I do desperately love in the show that he was kind of a grunt/nothing angel, and so even when he defected to TFW he was a huge help for them, but in the scale of things he was an annoying fly to most other angels. It really worked for the underdog story of s4/5. In this I wanted to give him a power up, and originally it was actually going to be close contact with Sam that eventually changed Cas into something unknown (you can still see traces of this in ch34 of TBAM, where Death remarks ‘Castiel could be [Sam’s] first creation’. But for a combo of reasons: how Sam’s magic needed to have intent, the entire concept of free will and consent, and how much I wanted Dean and Cas to have their effect on each other, I decided to go with the route that Cas has actually always been something angel-adjacent rather than becoming something new. TFW/Supernatural has always been about free will and making your own story, so I amplified that with Cas.

Dean has always been A Normal Guy, which is part of the appeal of him and Sam (2 normal dudes!) taking on the Very Not Normal. As explained above, Sam’s story is ‘normal guy finds out he’s the chosen one’ and so, in a story about very large concepts and huge monsters and acts of magic, I felt it was very important to keep Dean as normal as possible. To the point it became a running gag to me, personally, in that ‘no matter what cool shit happens around him, Dean has to stay as Just A Guy’. And it’s a very humanizing role that allows the story to have the scale it does!

What were the most important themes in your story?

Sam’s Autonomy

I wasn’t even going to include the plot about Lucifer’s death in this story— that was going to come up in a later story, actually! And rather than Sam having ate Lucifer, the original idea was that they’d become a SamandLucifer entity (this harkens back to a concept I wanted to write when Swan Song first aired). 

That storyline would have involved a lot of mental ‘Sam and Lucifer discuss what it means to live, which one of them is more worthy of life and if they do deserve to destroy the world for the pain they’ve been forced to go through, just to create the dichotomy of good and evil for everyone else’ discussions. There would be a lot of talk about how Sam hates and fears Lucifer for the pain Lucifer put on Sam, how Lucifer hates Sam because he and Sam are the same but Sam’s brother loves him anyways, etc. 

Ultimately that was scrapped because Sam’s entire story in the show is always about how the world and everyone around him manipulates him and that he never actually gets to make choices about his own life or body that aren’t influenced or part of someone elses’ design. And that always bothered me that Sam was never allowed to be himself without having to be ashamed of it, and I wanted to make sure that Sam’s triumph of being proud of himself/proudly choosing to exist (again) was evident in his story

In the end I needed Sam to have this visceral win over his tormentor. As the story shows, in this case Lucifer was abused and put into a position where he was incapable of empathy and could only express himself in violence. Sam even understands this! But it doesn’t change the fact that Lucifer tortured Sam in unimaginable ways for thousands of years. 

With that in mind I didn’t like the idea of Lucifer and Sam having “co-ownership” of their new identity, so I made the choice that Sam had to be the survivor. This tied in well with Sam’s new crusade to restore free will to the universe, because he’s breaking the narrative of his own story!

While Castiel wasn’t a pov character, his own autonomy and free will was equally as important. You’ll note that many, many paragraphs and conversations revolved around that theme and that in the end Cas followed himself (and love!) which ensured his freedom of self <3

The Brothers are WEIRD PEOPLE!!!! And Codependent to a Worrying Degree, but It’s Also How They Survive

It’s very hard to show “unusual” relationships when you’re writing from the pov of the two people who don’t think there’s anything weird about their relationship. Sure, they say ‘yeah it’s probably weird that we still share a bed’ but that’s kinda more in line with ‘I had a nightmare and I want to be close to the person who makes me feel safe’. Hashtag normalize co-sleeping when you need it!!!

From there I did try to point out how the boys have a weird perception of lifestyle in the little things they did. 

From thrifting everything from clothes to appliances to books (thrifting is a valid lifestyle! It’s incredibly handy when you’re on a budget.) 

To never actually having condiments or knowing how to use a dishwasher cause they’ve lived in a car, a motel room, or squatted in old houses their whole life.

I tried to have them wear each others’ clothes or casually swap things as much as possible. They live out of each others’ pockets!

Also the brothers are just weird people!! It’s hard to show from their pov, cause they don’t know how far off from normal they are, but like…

Everything about Sam and Amelia was NOT right like holy shit those two were wilding in their grief. They are very lucky things worked out for them and that they got to be hashtag Weird Girls together

Dean explicitly, in the story, gets horny after killing stuff!! Violence has done a number on his psyche and he’s gotten some wires crossed that maybe shouldn’t have been, or maybe could be worked out in a safe space but… uh… how likely do we think Dean is gonna go find a safe space to deal with any of his shit???

LOVE!!! Love is truly what this whole story is all about

If you’ve read the stories, you know how much emphasis I put on love. Love is the strongest force in the Spn Universe! It’s what averted the apocalypse and saved the world (Swan Song), it’s what created free will (Cas’ entire arc!) I love love!!!!

I went out of my way to not put any definitions on platonic love vs romantic love because I think love is love is love and how you express that is the difference. Neither is more powerful than the other because LOVE is powerful!! Sam and Cas are the most important people in Dean’s life and he loves them equally! He shows this by giving Cas kisses and stealing Sam’s socks.

It’s a personal pet peeve of mine when I have to hear explanations like ‘I love you, like a brother’ or ‘I love you, but like, as a friend because I’m a lesbian and you’re a man’ etc etc in media. If you have to continuously define how your characters love each other, then I don’t think you’re doing a good job of portraying their relationship. So you’ll see that I never put those parameters in any conversation. Dean DOES muse that he loves Cas differently than he loves Sam or Bobby, specifically because there is a romantic and sexual tone that his feelings for Cas takes, but not because he loves Cas more or less than he loves Sam or Bobby.

Which means, if you haven’t realized it yet, the Series + Fic Titles are meant to be a complete sentence because the power of love IS the thesis of this series:

The Love It Takes To Exist Again (Sam’s journey!)

The Love It Takes To Become a Man (Dean’s journey!)

The Love It Takes To Destroy a Man (TBA)

And now for fun stuff. Behind the scenes!!

What’s Something People Probably Don’t Know?

The demonic fungal/hydrothermal vent growth on Sam’s arm was thrown in literally as I was posting the chapter because I had just finished a 48 hour cram session of writing a report on tube worms for an ecology class (I was chanting my tube worm song as I wrote it) and it ended up being a HUGE hit with both readers and myself. But it was so last minute I had trouble fitting it in more throughout the rest of Sam’s story!

Cas’ orders? That may or may not have bound him to Dean and removed his free will? Were written into Sam’s story and I went ‘oh SHIT that’s compelling’ and then left them there as a ‘guess I’ll figure that out when I get to Dean’s story lol’

Originally Dean and Cas were supposed to get together after having their souls bonded, and have been in a UST limbo the entire time before that. Mostly because I think the entire concept of ‘we just got married of the soul I guess we should try dating?’ is very funny. CLEARLY the two of them were way more eager to fall in love than I anticipated (thank you Cas for your honesty) but you can still see shades of this original idea here and there (especially in ch35 of TBAM)

I never intended Dean and Benny to connect so well!! Benny was going to reunite with Andrea, she was going to live, and they were going to go off into the world and leave the story. And, uh, here we are. I’m still debating if I need to adjust the relationship tag or not haha. Polyamory is fun, especially when I was planning for Sam to be the polyamorous brother...

Speaking of, I can’t believe I forgot about Sam and his sexuality! If I rewrote TEA I would have had Sam contemplate more on his lack of sexual appetite due to trauma, up until he meets Benny and he gets to rediscover how he wants to be a sexual person

Many of Sam and Dean’s absolutely stupid sibling conversations were lifted near-verbatim from conversations I’ve had with my siblings

And lastly...

Dem where’s Kevin????????????? Where is our sweet baby boy????????

He’s SAFE!! He’s in the Hunter pipeline somewhere cause Sam handed him off to Bobby’s people. He and his mom are safe and at some point they probably got rib sigils like SalmonDean did against angels, but for demons. I didn’t have room in this story for him!!! But my baby boy is SAFE and I want to get him back to university because it’s WHAT HE DESERVES!!!!

To that point: god there were/are SO many characters that I just didn’t include in the story so far because I didn’t feel comfortable including them without stalling the story for them. To that point: pretty much everyone who is alive/dead in s8 is that way in this story, except Bobby who gets to live.

[Check Out Part 2 for reader questions!]

#the love it takes series #to exist again fic #to become a man fic #dem speaks

[jungshookz]

I would love a uni!yoongi & y/n drabble💓💜

🌿pairing; min yoongi x reader

🌿genre; uni!yoongi, university!au, fluffy fluffy fluff!!!!!!! uni!yoongi owns my heart and my whole ASS 

🌿wordcount; 2.8k 

🌿what to expect; “and another fun fact! the mistletoe plant actually contains toxic amines, and eating its berries can cause vomiting and stomach pain.”

🌿note; outraGEOUS that a mistletoe emoji has yet to exist!!!! unfortunately i wasn’t able to do a 12 drabbles of christmas this year due to finals but i hope this drabble makes up for it :-) if i’m a little rusty it’s only because this is the first drabble i’ve written in a while,..,,. hopefully i’ll have another drabble up before christmas!!! happy reading :^) 

                                       »»————-　✼　————-««

if yoongi had a dollar for every time he wanted to scream at you for being denser than a block of tofu he would most definitely be a billionaire

he’s had this thought time and time again but he really doesn’t understand how someone so smart can be so dumb at the same time

he could be holding up a flashing neon sign pointing to him that said ‘i 100% like you and am giving you the green light to ask me out so all you have to do is ask!’ and you would still be like .,.,.y’all hear sumn?

anyways he doesn’t have time to think about when you’re finally going to make a move because it’s that time of the semester ladies and gents

yep

it’s finals season

now, traditionally, the way yoongi handles finals season is that he kind of just goes with the flow

as in he goes to the library and studies for two hours and decides that that’s enough time and dedication he’s putting into a particular class so he pretty much deserves the rest of the day off

and this technique has worked ever since his first year in uni so he’s stuck with it ever since

as long as he doesn’t flunk out of anything he’s fine!!!

but since getting to know you yoongi has adopted new techniques into his studying routine that doesn’t just include skimming over poorly taken notes from class for 5 minutes and then scrolling through instagram for 45 minutes and then taking a 2 hour nap

no no

now he has highlighted notes

now he has insanely detailed google docs

now he has flash cards

and not just flash cards

colour coordinated flash cards

crazy, isn’t it???

this is probably your guys’ fifth study session together and yoongi doesn’t want to toot his own horn or anything but he thinks he’s going to absolutely nail this chemistry final

he can tell anyone about the main types of chemical reactions without blinking

that’s how confident he is about his knowledge

and he knoWs it’s all because of you which most certainly doesn’t help him suppress his attraction towards you

how can he noT be attracted to the person who’s bumping up his GPA??

but yes

yoongi is confident and he feels like he doesn’t need to go over what synthesis reactions are for the tenth time in a row

(also he forget a stack of flash cards at home that u reminded him three times to bring with him today to which he responded with ‘i’m NOT going to forget them just relax’ and he’s hoping u forgot about them because you don’t play around when it comes to flash cards)

he wants this study session to be a little more lax

a little more chill

a little less conversation and a little more ACTION (but not in,.,. not in a pervy way or anything)

yoongi decided to bring a little special something just to make things a little more interesting aND to celebrate the holidays!!

he’s being festive!!

he even taped strips of jingle bells to the edges of his skateboard :-)

“okay, hydrogen bonds.” you flip your notebook onto its front before whipping around and letting out a breath “hydrogen forms hydrogen bonds with three elements. hydrogen is fun. hydrogen is fOn. hydrogen forms hydrogen bonds with fluorine, oxygen, and nitrogen.”

…yeah that sounds right

you turn back around and flip over your notebook before quickly searching for your notes

aH

yes!!!! you got it!!!! hydrogen is FON!!!! hyDRoGEN iS FON!!!!!

“up top, y/l/n!” you grin widely before giving yourself a high five

niCE

“just when i thought you couldn’t get any weirder.” you jump three feet into the air when you hear yoongi speak up and you let out a breath before placing a hand on your chest

“yoongi!” you clear your throat and lean back against the table a little bit

you’re just going to play it off as if you didn’t just tell yourself to give yourself a high five

“what, uh, what took you so long?”

yoongi raises a brow before checking the time on his phone “i’m three minutes early.”

you turn back a little to look at the time on your laptop

huh

would you look at that

yoongi is early

and of course you’re here before scheduled because of who you are as a person

“…well, what are you doing just standing there? let’s get to work!!” you clap your hands together before looking at yoongi expectantly and gesturing for him to take a seat

“just so that you’re aware, i’m pretty sure i know more about the different types of chemical reactions than you.”

you raise a brow before crossing your arms

that is certainly a vEry bold statement because you could talk about the different types of chemical reaction for hours and hours on end

“oh, really?” you scoff playfully as you turn to wipe down the whiteboard

you’ve been tutoring yoongi for the past couple of weeks without expecting anything in return

honestly it’s just fun to ramble on and on about something that you’re confident about aNd it’s fun to see the panic in his eyes when you ask him a question about what you just talked about

and!!!! teaching someone else about the thing that you have to review yourself is actually a pretty effective studying strategy

you tried the practice test the other night and you got 98% so it’s safe to say you’re going to make this final exam your biTCH-

“yep.” yoongi sighs and leans back against his chair “in fact, i bet you that i’ll get every single one of your questions right this session.”

“what happens if you don’t?”

“if i get even one question wrong, i will… play one of your dumb studying games.”

your eyes widen in excitement

“charades for chemists??” (an exciting upgrade from the original version of charades)

((u have to try to act out a reaction))  

((it’s a lot more exciting than it sounds))

“but if i get every single one of your questions right, you’ll have to play one of my games.”

“…what kind of game?”

“you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” yoongi smiles sweetly “it’s nothing like your dumb charades game, i can tell you that.”

you narrow your eyes suspiciously and yoongi shrugs

there’s no way he’d be able to get all of your questions right

obviously it’d be great if he got all of them right because that means these tutoring sessions are actually working but then again it’s yoongi

yoongi who uses pipettes to squeeze tiny spurts of air in your face just because ‘it’s fun!!’

yoongi who has the balls to juggle glass beakers in the middle of a lab in front of the professor

it’s yoongi

of course the idiotic things he does in class doesn’t exactly correlate to his intelligence

he actually did pretty well on the last lab report

“you have three seconds to decide if you wanna do this or not otherwise the offer’s off the table.” yoongi waves a hand in front of your face and you straighten up a little before sticking your hand out for him to shake

“alright, min yoongi. game on.”

the corner of yoongi’s mouth twitches in a devilish smile

honey, you’ve got a big storm coming.

you flip your notebook open to the page where you have a bunch of practice questions written down and you skim the list

alright

you’ll throw yoongi a bone

“we’ll start off easy. what’s the difference between exothermic and endothermic reaction-“

“endothermic takes in energy - for example, ice melting - and exothermic gives off heat - for example, lighting a match.” yoongi answers without blinking

…

o

okay

that answer was word for word what you have written down in your notes

you should probably reconsider the whole throwing a bone thing

if anything u should probably take a couple bones away from yoongi

your competitive streak immediately kicks in once you realise the score board is 1-0 and you’re on the 0 end

“what does synthesis gas consist of?” you raise a brow

“before i answer that - you forgot to add a tally under my name.” yoongi points to the whiteboard and you kiss your teeth before whipping around and begrudgingly drawing a tally on the scoreboard “good girl.”

(you’ll never admit to him that hearing him call you that made your stomach do a little flip)

“answer the question.”

“synthesis gas is a fuel gas mixture consisting of hydrogen, carbon monoxide, and carbon dioxide. it intermediates in creating synthetic natural gas and for producing ammonia or methanol.”

.,,.,.and that’s 2-0 to yoongi

what in the hELL is going on

u know what

it’s fine!

it’s fine

maybe he’s just having a lucky day

all he has to do is screw up once

“-due to the conjugation double bond character in alkyl halide.” the fact that yoongi’s inspecting his nails as he answers your final question is oddly vERy irritating

you can’t believe it

yoongi got all 10 of your veRy tricky questions right

you should be proud because it’s because of you that he knows that he’s talking about but at the same time you didn’t think you were doing thAt great of a job at teaching him!!!!

but you’re looking at the scoreboard and it’s 10-0

there are 0 tallies under your name!!! ZERO!!! under youR NAME!!!

and now you have to play yOOngi’s dumb game instead of charades for chemists

if anything it’s his loss

“i told you you have to close your eyes to play my game.” yoongi reaches over to shut your notebook after he catches you glancing at it (to make sure he actually got the answers right and you didn’t misread anything) for the fifth time in two minutes

you have to accept defeat whether you like it or not

you let out a sigh before crossing your arms and shutting your eyes “what are the rules of this game? how does one win?”

“i’m going to show you something-“ you hear yoongi unzip his backpack “and you have to identify what it is and tell me what its purpose is within 30 seconds.”

huh

sounds easy enough

“so i win just by doing that?” your brows furrow and you resist the urge to open your eyes

“i guess you could say that.” you hear yoongi’s footsteps against the carpet and you freeze when you feel him standing right in front of you

“alright, open your eyes.” you immediately open them and-

“so, tell me, y/n-” yoongi lets out a sigh before glancing up at the mistletoe that he’s holding up in between the two of you “what do we have here?”

you swallow thickly and keep your eyes glued on the mistletoe

u know what that is

and u know what its purpose is

you could easily win this game right here and now so u don’t know what’s stopping you

you can feel yoongi staring at you and you know that if you make eye contact with him right now you will definitely combuST into flames

“that’s, um, well, i’m not a, uh, i’m not a botanist or anything, but that is a… that’s mistletoe.” you clear your throat “that is… mistletoe.”

“uh-huh. and, remind me again - isn’t mistletoe particularly special this time of the year?” yoongi hums and takes a step closer to you

you jump a little when you feel the bottom of the whiteboard dig into the small of your back

the little metal tray holding the whiteboard markers clatters a marker plops to the ground but you’ll deal with that later

because now it’s time to do what you do best

D E F L E C T

“mistletoe are actually hemiparasitic plants in which they kinda just suck water and nutrients from their host tress. did you know that?”

yoongi resists the urge to roll his eyes

he knows exactly what you’re doing (out of nervous habit) but for your sake he’ll play along

“oh yeah?”

“yep. and another fun fact! the mistletoe plant actually contains toxic amines, and eating its berries can cause vomiting and stomach pain.”

“…didn’t you say you weren’t a botanist-”  

“-but if we’re talking about its relevance to the christmas holidays, then… well, traditionally, people, um, people… kiss underneath them.” you finish quietly and your eyes instinctively flicker down to yoongi’s pouty lips

“i like you a lot, y/n.” yoongi breathes out and you feel your heart hiccup

your cheeks flush and you feel the heat rushing up to your ears

o god

a couple seconds of silence goes by and you wonder if yoongi can hear your heart pounding in your chest

“if you don’t feel the same way, i-“

“i like you too.” you murmur shyly and yoongi lets out what sounds like a breath of relief

before he gets the chance to roAST you for taking so long to finally admit it to him, you’re pushing your lips against his in a gentle kiss with your hand pressed against his cheek

it takes yoongi a second to register that you initiated a kiss with him but once his brain catches up to his body, he starts kissing you back

a smile tugs at his mouth when you take a step closer to him and he automatically loops an arm around your waist before carelessly tossing the mistletoe aside

yoongi tilts his head as he deepens the kiss and the quiet ‘fuck’ he lets out when you nip at his bottom lip almost immediately makes you lightheaded

it’s when you’re reminded that literally anyone passing by the room would be able to see you through the glass door that you drag yourself away (reluctantly) and yoongi unintentionally lets out a whine

“so did i win?” your cheeks are still rosy and your heart is still racing but you’re trying to play it off as if you’re totally cool about kissing yoongi and that you’re totally cool about the mutual attraction between the two of you but that fact that you’re kinda bouncing on the balls of your feet like an excited child is probably not helping your case

and yoongi’s smiling so widely his cheeks are starting to hurt but it’s totally worth it

:-) !!!!

“you won but i’m still marking you down for killing the mood by talking about vomiting and stomach pain.”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

drabble tag

#requested drabbles #uni!yoongi #uni!yoongi drabbles #yoongi drabbles #min yoongi #bts drabbles #bts au #yoongi au #bts fics #bts fic recs #yoongi fics #yoongi fic recs #yoongi fluff #yoongi fluff recs #yoongi smut #yoongi smut recs #yoongi x reader #bts #yoongi #suga #bts yoongi #min yoongi drabbles #yoongi headcanons #bts headcanons

[trashyswitch]

Roman's Spa Day

Roman has been overworking Thomas lately. So, the main sides decide to give Roman a spa day to relax him. But, THIS spa day has a secret twist mixed in...

I'm on time again! And I'm mostly caught up on my college courses! *Snoopy dances* Look at me go!

Here's Tickletober Day 16: Massage

Roman has been overworking himself ever since Thomas voiced the Throat-Lobster in Phineas & Ferb: Candace Against The Universe. Roman had been making Thomas work his butt off for the audition and the voice recording, and was so proud when Thomas took his improv advice! Even though meeting the voice of Dr. Doofenshmirtz was an amazing experience, Roman had been overwhelming Thomas as of late.

Finally, enough was enough. Patton, Logan and Virgil were all very annoyed, yet very worried about him. So, the sides had a quick meeting to determine how to help the poor creative side simmer down and take a break. By the time the meeting was over, all 3 sides knew exactly what to do: they were going to set up a spa day for him. Only this time, there was going to be a little twist added to it...

Patton offered to be the blind-folder and the usher for Roman. So, that meant he needed to guide the blind Roman along to every single room that was needed for the spa day. Roman was sitting at a desk, writing down something in a bright red journal. At first glance, it didn’t even look like Roman at all! It looked like Logan, if he chose to wear red that day! Patton walked into the room, and frowned upon seeing the state Roman was in. His posture was off, he had bags under his eyes, his hair was a filthy mess, and his desk was covered with props and scripts. Patton sighed and pulled out the blindfold he was gonna use. Nervous he was gonna make Roman angry for doing this, Patton gave himself a Hunger Games good luck salute before taking on the actor.

Patton wrapped the blindfold around his head super quickly and tied it into a knot. “WHAT THE- HEY! INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER- HAHA! HEHEHEHEY!” Roman shouted. Patton had quickly started tickling him to get him kneeling on the ground and double-checked his blindfold knot. “WHOHohoho...Who’s there? Who DARE FIGHT THE GREAT ROMAN?!” Roman shouted, reaching for his sword. But...his sword wasn’t in its usual spot! Not only that, but the entire belt was missing! “Hey! My sword! Give me back my be-”

Patton quickly covered up his mouth with his hand, and curved it so Roman couldn’t bite his hand. “Shhhh...Calm down Ro.” Patton ordered. “It’s just me: Patton.” he told him.

“How do I know it’s you, and not Janus faking it?” Roman asked.

Patton smirked. “Would Janus know that THIS tickle spot exists?” Patton asked as he lightly tickled his chin.

Roman snorted and squealed in surprise, before kitty fighting the fingers in front of him. “Ohokay. Good point.” Roman mentioned, before reaching out for his hand. Patton brought his hand to Roman’s so he could grab it, and lifted him up. “You ready for the time of your life?” Patton asked.

Roman’s giddy smile dropped slightly. “For what? Why did you blindfold me? What’s going on?” Roman asked. Patton only led him through Roman’s door frame and out to the hallway. “And where are you taking me?” Roman asked.

Patton smiled. “To the living room!” Patton replied.

“That’s it?” Roman asked as he pulled the blindfold off. “Why did you blindfold me just fo-” Patton took the blindfold from Roman’s hand and tied it back on. “It’s a surprise.” Patton replied as he tightened the knot on the back.

“Oooh.” Roman reacted. “Is there a pinata?” Roman asked eagerly.

Patton giggled. “Nope.” he replied.

“Oh. A sword fight?” Roman asked.

Patton smiled. “You’ll see…” he replied.

“Oooooh!” Roman reacted, clapping his hands as he was pushed into a tent entrance by Patton. Roman threw his arms up in front of him, and seemed to relax when Patton gave him his arm to hold onto again.

“Here you go.” Patton offered, pulling a chair out and gently sitting the man down. “There.” Patton muttered as he removed Roman’s blindfold.

“Well...I will admit that I never imagined Patton to go for the blindfolding method.” Logan told Roman.

Roman took one look at Logan and bursted out laughing. Logan was dressed as a cross between a wizard and a fortune teller. “Hello Roman. I am going to be your fortune teller.” Logan said calmly, despite being laughed at by his customer. “And despite what you may believe, I have had plenty of practice on multiple other folks. So as long as you stay still, I will be able to read your palm.” Logan explained.

Roman finally managed to stop laughing and calm himself down. “May I have your right hand please?” Logan ordered politely. Roman nodded and gave him his right palm. Logan read the palm carefully and started to focus on the 3 lines on the hand palm. “Hmm...Artistic and adventurous.” Logan told him. Logan smiled as he read the second palm line. “A sensitive soul with an appreciation for literature and fantasy.” Logan explained.

Roman chuckled. “Well, of course you said that. You’ve known me for years.” Roman mentioned, not really believing in the art of palm reading.

Logan continued to read his plan despite the judgements from Roman and read the third line. “Wow! A positive person!” Logan told him. Roman smiled and placed his left hand on his chest.

“Awww! Thank you!” Roman replied.

Logan smiled and looked closer as he slowly drew the line of fate out with his pencil. “A successful life up ahead.” Logan told him.

Roman snorted. “I wish…” Roman reacted.

Logan frowned slightly as he read the palm. He wasn’t believing much of what he was saying. So, he decided to start purposefully poking and drawing out the palm lines to create feeling. “Patient, hard-working and practical, I see…” Logan added, focusing on the Mount of Saturn. “You’re also energetic, creative, and passionate! A good set of traits.” Logan added, drawing circles around the Apollo mount on his hand. Roman started to cover his mouth a little as the need to giggle and smile awkwardly, started to take over. The movements Logan was doing, were starting to tickle him and make him all giggly.

Logan noticed this, and continued his actions. “And...Wow! You have the water hand! Oval palms,” Logan started drawing his finger on the outside of his palm. “And long flexible fingers!” Logan drew down his fingers with his index finger one by one. Roman finally let out an uncontrollable, small giggle.

Logan smirked. “And of course:” Logan lightly grabbed his wrist with his non-dominant hand and started skittering his index and middle finger on the palm of Roman’s hand. “Sensitive palms!” Logan teased as he tickled his palms.

Roman giggled at the teases and rested his forehead on his arm as he giggled and snorted. Sensitive? More like a giggle spot. “Ohohokahay. Thahahank yohohou Lohohogan.” Roman attempted to tug his hand back. But of course, Logan had Roman’s ticklish palm right in his own and was taking advantage of the cute ticklish spot. “Lohohogahahahan! Lehehet gohohohohoho!” Roman begged through his giggles and snorts. Logan smiled, fluttered his fingers one more time and let go of his wrist. Roman brought his palm against his chest and scratched it to get the ticklish sensations to leave him. “Ehevil. Evil fortune man!” Roman accused, sticking his tongue out.

Logan smirked and stuck his tongue out right back at him.

“Enjoy your appointment.” Logan said with a smile.

“Appointment?!” Roman reacted, before his eyes were blindfolded again. “HEy! What’s up with all the blindfolding?!” Roman asked.

Patton giggled. “It’s to keep you on your ‘toes’, silly!” Patton said with a wink towards Logan. Logan gagged, but sent him the thumbs up back. “Don’t you trust me?” Patton asked.

Roman guffawed. “With how you blindfolded me earlier, not really.” Roman replied. Patton did the puppy eyes at Roman and stuck his bottom lip out in mock sadness. “Awww…Patty is sad now, UwU.” Patton whined in a high-pitched furry voice. Roman giggled and felt around for Patton’s side, before squeezing his side in revenge. Patton squeaked and pushed his shoulder, causing Roman to laugh out loud.

With that, Patton and Roman were off to the next room! Patton led Roman down a few hallways, and into a bedroom ready all ready for him! “We’re here!” Patton greeted as he entered. Patton sat Roman down, turned his chair around a little and removed the blindfold. Roman took a moment to look around and smiled as he realized this was Virgil’s room! Only this time, there was a table with multiple tools and items on it.

“Hi Roman.” Virgil greeted on the other side of the table. Roman giggled and clapped his hands. “Sweet! I’ve been eager for a manicure!” Roman reacted as he placed his hands on the table, separated and ready.

Virgil started off by examining his nails and clipping them into shape. He clipped them in a curved motion, and carefully filed them into the curvy shaped they were gonna be. Virgil aimed for oval-shaped nails for this part, and took a bit of extra time to make sure they were as identical as he could make them. Next, Virgil grabbed two big bowls from underneath the table and put a bit of gentle shampoo into the bottom of the empty bowls. Next, Virgil grabbed a kettle off the heating item and poured the water into both bowls, allowing the soap to bubble up a bit. With one quick temperature test, Virgil placed the bowls into the correct spots and signalled for Roman to insert his nails and his feet into the bowls.

Roman slowly put his hands in, but quickly put the rest of his hands in the water. With his feet, he put them in almost right away. Roman let out a full sigh of relief upon feeling the warm temperature of the water. “Feeling relaxed, Princey?” Virgil asked.

Roman nodded. “Mm hmm…” Roman replied.

When the water time on the fingers were done, Virgil let Roman remove his hands before gently patting them with a towel. While Virgil did this, Patton moved the table away and started working on Roman’s feet. Roman rested his dried hands onto the armrests that were beside him and let Virgil work on his manicure, while Patton removed one foot at a time, placed the exfoliating cream onto his feet and started rubbing and exfoliating his foot.

While the manicure was amazing and very relaxing, the pedicure was a bit...ticklish... -Okay, a lot ticklish. Roman was biting his lip through the whole exfoliating process due to the crystals in the formula tickling and lightly scratching his entire foot wherever Patton’s palms massaged. It tickled a lot, and made him giggle a little despite his attempts to keep it in.

Patton couldn’t help but giggle at this as well. “Ticklish?” Patton asked. Roman bit his lip harder and nodded his head. “Y-Yeah...a bihit.” Roman replied.

Patton finally placed his exfoliated feet back into the water and washed his feet off. Roman finally took the moment to relax while the exfoliating crystals slid off his ankles and disintegrated into the water. Roman’s foot was soon removed and patted down with a towel. After placing it down, Roman’s other foot was removed, patted down with a towel and placed aside. After that, Patton put some cream onto his hands and started massaging his foot. With the feeling of Patton’s massaging palm, Roman started to relax more and more. Patton brought the cream up his ankles as well, and up the lower calf. As Patton started to gently massage the top of Roman’s foot with his fingers, he smirked as he heard slight giggles form Roman again.

Patton looked up at Roman with a starry glint in his eyes, and snuck a couple tickles under his foot. Roman’s foot twitched and he let out a titter. “Pahahat, cahaharefuhuhul!” Roman ordered.

“Awww! The poor prince is too ticklish for massages! It would be rude if I were to…” Patton started skittering his fingers under his toes.

Roman snorted and threw his head back with newfound laughter. “NAHAHAHA! PAHAHAHAT! CAHAHAHAREFUHUHUHUL!” Roman begged. Virgil smiled and nodded for Patton to keep going. Patton’s smirk grew wider as he flattened Roman’s foot and scratched on Roman’s inner arch. “NohoHOHOHOHO! NAHAHAT THEHEHERE! GAAHAHAHAHAHA!” Roman laughed helplessly.

Patton smiled innocently. “Your laugh is so cute, Ro-Ro!” Patton complimented as he moved to the ball of Roman’s foot.

Roman squeaked as his laughter went up about 3 octaves into high-pitched giggles. “Ihihihihi’m toohohoho tihihihicklihihihish thehehehere!” Roman told him.

“Oh, you think this is bad? I haven’t even started massaging the middle of your foot!” Patton reacted.

Suddenly, Patton pushed his flattened thumbs into the middle of Roman’s inner and outer arch.

Roman wheezed and threw his head back as fits of cackles left his throat. Roman took in a big breath and- “OHOHO GAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHEEL! NOHOHO HEEEEEHEHEHEHEEL!” Roman shrieked and laughed himself silly.

Patton giggled and laughed along with him as he enjoyed the sound of Roman’s contagious laughter. Despite the ticklish feeling and wiggly reactions, Virgil was still capable of painting all 10 of Roman’s nails almost perfectly! As Patton slowed his tickling down and gave Roman some time to breath, Virgil let the right nails dry and started putting pretty silver jewels on Roman’s left hand’s nails as decoration.

Patton’s ticklish endeavor soon returned to actual foot grooming. To finish it all off, Patton put some clear polish onto his nails and put tiny little glitter dots onto Roman’s toes to replicate the design Virgil created on Roman’s fingernails. When those were done, Patton gently started clearing the polish and bowls off the table while Virgil put his own polish, cream and tweezers away. As Roman gained his breath back, he looked at Virgil and Patton’s handiwork:

Virgil had given him oval, bright red nails with silver sticky gems curving the side of his nails! It was so pretty!

And Patton had gotten a bit more natural, and simply did more of a massage then a pedicure. He had put finishing polish on his toenails, and placed sparkly dots on the side of his nails, similarly to his fingernails!

“Wow! I am impressed, you two! Thank you!” Roman reacted happily.

“No problem.” Virgil replied.

“You’re welcome, Ro!” Patton replied happily. “And now, one more thing!” Patton declared. Roman beamed in excitement and got up off the chair.

Surprisingly, Patton didn’t put a blindfold on him this time! He just grabbed Roman’s soft wrist and led him to his own room. Patton’s room had a massage bed in it, with blankets, creams and heating pads. “Okay. I’d like you to take your shirt off, show off those abs of yours!” Patton said, pausing to poke one of Roman’s abs. Roman doubled over and giggled in surprise before he removed his shirt. “Now please lay down, and relax.” Patton told him politely as he started up some piano music from a radio. Roman laid down on the massage bed like he was told and let out a big breath of relief, while Patton got started almost right away:

Patton started off with some simple back rubs to loosen him up and keep him relaxed. Patton started rubbing his back muscles somewhat quickly, but softly. He moved up the back, down the back, and out to the sides. He did practically every hand movement possible, right onto Roman’s back. But whether it was actually a back technique or an improvised session from Patton, Roman couldn’t tell you. What he could admit however, was just how nice it felt.

...And then Patton started tapping his fingers lightly on his upper back.

“Hehe...Hehehehehe! Pahahat, thahahat tihihicklehes!” Roman reacted.

He should’ve known this was gonna happen! Considering how often tickling showed up in the entire experience, he should’ve been able to predict Patton’s movements from calming to ticklish. But, here he was: giggling under the fingers of Patton again.

“I call these...the sprinkle fingers. Doesn’t it feel like hundreds and hundreds of sprinkles are falling on your back?” Patton asked as he continued the 4-finger tapping.

Roman’s giggles got more and more frequent the lower Patton went. “Ihihihit feheheels like- TihihickLISH RAHAhahaindrohohohops!” Roman replied.

“Oooooh...that’s a good idea.” Patton replied.

Then, Patton started swaying his hands back and forth across his back. “This movement reminds me of fluffy icing being lathered and smoothed onto the top of a cake.” Patton told him softly as he continued the back and forth hand movements. He was moving both his hands around like a pair of icing spatulas. It felt amazing, and a lot more relaxing than the ‘sprinkle fingers’.

Patton smiled and continued the technique, before moving onto something new: Patton started walking his index and middle finger backwards from the top right side of the back, to the bottom. “I call this...the tiny moonwalk.” Patton told him.

Roman snickered at both the ticklish feeling from his fingers, and at the name of the silly technique. It tickled a lot, and made him shiver and giggle. “Nohohoho mohohoonwahalks plehehehease. Tohoho tihihicklihihish.” Roman ordered. Patton slightly frowned in disappointment, but dropped the negative attitude as he came up with a new technique:

Patton started rubbing and smoothening the top of Roman’s back with his fingers alone. He lifted his fingers off the skin, moved his hands down, lowered his fingers and started massaging again. He repeated this rubbing process all the way down his back, and even continued it up his back. Roman seemed to enjoy the feeling at first. But the piano silence quickly filled with giggles and laughter as the technique reached Roman’s lower back. Roman’s back was the most ticklish part on his body, that not even massouses can continue massaging him without causing some ticklish laughter.

Patton smiled at this adorable fact. “Say...How would you feel about a mini massager?” Patton asked.

Despite being tired, Roman’s eyes widened in horror as his imagination overwhelmed him with how ticklish that would be!

Suddenly, a vibrating sound could be heard, which only worsened his imaginative thoughts! “This mini massager is shaped like a turtle!” Patton reacted before placing the mini massager’s legs onto the small of Roman’s back.

Roman let out a surprised squeal! “aaAAAAHAHAHAHA! PAHAHAHAT NOOOOHOHOHOHO!” Roman begged.

Patton let out an almost evil giggle as he moved the massager around. “Patton YES!” he replied as he moved the massager up and down his lower back.

Roman wiggled around and laughed hysterically at the super ticklish massages! Oh gosh! It was so ticklish! He couldn’t believe just how ticklish a simple battery-charged mini massager could be! It was nuts! Roman laughed and snorted into his arms in ticklish excitement. This was both torturous, yet unbelievably fun! If there’s one thing Patton nailed, it was the inability to get bored during the massage! Who in the world could get bored when your back was being tickled to pieces by a turtle designed mini massager?!

Patton continued this ticklish technique for a good 10 more minutes before turning the massager off and rubbing away the ghost tickles. Patton softly resumed the icing-spreading technique he used earlier, to calm Roman down and let him breath.

The rest of the massage was a mix of feather light tickling, careful rubbing, and even massaging of the back ribs. Roman’s reactions often went from relaxed, to laughing, back to relaxed. There was no in between for Roman! It either tickled, or it felt good! That was the spectrum.

After the entire spa day, Roman could proudly say he feels a lot more at ease and relaxed. He could even say he feels an extra hint of giddy and giggly! Thomas could not believe the difference the sides were capable of creating on Roman. A spa day was exactly what Roman needed to relax and reward himself for the creativity he’s come up with.

#ticklefic #massage #ler!logan #ler!patton #lee!roman #roman needs a break

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Ma'am- how dares thou leave us off on a cliffhanger for both Empires on the Horizon and Kingdom Collisions V >:L I demand to know whats going to happen next!! (also take your time to write them lol )

Ah my friend you are right I am sorry for being so rude😭👀here's a Kingdom Collisions update. Please forgive me?🥺

Y’all know the drill by now. This is a fic i’m writing to try incorporate more descriptions into my writing. I do not have pre-written chapters so we’re both lost on what comes next or when the next update will be?! Please enjoy!

masterlist

TW: Suicide mention

Kingdom Collisions VI

Once upon a time in a land known for water and jewels there lived a young boy. He had skin the colour of soil and eyes the colour of oceans and were your gaze to ever fall upon this little figure you knew the earth was created just for him. The boy lived in a white-stone castle, surrounded by guards in clanking silver armour and blue-feathered helmets. Swords gleamed with their newness. They are decoration, a rite of passage. They only reflect the water. Children darted between their legs as they swoppeed shifts and if you looked closely the boy was often one of them. The castle stood proud and tranquil in the kingdom and gave the people hope.

If the white walls stand tall the queen will rise above all. 

A piece of poetry long since washed away.That single line ran through the city streets like rain water. Ran into people's homes, and under the wheels of rumbling cars. Generations had forgotten the poem to time but that line for it's power and rhyme had weathered the changing tides. If you listened closely the trees still knew the words. But nobody ever heard. The world was too busy and the day too new to remember what it was like to become one with evergreens.

Percy Jackson wakes up with a gasp, heart beating like conga drums. His fingers curl into his chest, leaving red marks as he winces sleep away. The world is still pitch black; stars hidden behind a blanket of storms. He wonders if they find comfort wrapped in the clouds. If those white puffs feel as soft as they look. Sleep is faraway, a distant friend stuck at a cold airport terminal. So he drifts to the window, ignoring the wind prickling his skin and sits down at the bench. The chiffon curtains rustle softly, talking to him in a language he hasn't quite yet learned. He knows they're saying something important. They must be if they brush against his legs every few minutes. Everyone is always trying to tell him something important. Something life changing and groundbreaking. He wishes he could pause time for a little while. Stroll through the gardens and into the ocean without anybody running after him.

The curtain drifts towards him again and he sighs as if the universe has made him designated driver. An unwanted, unwilling task.

Somewhere a bird caws and he snorts softly, "Okay, okay. I'm handling it."

He let's the sounds of the wind take him through the endless corridors, let's it carry him like a dying flower, like autumn leaves, like bonfire embers. The stone floor is cold under his bare feet and his body is littered with bumps. He misses the warmth of his castle. Misses the warmth of the hearth in every room and the smell of the sea that drifts in through open windows. Mostly, especially, he misses his mom. There is something distinctly missing from the Castle of Caelum. He hasn't quite put his finger on it but it doesn't feel right.

He doesn't have time to delve into that thought because all at once everything goes quiet. A large door looms before him.

"So this is it huh?" His voice is soft, afraid to disrupt the silence.

Taking a deep breath, filling up his lungs with the air of the Kingdom of Wind, he knocks on the wood. It is gentle and solitary and he's almost certain no-one heard it but his ears perk up anyway. He knows you can't pick up footfalls on stone but it doesn't stop his heart from racing in anticipation. The door opens with a soft click and tired eyes look at him.

"Percy," Jason's voice is raspy with crying and his heart shatters.

"Hey, can I come in?"

The blonde looks at him, brows furrowed and tear stains carved into his cheeks. Percy can see the tiredness in the prince's bones, like x-rays of exhaustion. He's about to say nevermind, about to walk away, walk past his own chambers and into the lifeless night. But the Prince nods once and moves aside.

He feels almost disappointed that he couldn't escape. Disappointed he couldn't just go back and never return. His mother's voice flitters into his head.

When your people are suffering you must lie down with them and ask them to tell you their story.

Why mom?

Because little one when the time comes you will know what to do.

How momma?

We are made of stories little one. We are made of all the things people tell us. Our dreams and hopes and memories are just threads in a tapestry and every person is connected to it.

I don't understand momma?

She smiled at him, perfect white teeth and dark blue eyes: When you think of me little one, what comes to mind?

Ten year old Percy frowned, Chocolate chip cookies, and your bedtime tales, and the beach, and hugs.

And what do you think about Grover?

Percy's green eyes had lit up like the sun: Play time and movies and ice-cream!

She laughed: And what about Dad?

His little brows furrowed: Fancy clothes and swords and paper and cuddles.

And Princess Piper?

His nose scrunched up: Cooties! He squealed and then he was running around the room; the world a flowing river, him a little fish learning its current.

You see little one, you didn't think about bones or skin or blood. You thought of memories and stories. Do you understand now?

He nodded as he scrambled into her lap: I think so momma. So if my people tell me who they are I can use their stories to help them when they're sore?

Almost little one. Half of hurt is because nobody listens. If you just listen to what your people are saying they will not hurt so much.

Is that because we have to tell our stories momma?

"Exactly. That is how we live. And live on."

Prince Perseus Jackson takes a deep breath and steps into the room. Immediately he can feel the icy wind, so much colder up here, stinging his bare arms, chest, legs. Save for the small silk boxers covering his most sensitive parts his body is exposed to the brutal temperatures and he cannot hide a shiver as he settles on the couch. The fire has died long ago, maybe not even put on for the night, if the grey ashes and lack of heat are indication enough.

"What are you doing here?" The blonde prince looks at him.

"The curtains told me to come."

"What?" He can hear the confusion, but more than that the weight of a thousand heartaches.

He wonders if every person who has their heartbroken feels like they're the first to ever go through it. If that feeling is so perfectly human it feels unique and special to each one.

"Sometimes the world talks to me and sometimes I listen."

"I don't really know what game you're playing but I'm not in the mood so if it isn't an emergency," Those eyes are ice blue, "And I honestly wouldn't care even if it was, please get out."

"I cannot." He shrugs and pulls a velvet blanket over him.

"I'd appreciate," Jason's teeth grit, "If you respected my boundaries enough to leave. I am not in the mood."

"The window is open, there is paper sitting on the desk and many crumpled pieces on the floor, and I can see you haven't even sat on your bed, never-mind slept in it. What do you plan to do Grace?"

"You know what." That voice is hard, malicious with fear, pain.

"I will not leave. And you will not either. You can sit there on your bed hating me till the sun graces us once more. You can punch me until I am the same colour as the dusk but I am not leaving."

"I hate you. Leave me alone." He can hear the tears hit the cold stone. He doesn't react. A shadow blocks the moonlight finally peaking through the clouds.

"I said leave me the fuck alone!"

"I cannot do that Prince."

"Don’t call me that." He snaps, pushing his face into Percy's, "Go away! I want to be alone."

"I can't Jason,"

"JUST LEAVE!" Golden fists pound at his chest, droplets of salt soaking into his skin, as if trying to wash away the bruising.

He grabs his husband's hands gently and pulls him to the couch.

"I'm not going to leave you."

"They all left." Jason gasps, "They left. HE LEFT!"

The scream draws blood from his ears, pulls oxygen from his veins.

"I'm here. I'm not leaving. I am here."

"Please," Sobs wrack that broken body, and Percy can feel the first cracks in a kingdom. "Please don't leave me. Please, please please."

He rubs his hand over a shaking back and mutters over and over again, "I will not leave you."

Prince Jason Grace cries a new ocean and he names it after the fire that caused it. When the sun peaks over the horizon, fracturing a wall of crystal, and attempting to warm those cold grey stones, Percy Jackson takes his husband to bed and ignores the fissures running under his feet.

Once upon a time in a kingdom known for storms and gold there lived a little boy. He had eyes of lightning and skin the colour of sunlight and if you ever caught a glimpse of him you knew only the darkest nights could ever produce something so beautiful. The guards are bathed in riches, weighed down by diamonds cut from dreams and earrings weighted with the pureness of gold. Swords are varied and prized. Bred for fodder. Used at will. He lived in a castle made of grey stone and it loomed over the kingdom like a black cloud. The people looked at it and shied away. For they too had a poem about their crown but they remembered every line. 

Those who fell under the shadow of stone were sure to be left to ruin by their king and cursed forever alone. A young boy with hair spun from starlight is trapped inside. Who will save him if he cannot hide?

Forgetting was a death warrant.

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

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

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@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@leydiangelo

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#Kingdom Collisions #Part 6 #Baby fanfic #Baby fanfic series #PJSSG fanfic #PJSSG series #Jercy #Jercy royalty AU #Royal jercy #Jason grace #Percy Jackson #PJSSG asks #Ciara's Convos #She speaks #This ask made me so happy!!! #Thank you for being invested #don't ask me what direction this is supposed to be going in becaue i have zero ideas #we just vibing #it be like this sometimes

[agustdomain]

October Ink | #2

Sicheng was different, but you didn’t care. You were never supposed to know.  

It’s been long since I’ve last visited. I know, Y/N, but please trust me. Meet me at the cemetery tonight. Our spot. 1 am. 

Love, 

D. Sicheng

Tearing the note off of your bedroom window, you already knew who it was and what it would probably entail. You read the note over and over. The bitterness filled your brain, as harsh as vodka. Sighing, you tucked it into your pocket.

                                                             ~

Violet River. A small town of 3,057 inhabitants. Known for its Halloween spirit, it was a tourist hotspot from September to November.

You hadn’t had friends growing up- well, that’s what you got used to telling people these days. The truth was, you had exactly one. 

There was no meaningful memory of your life, none in your mind that didn’t have Dong Sicheng. Growing up, you never considered how weird that was, how every single staple in your memory, he was there. 

He first acknowledged you when you were both nine years old. 

The road you both lived on stretched wide, the acres between your home and his felt like a country- at first. You yearned to be his friend, always smiling and waving when he and his father drove past your house. When he was with his father, he always gave you the same blank look. 

One day, when you went out too far in the woods and got lost, he appeared. He was there to lead you home. 

You were alone, and then you weren’t.

Your friendship was a secret for a long time. You’d meet in the woods, and whenever you tried to spook him he’d get mad. Not because you succeeded… it was because he told you not to mess with monsters. 

You knew he was different when you were 14. 

By that age, you’d taken to creepier settings, finding the perfect little getaway in an old cemetery. In the far back was a mausoleum, the creaky old gate too rusted to hold. There, the two of you read books and shared your dreams of leaving this dead town. 

At that age, no one could convince you to not be his friend. Your mother, who pursed her lips whenever she saw you with him, tried but gave up when she knew you wouldn’t stop. The other kids who whispered about him, the occasional few bold enough to say something to his face. 

Most people, though, were terrified of Sicheng’s father. You? You were proud your best friend was a legend. 

That fateful day, had to be around October, you had decided to make the journey to your cemetery getaway early. You wanted to surprise him with a picnic, so you lugged a big basket and blanket with you as you trekked the usual shortcut through the forest. 

About halfway there, you heard a woman’s cry. There was no other sound like it, hairs standing on end as your body went rigid. You held your breath, wondering where all that bravery you claimed to have disappeared. 

Now, you wonder if you’d somehow sensed what you were about to stumble upon in the woods. 

You let the sounds of her crying draw you closer, moving silent like Sicheng once taught you. Holding your breath, you peeked around a tree.

The basket thumped to the forest floor, birds somewhere nearby croaking as their wings shot them to the sky. 

Sicheng’s head shot up from her neck, blood coating his mouth and chin. His fingernails were black and elongated, holding her in place. His pupils, the color of an endless well. The woman was fading in and out of consciousness, one of her hands shakily reaching out to you. 

“Help,” She whimpered. 

To this day, you wondered why you ran. Why? You knew in your heart you weren’t scared, so why did you run away?

He came to you the same night, eyes watery with tears as he begged you not to leave him. You were hurt at first, tugging him to sit next to you on the bed. Then, you were angry, offended he’d even think you’d run. 

“You’re still you. This doesn’t change anything.”

“Oh, Y/N. But it changes everything.”

You held him that night, the stir in your heart more intimate than you’d ever realized. When he turned to face you in bed, his fingertips brushed at your cheek, his eyes the brown you knew so well. Was what you saw in the woods also him? Yes, it was.

You were too weak to care. 

Even now, you weren’t sure who leaned forward first. The kiss left you dizzy, his hands puzzle pieces sliding into place as he pulled you closer, his lips soft with their appraisal. 

“I love you. I was made to protect you,” He whispered into the night. 

He’d answer your questions, you knew he would. For now, you’d just needed to reassure him that you’d never leave. 

You didn’t know that’d be the last time you’d see him for five years.

                                                            ~

The town had tales of night guardians, beings created to protect the oasis that was Violet River. Crimes didn’t happen here. And if they did, they were taken care of with little explanation. 

On the flip side, there were those who weren’t so keen on night guardians. They called them impure, unnatural, wanted them to disappear. The town’s sheriff? More like a certified Guardian hunter.

It didn’t take long for things to click, why Sicheng and his father were on the outs with everyone else. 

You didn’t know why Sicheng up and left you, but he made sure to leave you with a wound so deep, you vowed he’d feel it himself if he ever returned. 

                                                            ~

He was there when you arrived that night at the cemetery, just like the note said. 

Older now, face more refined and handsome than you were prepared for- was he an angel… or something much darker?

“Why now?”

His expression broke as he approached, hands cupping your face. You turned away, the bitterness prominent on your tongue. His forehead touched yours, and when he opened his eyes, they were the black that haunted your dreams.

“I had to protect you.”

“I guess the whole leaving thing was only for me, right?”

“My people. They kill whoever has proof of us. You saw me that day, saw me with that woman.”

You broke away, finger jabbing his chest. “I didn’t care. You are what matters to me. Sicheng, I-” You almost said it, but you didn’t know who this was. There were five years between the two of you. The boy you loved then wasn’t the guy before you now. 

Stepping back, you shook your head. He followed your tracks, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“I don’t care what you are. I still don’t. But I’m not going to let you hurt me again.”

“I would never hurt-”

“You already did. You left me. Before this goes any further, I’m going to walk away.”

“Please. You need to hear me. It’s important that I-”

“Goodbye, Sicheng.”

You spun on your heels, booking it out of the cemetery. You came to the crossroads, either taking the shortcut from the woods or the long way home. You took the long way. 

Your first deep breath found you at the sight of your house. The sting in your eyes... Was it relief or disappointment that he didn’t stop you?

Stepping into the foyer, your gut twisted and let you know something was very wrong. The lights were all off, silent save for the sound of slow dripping from the kitchen. 

“Mom?”

The ceiling creaked overhead, the sound of someone moving around upstairs telling you weren’t alone. Your mom would’ve answered. Fumbling for the handle behind you, you heard a small splatter as you stepped backward. Eyes trailing down, you strained to see the puddle you were stepping in. It was too dark to make anything out, so you slowly pulled out your phone. With shaky fingers, you turned the flashlight on and directed it to the floor. 

It was the color of candy apple red, the puddle almost as big as the entirety of the living room. Following the trail, nausea knocked you back into the door at the sight of your mom’s lifeless body, eyes dead as she stared right back at you. 

You didn’t scream, didn’t move. Stared at the claw marks deep in her chest, the gashes likely the cause of her death. 

“My son should’ve never come back.”

Your brain was muddled, heart numb as your gaze trailed to Sicheng’s father. His boots creaked with every step he took down the stairs. He was tall, rugged, as terrifying as people made him out to be in their horror stories. 

His pupils were already black.

“Why now?” You asked him the same question that you’d asked Sicheng. 

He tilted his head. “The answer’s simple, darling. He convinced me to leave, to spare you. On the promise that he’d never return. He went back on his word.”

Why? What had he been trying to tell you? Why did you walk away like an idiot? Why did he come back?

He moved inhumanly fast, hand closing around your neck and lifting you off your feet like you were a doll. Clawing at his hand, you gasped for air, eyes going to your mom. 

At least you’d see her soon. 

“Think of my son in these moments. I’ll make sure to tell him you begged for him.” As your vision faded, he brought your body closer, his mouth morphing as his teeth elongated like his nails. 

There was a scream, a figure darting toward the two of you. Then, you were gone.

You awoke to excruciating pain, knives pricking every inch of your body. It hurt to breathe, to move. It was someone pulling the skin off of your body, sewing it back on, then peeling it off once more.

“Y/N! Hang on. I’m here. Focus on my voice! Focus on my…”

~

Violet River. 3,055 residents. 

You and Sicheng come to visit during the tourist season. The sheriff purses his lips, but doesn’t argue. After all, only tourists are the issue when it comes to crime in this sacred town. 

You lure them into the woods, promising them nights of their lives. 

You take to blood like you took to Sicheng- naturally and loyally. 

There’s only one thing you’d kill Sicheng for: if he ever stood in the way between you and a kill. After all, he made you what you are. 

Every day, you hoped it would never come to that.

A/N: A second drabble back to back? Who am I? Haha. I truly couldn’t figure out who to use for this one. In the end, I think Sicheng fits the role well. If there’s a certain someone you’d like to see in these drabbles, drop an ask! If there’s a certain fall scenario you want to read, feel free to request it! These are fun. I promise they all won’t be spooky. 

~Angelo

Check out my drabble list here. It’s still small, but it will get bigger with time! (:

#angelo drabbles #drabble season #halloween drabbles #october ink #nct drabbles #wayv drabbles #nct 127 drabbles #nct 127 oneshots #wayv oneshots #nct oneshots #kpop scenarios #kpop drabbles #kpop oneshots #sicheng scenarios #sicheng drabbles #sicheng oneshots #winwin scenarios #winwin drabbles #winwin oneshots #spooky drabbles #spooky scenarios

[jbbuckybarnes]

Distant Connection - 8/11

Pairing: Bucky x Harmonia (OC) Warnings: mentions of wicca/witchcraft, mention of parents death, gossiping about main character Summary: After an unknown group of goons took her mom’s life and tried to get her for the dark magic powers she possesses, this untaught witch is saved by the Avengers and brought to the compound where her new life unfolds.

MASTERLIST || Distant Connection Masterlist

There was music on in the whole common area but nobody in-sight. “Friday? Why is there music playing?” A confused Harmony stood in the door. “Mr. Barton left it on a while ago and I turned it down and changed to a more relaxed type. Protocol.” Came back from the AI. “Can I have a dance, lady?” Her favorite deep voice suddenly whispered beside her. “I can’t dance like that.” She giggled but it was too late. He pulled her close to him and started dancing slowly for her to get used to it. “What was that? You can’t dance?” He smiled softly. “I learn fast...but I hate giving control away. Can you blame me?” She smiled with her eyes fixed on his. “Not at all,” he said very softly, almost whispered. There was an extra whirl and she was back where she was before again. “When did you decide to be Prince Charming?” She joked about his charming behavior. “If there’s music playing and I see a pretty girl...I can’t not ask her for a dance. That would just be rude.” he said with the biggest smile splitting his face. “Wish I’d be wearing the right attire for it.” she chuckled at her shorts and sweater outfit. “A pretty woman doesn’t need to wear special clothes to look good,” he said serious and ended with an innocent smile. “Also true. Maybe it’s helping that I stole this from you.” She giggled at the sweater situation. “Did you see what I added to your sketchbook?” He asked giving her another whirl. He had drawn her on the kitchen counter eating pancakes. It was a cute little doodle. The little note under it said “My favorite Avenger. Don’t tell the others!” “It’s adorable. You should start drawing too.” She meant it, he wasn’t bad. “If you model for it. Sure.” His smile was worth a million dollars and he squeezed her waist a little with his metal hand. She knew it was a lot for him to do little gestures like that and gave him a little smile and stood still before he pulled her waist closer to him all the way and closed the distance for a kiss.

“No magic in the common area.” A voice from the door said all of a sudden. Tony. They instantly broke apart and a magic field she had created around them disintegrated. She didn’t do this by choice. It was a protection spell, purple. “Woah.” Came beside her as she looked around herself. “I never did that before. That’s a protection shield,” she mumbled shocked. “Neat,” he commented. “Neat? That’s the only thing that comes to your mind when that thing could’ve even withstood Tony’s blasters probably?” She said fake offended. “I doubt that.” Came from Tony that was sitting on the table by now. “We’ll try it someday.” She dared him before taking James’ hand and dragging him out of the room, into her room. “What the fuck,” she mumbled standing in the middle of her room. “Huh?” He didn’t understand. “I cast a spell without casting a spell. Let me research that,” she said before hurrying to get the books out of her bag. He just sat down on her bed since he knew there was no stopping her when it came to this. She went through multiple pages in multiple books. “A protection spell can be cast without using words. All it needs for a trained witch is the intention and intuition,” she read out loud. “So...you deeply care about me and your soul wants me protected. Am I getting that right?” He asked laying on the edge of the bed with his face to be able to watch her concentrated face. “Yeah, pretty much,” she mumbled and looked up to see a soft smile. “If I could do that I would probably do the same...but I’m not as cool,” he said with a little shrug of his shoulders. “Have you seen yourself using a knife?” She asked seriously shocked at him not thinking his skills were cool. “Yeah, not as cool as magic,” he said chuckling. “Well, yeah. But pretty hot at least.” She gave him a smirk. “You really think you don’t look hot when you do magic stuff? Cause I can tell you...you are. Like, a lot,” he said while she laid down next to him. She intertwined their fingers and whispered into his ear, “Then show me how hot.” He had goosebumps all over his body “Not here,” he mumbled. “No, exactly here. I don’t fucking care.” She was serious. “Damn, you’re getting pretty confident in the last few days,” he said sitting up a bit and smiling at her sitting down on his lap. “Why wouldn’t I?” She smiled and broke the distance between them again. She felt his fingers digging into her thighs and couldn’t hold back the little sound building up in her throat. He loosened the grip a little out of fear of hurting her and started making little circles up and down her thighs while having her hands in his hair. All the 115 beats of her heart per minute were faintly audible to him and gave him an ASMR sensation. He never heard these so close in a positive context outside of saving someone. She moved back a bit and broke the kiss apart breathless. “How do you do it? How am I not feeling any pain from my past when I’m with you?” she asked with a soft smile and a glimmer in her eyes making him feel more alive than ever. “I could ask you the same.” his left hand started cupping her face. It felt weird for him but she blew every doubt away when she leaned into it with a comfortable smile. That was an image he won’t ever forget, something about her feeling so okay with something so out of this world for others. “My Harmony,” he mumbled with the most content smile he had ever smiled. “My safe place.” She smiled but then started giggling, “Sorry, there just isn’t a way to make something romantic out of your name.” “Fair enough...until you have part of it, it just isn’t that romantic.” He chuckled and watched her blush at his little suggestion. Harmony just wanted to answer when there was a knock on her door and they moved apart and fixed their hair before she said, “Who is it?” “Clint. Have you seen my wallet? Lost it somewhere in the compound yesterday. Has a picture of my family in it,” he said through the door. She stood up and opened the door a little, “How did you manage to do that?” “It’s called trust, Harmony!” He said serious but joking. “Haven’t seen a wallet but will tell you if I do. Probably one of the boys pranking you. Maybe Tony or Sam?” She smiled. “A billionaire stealing wallets?” He asked. “It’s Tony, not just any billionaire.” She chuckled. “I’ll investigate that,” he said squinting. “Good luck, dork.” She giggled and closed the door again. Behind her a smirking James in the little hallway of her mini-apartment. “I’ll beat your ass if you did that.” She gave him a death glare and his smirk vanished. “Maybe?” he said making himself seem smaller which never worked with his giant body. “Give it to me.” she held her hand out and with an eye roll he got it out of his back pocket and put it into her hand. She gave him a little clap on the side of his head smiling before leaving the room and searching for Clint to give it back. After she didn’t come back to her room for a while he decided to leave her room and see where she has been all that time, just to find her in the kitchen cooking herself some lunch. Clint was sitting at the table with his wallet in front of him and a glass of cola. Without thinking twice he crept up behind Harmony to hug her and look at the food in the pan. “Don’t even ask if you can have some of it. It’s just for me, Clint if he wants to and maybe the team. You come last today,” she said serious but with a soft smile on her lips. “Come on, Harmony! Please,” he mumbled and got a head shake back. “Pretty please.” He continued and attacked her with a kiss on her cheek. “Ugh, fine. Second to last. Sam is still worse than you,” she said annoyed but still with a hint of a smile on her face. “Hey!” came back from Sam who was just walking in with the others. “She’s right,” James said looking at him now and shrugging. “You’re biasing her!” Came back. “Nah. You are a little bit more annoying than the rest. Although Tony, Clint and this idiot here are close,” she said flinging around with her fork before getting back to her stir fry creation. “That’s my girl,” James said proudly hugging her again and staring at the food. “Get a room.” someone mumbled from behind and she felt his hands forming fists before laying her free hand onto one of them gently. “Ouch! Why?” came from Sam which made her smile. “Because that’s disrespectful!” Wanda answered in a serious tone. Meanwhile, James had taken a fork from a drawer right to him and took some food. He knew Sam being a prick gave him a free pass. “Can’t wait for Sam to have a girlfriend that constantly does exactly that. Every single time.” Harmony chuckled and started putting the food onto plates. James helped her put the plates in front of all of them and they sat down next to each other shortly after.

It was the first time that Harmony was eating with the others at this table. It was a bit strange but she knew by now that the last thing anyone did was judge her shy reactions and introversion. “That tastes so good. Good to know you like it a little spicy.” Wanda said across the table with a soft smile. A lot of veggies and a little bit of tomato sauce just needed spices in her opinion. Otherwise it just tasted like a weird mix of watery veggies. “Thanks.” she smiled shyly but proud. The rest of the team went deep into a discussion about the educational system while James and Harmony were sitting there in content silence while listening to the others. Steve and Clint were at the height of their discussion with everyone throwing in sentences when she just smiled at James and leaned over to give him a little kiss. Everyone went silent and only Steve continued before he realized nobody was listening anymore. “Uuh-” came from a few chairs down. “If you continue that sentence I will throw this plate at your head so exact that even Clint would be impressed!” Her shyness suddenly vanished. She felt a hand on her thigh and relaxed a little bit again but she definitely wasn’t a fan of being the center of attention. “Since when?” Came from Nat with a smirk. “Elevator incident,” Steve answered for Harmony. “You knew this and didn’t tell us?” Came from the other side of the table. “Tony also knows since this morning and apparently didn’t tell you. So…” the witch answered shrugging. “It’s not like we were trying to hide it.” James smiled. “You just were used to seeing us being close anyway.” she chuckled.

#mine #bucky x oc #oc x bucky #bucky barnes x oc #oc x bucky barnes #named!reader #named!reader x bucky #bucky x named!reader #bucky barnes x named!reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #mcu #marvel #text #marvel cinematic universe #harmonia #HarmoniaGaiaCollection #Harmonia Gaia Aphrodite #Harmonia Universe #bucky x harmonia #bucky barnes x harmonia #witch!AU

[fantasticescapism]

As Long As I'm Here, So Are You

Summary:  Mysterio’s betrayal left Peter devastated and hopeless. With no mentor to guide him, how will Peter move forward?

Part 2 of the Never Truly Gone series

Also available at AO3.

You put all your faith in my dreams You gave me the world that I wanted What did I do to deserve you? I follow your steps with my feet I walk on the road that you started I need you to know that I heard you, every word I've waited way too long to say Everything you mean to me In case you don't live forever, let me tell you now I love you more than you'll ever wrap your head around In case you don't live forever, let me tell you the truth I'm everything that I am because of you

I have a hero whenever I need one I just look up to you and I see one I'm a man 'cause you taught me to be one

In case you don't live forever, let me tell you the truth As long as I'm here as I am, so are you

- In Case You Don't Live Forever by Ben Platt

Peter must’ve worn out the carpet beneath his feet after all the pacing he’d done within the jet. He couldn’t help it, not then when the world is in danger and there was no one else to save it. Iron Man was… he couldn’t even say it out loud. He knew Nick Fury counted on him to step up but he couldn’t possibly live up to the expectation. He’s not Tony Stark, he could never be like him.

I don’t think Tony would’ve done what he did if he didn’t know that you’re gonna be here after he was gone.

Happy left him alone to talk on the phone; probably a call from May. She must’ve asked what was going on. Peter sighed as he stopped and sat in one of the luxury seats of the plane. Tony’s nanotech sunglasses was on the seat by his side. It was a big help in uncovering Mysterio’s lies. Mysterio. Another thing that Peter blamed himself for. He was too trusting. He should’ve listened to his gut feeling but his adamance to stay uninvolved made things worse. This was his fault. He really thought Mysterio could be the next Iron Man.

His phone rang but he refused to answer it. MJ had been calling him since that incident in Prague. He knew she’s worried sick and wanted to help but he just can’t put her in any more danger. After the missed call, Peter looked at the notifications he received. There were messages from May, Pepper, MJ and Ned. There were also a few from Harley but there was a lot from Morgan. Most of the time she sent her pictures of what she’d been doing or pictures of drawings she made or new things she discovered like bugs. Sometimes she would ask him to visit her so they could play but, he declined every time.

Another wave of guilt washed over him. The first and last time she saw Tony’s daughter was during the funeral. He just couldn’t face her without breaking down. She should’ve been angry at him for not being good enough to save her father but instead, as soon as she saw him, she gasped and ran towards him with open arms, a wide grin and adoration in her intelligent eyes.

“I knew it! Daddy did it!” She exclaimed as she hugged him. “He said he’ll bring back my big brother and now you’re here!”

He even failed as a big brother.

I can’t do this.

With a shaky hand, he put his phone beside Tony’s glasses then hung his head low and clutched his hair. I really can’t do this.

“Hey, Peter.” A gasp escaped him as he looked up. At the seat in front of him sat Tony Stark, his hologram self.

“FRIDAY? What-”

“If you see this message then that means well, I’m not here anymore. Now, I know you. Whatever happened Peter, it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault.” Tears welled in Peter’s eyes as he continued to watch his mentor and father-figure’s message.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you these in person. That’s all on me so, let me tell you everything now.” He paused to smile. “Remember that talk we had before Germany? Hearing that from someone as young as you, it blew my mind. That kind of strength and bravery is admirable. Hell, ask Rhodey, I was definitely not like you when I was your age.” Tony chuckled. “You gave me hope for the future, Peter. That whatever happens, the future will be in good hands.”

Peter felt his tears overflow but he couldn’t look away from Tony.

“Thank you so much for letting me be a part of your life. I may have been your mentor but I also learned a lot from you." He sighed. "Peter, I'm sorry I failed you. You died in my arms and I’m so sorry.” Tony frowned and fought to keep his tears at bay but the tremor in his voice was unmistakable.

“I may not have raised you, that honor goes to your father and your Uncle Ben but,” a single tear rolled from Tony’s eyes, “you’re like a son to me and I swear, I’ll do anything and everything to get you back.”

Peter sobbed while his tears continued to flow uncontrolled.

“If anything does go south after this time travel thing,” Tony continued after he wiped his tears away, “I leave all my labs and workshops to you. You’ll have all my resources, even those in Stark Industries. You’ll have all you need to create suits and web fluids. You can even make one Spidey suit for every day of the week and it’s totally fine. Go nuts, kid.” Tony grinned. “You’ll have to share with Harley and Morgan, okay? Oh lordy, the world better watch out for you three.”

Despite the tears, Peter chortled at that. Morgan alone could blow everyone away.

“Peter,” he continued after a brief pause, “I don’t expect you to follow my exact footsteps. You once told me you want to be just like me but son, you’re already better than me. You’re the best out of all of us. Even if you decide to hang up the suit and leave the superhero life, it’s okay. No matter what you do, I’m already very proud of you. Just be you, Peter Parker. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Peter answered even when he knew it’s a pre-recorded message, “thank you, Tony.”

“Oh and one last thing before this gets too long.” Tony sat up to move closer to Peter. “Take care of Morgan for me, please? She needs her big brother. I’ve been telling her stories of your adventures both as Spider-man and Peter Parker and she adores you. She wants to meet you.”

Peter nodded.

“You’re going to be okay. It will take time but, you’ll be okay. I love you, son.” At that, Peter finally let himself break down. With his elbows on his knees, he sobbed and covered his face with his hands. If he looked up, he would’ve seen Tony move closer and leave a kiss on the crown of his head before he vanished.

---

Happy walked in the cabin and saw Peter wipe his tears away. He sighed and wished Tony was there, he would know what to do. Happy cared for the kid and it hurt him to see Peter like that.

“Hey, May said be careful and she loves you but you’re in big trouble for not answering your phone.” He softly said. Peter looked at him and gave him a small smile. Happy sat at a seat near the kid and sighed. “Peter, you’re friends are in trouble. What are you gonna do about it?” Peter looked down and Happy watched as he could practically see the kid’s mind go through different plans; listing the pros and cons. Happy thought it looked familiar.

“FRIDAY, open the lab.” Peter stood from his seat and walked towards the circular door.

“Sure, boss.” The door opened to reveal an array of machines and holo-screens. Peter pulled up the schematics for the Iron Spider and the Stark Tech suit. His nimble fingers moved with renewed confidence as he coded. The way he pulled apart different components from the other suits to build a new one made Happy smile. It was like seeing Tony again in his element. That bastard Mysterio better run for the hills.

---

The weekend after the Mysterio incident found Peter and May on their way to the cabin by the lake. He asked May if they could visit and she agreed right away, happy that Peter’s ready to take the next step to healing.

With a box of store-bought pie - Peter’s suggestion -, they walked towards the house and saw Morgan play by her tent. She seemed to be playing a memory game projected from the Iron Man helmet by her side. As soon as they got closer, she gasped, waved the projection away and jumped up.

“Mommy! Aunt May and Petey’s here!” She shouted before she excitedly ran towards Peter. When she reached the teen, she jumped up with open arms. Peter caught her with a laugh, spun her around before he carried and hugged her tight.

“I missed you.” Morgan said as she clung to Peter. He sighed and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, Morgan.”

“It’s okay,” she grinned as she leaned back to hold Peter’s cheeks with both hands, “you’re here now.” She giggled. Her eyes shone with joy and Peter couldn’t help but remember the times when Tony’s shone the same way.

Morgan wriggled herself free from Peter to greet May when he saw Pepper by the house. She giggled at his sheepish smile and waved at them to come closer.

“We got pie.” May lifted the box for Pepper to see before they hugged each other tight.

“Thanks. Morguna, would you help your Aunt May with the pie?”

“Okay,” Morgan took May’s hand and led her to the house, “Mommy made beef casserole. It’s a little spicy but I like it that way. Do you like spicy food?”

May let herself be pulled inside with a laugh while she indulged Morgan’s ramblings.

“Ummm… Pepper, I-I’m sorry it took some time before I visited.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s-it’s not. I stayed away because,” he hesitated a bit, afraid of what Pepper would think of him, “because it hurts to look at Morgan. She reminds me so much of, of Tony.” He looked down and waited for, for what? He didn’t know. Disgust? Disappointment? Maybe anger? Instead, she lifted his chin up with her hand and...

“I understand. Me too I, I see so much of Tony in her that it felt like being stabbed over and over.” Her sad smile made him feel like a heavy veil laid in his shoulders. “But, it’s also a reminder that a piece of the man I love is still here with me to be nurtured and loved. Sweetie, he’s not completely gone. The people we love stays and lives on in our hearts even after they pass away.”

He could feel the tears well in his eyes but surprisingly, Pepper’s words made him feel more assured, as if the heavy veil suddenly lifted. He finally believed that, in time, they’re going to be okay.

“Thanks, Pepper.”

“Oh sweetie,” Pepper opened her arms and Peter stepped forward to hug her, “you remind me of Tony too so, you’re always welcome here. If I have to tell you everyday, I will. You're part of my family.” Peter closed his eyes as he sighed within Pepper’s warm hug.

“Mommy!” Morgan called. Pepper laughed.

“We better get inside.” She let Peter go and led him back in the house, her arm around his shoulders. “How’s college admission?”

“Still waiting for Cornell, Clarkson and MIT.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get into MIT what with Tony’s recommendation. Also, housing won’t be an issue since Harley’s got a spare room in his apartment.” Pepper then smirked at him. “Did you know Tony went through at least a hundred drafts before he finally sent yours and Harley’s recommendation letters? Formal writing isn’t Tony’s forte.”

“Really?” Peter giggled.

“Yes! Oh god, it was a nightmare!” They both laughed as they joined May and Morgan. Unbeknownst to them, projected by the Iron Man helmet, Tony Stark smiled fondly as he looked at his family.

#tony stark #peter parker #happy hogan #may parker #pepper potts #iron man #spiderman #rescue!pepper #rescue #iron mom #pepperony #iron dad #morgan stark #spiderson #iron family #far from home #avengers endgame #ffh #avengers #endgame #harley keener

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (14)

Oh my God! It’s done!

This story has been in my head for over a year, and now I can finally bring it to a close. I’ve had this planned out since before I even started writing, and it’s such an incredible feeling to finally have it on (virtual) paper and concluded. I can’t believe how fun it’s been, guys.

As always, I am overjoyed to write @hntrgurl13‘s and @missinspi‘s respective OCs Adeline Marks and Madeline McGucket, and @scipunk63‘s Addiford ship. You guys... just...  <3

I am so freaking proud of this. Enjoy.

AO3

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Chapter 14: Finale

???    ∆

Ford? Ford?

He was underwater; everything was blurred. Smeared like a water painting.

Come on buddy, wake up. We gotta move.

He could feel something crunchy. Somethings crunchy. Crackling in his ear, along his cheek. Everything was swaying, rhythmically back and forth. Underwater smelled earthy… strange.

Okay, hold on Ford, just hold on.

Brown and dried leaves fell away from him. Brown and dried leaves fell away from him.

A sound stopped making noise. The silence deadened everything even more so. Some kind of blast. Distant. Contained explosions. They had stopped.

Muffled swearing.

He let the depths claim him again.

∆

“-Meanwhile, we go to an update on the situation in Manhattan.

“Power still has not been fully restored to the isle, in what has now been confirmed as a planned attack on American soil. At precisely seven o’clock last night, Manhattan began experiencing massive power failures until the entire city was completely dark. As many have speculated, these blackouts were indeed caused by several electromagnetic pulses, weapons designed to fry the circuits of any and every electronic device within their extensive range, planted in strategic areas for maximum damage. We are now receiving reports from multiple sources which outline Oracle Division, a covert government agency created to investigate and terminate anarchist extremist plots to sow chaos into the world, as the perpetrator for this crime. It seems that what was once Oracle Division’s duty to investigate has now become their duty to instigate. Up next: feel like there’s no one you can trust? No need to worry, because it seems like the end of the world is approaching anyway-”

A Road Somewhere? (USA, Probably)    ∆

There was a loud, uncomfortable rumbling under Ford’s left ear. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the back of a driver’s side red leather seat – the interior of the Stanleymobile. He was lying on his side, cheek stuck to the surface of the back seat.

His heartrate skyrocketed.

“Ford, you back with me?” Came Stan’s voice.

“Yes!” He scrambled to push himself up. Stan was in the driver’s seat. Obviously. No one else was in the car.

More memories hit him.

“Turn arou-”

“Ford, shut it,” Stan’s voice was tight. “You think I’d be taking us away if we could go back? We’re lucky we got out-”

“Fiddleford and Addi-”

“It’s thanks to her we even are out! If she hadn’t been off drawing as much attention as she possibly could, we’d be in the same boat as her right now! So shut up, sit back, and be grateful, while I make sure that what they did is actually worth something!”

A bolt of anger fired through him. Like hell he would.

“Pull over,” he demanded.

“No,”

“What happened to Fiddleford?”

“What do you think?”

Menace entered his voice. “Pull. Over,”

“Do you actually think you can change anything at this point? They’re long gone by this time, Ford, and there’s nothing you or any other pretentiously-named agency full of ineffective, useless people can do for them, so we are going-”

“You’re just going to give up? After everything that’s happened, you decide-”

“-back to Sacramento to get Carla, and we are getting safe-”

“-that this is where you draw the line of all places-”

“-because crap has well and truly hit the fan and I am not letting-”

“-when Bill Cipher is a bigger threat than ever and he probably has Addi and Fiddleford right n-”

“JHESELBRAUM CAN HANDLE IT FROM HERE!”

“PULL THE DAMN CAR OVER!”

The brakes screeched, rubber burned, and Ford almost shot over the front seat as the car skidded to a halt.

∆

"Breaking news; a statement outlining the reason behind the closure and police perimeter recently established around the FBI field office in Roseville has just been issued by a federal spokesperson. The head of the office, Special Agent-in-Charge Ned Guy, has been killed, and agents have reason to believe that the assassin is still in the area – perhaps even inside the office itself. Further information pending, but the question remains: who sent this person, and who is their next target? Whoever it is, our thoughts – mostly along the lines of ‘I hope to God it isn’t me’ – are with them,”

The Side of a Road Somewhere (USA)    ∆

Ford was out of the car practically before it had stopped moving, and Stan tore off of his seatbelt to meet him.

“What is wrong with you?! We have to help them!”

“Haven’t you been listening? We can’t! We have no idea where they are, and even if we did know, there were at least thirty agents in that forest! How many of us are there, Ford? Two! We have a better chance of being invited into their homes for coffee and evil plans than we have of taking them on and winning!”

“We have Oracle Division, Stanley, and the FBI, and we will use them because I am telling you right now that we are not running and hiding from this!”

“So we act like idiots and end up like Addi and Fiddleford, who for all we know are already-”

The silence roared as Stan cut himself off, not daring to finish that sentence, and Ford fought to keep breathing evenly.

Finally, Stan looked him dead in the eye and said lowly, “Get in the car,” which brought a whole new wave of rage over Ford.

“What world are you living in that I ever would?” He snapped. “Our friends are suffering at this very moment because of my mistakes, because of things I allowed to happen!”

“Ford-”

“And not only that, but the world is in imminent danger from that madman, and you still won’t even consider trying to save anyone but yourself-”

He thought Stan was going to hit him.

“Of course I tried to save them! What the hell is wrong with you that you think I didn’t?! Fiddleford was right there with me, and I would’ve gotten him out, I would’ve, but we got separated and – and suddenly everything was going to shit and Addi was being swamped-”

“And you just left her?!”

“-I thought you were dead!”

The thudding in Ford’s head quieted down and all the panic for his friends that was clawing its way up his throat in preparation to be screamed at Stan caught, his voice refusing to give it power.

Stan looked about a second away from ripping his hair out, and he was staring desperately at Ford in mixed rage and pain and despair.

“I thought you were dead, Ford! Not in trouble this time, not hurt – dead. I heard gunshots, and when I ran towards them I found you, and you were lying on the ground and you weren’t moving and I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea what that’s like?” His voice cracked.

A low-lit room, bitingly cold despite the pleasantness of the bar next door, two bodies bleeding out on the ground, one of which could so easily have been Stan. Yes, Ford knew what that was like.

“So I’m sorry that I couldn’t do enough, and I’m sorry that we can’t do anything right now, but if you think I’m ever gonna let something like that happen again, then you really are entirely as much of an idiot as you act like when you’re scared,”

With that, Stan slumped against the driver-side door, exhausted. Ford felt hollowed-out, everything inside that had been propelling him gone for the moment. On jellied legs he made his way over and leant next to Stan, tentatively pressing his shoulder against his soon after.

Stan was right. He needed to get a grip. Spoiling for a fight – with Stan, Cipher, anyone – was the worst possible thing to do at present.

So what was something they could do?

His mind was blank. Judging from Stan’s equal motionlessness, he didn’t really know how to proceed either; Ford could guess, based on what his brother had just said, that until he’d dug in his own heels Stan had been (and, most probably, still subconsciously was) operating on the single priority of get who you can safe with practically no other considerations until that goal was fulfilled.

The problem was, Ford wasn’t letting him complete that goal, and even though the reality check Stan had given him had been effective, his own mind didn’t seem to be able to supply a solution either.

∆

“We have previously reported that Oracle Division, notorious rogue government agency behind the Manhattan Blackout, is also more than likely involved in many other plots to sow discord and chaos among the nation, and, perhaps, the world at large. Since that time, we have received many accusations of spreading false information through speculation, contributing to mass panic, and we apologise. Here is the following correction: Oracle Division, notorious rogue government agency behind the Manhattan Blackout, is most definitely behind Ned Guy’s assassination among many other disturbing events. The idea that sources can concur on any one thing is a myth, so why even bother to mention ours. We apologise, again, for the former inaccuracy,”

I-I Don’t... Know    ∆

He’d gone. The- the man with the… weapon. Yes. It looked like a gun, it fi-fired like a gun, ergo, it was definitely a weapon, if not one he recognised. But the man had gone, up an elevator, and he’d taken it with him and now he and the woman were left alone in the dark.

She was staring at him, speechless, horrified, and grief-stricken. She was crying, and he didn’t know why, only that he wanted to help her. Had she been there this whole time? It was hard to recall... it was hard to think…

It was like he should be hurting – he felt like he should be so, so hurt, but it was like his head was full of fog instead, and it was hard to do anything. The thing that hurt most was his eyes… which was definitely odd because he didn’t think he’d stared into that blinding white light from the weapon all that many times. A few, yeah, but surely not enough to make his eyeballs feel like they’d been scoured with a wire brush...

He wished she’d stop crying. That wasn’t going to help anyone, and he should know.

Should he know?

... yes, he thought so. He was pretty sure it was useless by this point.

How did he know that?

He felt floaty, which was not something he was used to feeling, but he wasn’t going to complain because it was a lot better than what he’d expected.

He’d expected?

Yeah, expected. He was too tired to think further about how he’d known to expect something. His brain felt exhausted. Imagine if the next round of… (was he being tortured?)… imagine if it involved sums. A bubble of laughter made its way past his lips. Now that would be torture.

Anyway, he felt floaty. Which was strange, because… because… he couldn’t stand… and he couldn’t stop shaking either. He was hanging and trembling from his wrists and his mind felt wrung out and the woman was saying something about the man going up for a phone call and they needed to get away, and she just looked even more scared when he asked what a phone call was. She explained. He snorted. That sounded like something out of science fiction if he’d ever heard it. Useful, but obviously fake. In fact, the only thing he could really feel was…

… anger. At that red book on the table. Because whenever the weapon fired, the book was consulted and it knew everything about him… didn’t it? It certainly didn’t know about – about – about… he couldn’t remember… and he was terrified more than ever for some reason because he couldn’t remember the boy’s name, or what he looked like, or –

He couldn’t remember.

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

“Wexler, the deal was you’d tell us what we needed to-”

“Was that I would reveal the agents I know of if, and only if, Cipher is taken down,”

Carla gritted her teeth.

“Until such time as that happens, I’m afraid I will be keeping my mouth – wisely – shut. Furthermore, I believe you have yet to follow through on your promise to place me in the Witness Protection Program.” Wexler regarded her with a very much unbeaten expression and she berated herself for forgetting that he had accepted the deal to save his own skin, meaning that he remained quite firmly on the side of the Cipher Wheel until that no longer became an option.

“Well, plans change, as you and your buddies have seen fit to demonstrate. We need to know where Cipher is. And what those names are, thank you very much,”

He smiled indulgently at her and kept silent.

“It’s only a matter of time before Cipher is dead or behind bars! The FBI is aware of the threat. We have in place layers and layers of resistance to meet him. He cannot win!” She protested, but she’d lost him and she knew it. He’d goaded her into begging, or close enough. Even though it hadn’t been completely successful, the assassination attempt had proved that Cipher’s reach was only growing, and had flipped her and Wexler’s positions: he had the upper hand now. Every line of his body oozed confidence.

“And yet you’re now coming to me, desperate for help. Where did that fierce drive to win go, agent? Don’t tell me. It disappeared, along with all your friends,”

“You’re afraid of Cipher,” she snapped. Wexler shrugged. That was news to no one. “We can keep you safe, you know we can. You wouldn’t have agreed to the first deal if you didn’t think so. We will still do that, but things have changed and you need to tell us what you know sooner rather than later,”

“In fact, McCorkle, I don’t know that you can deliver on all your promises of safety. An assassin is still after you, are they not? More than likely they have already made their way into the building, based on the amount of time that has elapsed since the first killing. So no, thus far, you have spectacularly failed to build any kind of rapport with me or earn any sort of confidence in you. Why should I not just keep my silence, wait for the Cipher Wheel to win, and you to die?”

“DAMMIT!” Carla shouted, striding into the room she had designated as her temporary, windowless, singularly-entranced cell of an office. Jheselbraum didn’t even look up from the news report she was watching as the door slammed closed.

“I take it he’s refusing to cooperate in any manner now?”

Vicious, if muttered, swearing and agitated pacing answered her.

“Has there been any word on El Dorado?” Carla reached the wall, spun on her heel, and strode back the way she’d come.

“The forest is still crawling with Cipher Wheel agents. I’ve heard nothing about Stanley or Stanford, or Agents Marks and McGucket, but we can assume that someone, perhaps even all of them, managed to escape the ambush. The forest would not be so active unless that was the case,”

Another pivot. “But at least one of them’s also been captured,” she stated flatly.

“The vehicles that have left the forest do indicate that,” Jheselbraum confirmed, a pillar of stillness in direct contrast to Carla’s flurry of movement. “As yet, none of my agents have been able to follow them without risking exposure,”

“And with Wexler refusing to talk, we have no other way of finding out where they might be going. Which is wherever Cipher is.” Carla stopped, braced her palms on the table in the centre of the room, and leant heavily on them, trying to work out the tension in her back before all the coiled muscle there snapped something important.

The next time she saw Stanley, and she would be seeing him again, if only to kill him herself, she was never letting him out of her sight again. A bit of a counter-productive sentiment, but rationality had had a foot halfway out the door since the day began.

And at some point she had to deal with the assassin, who was most certainly getting closer with every minute that passed. The building was on high alert, but regardless, she doubted Cipher would have sent anyone after her who couldn’t deal with that.

She had absolutely no idea where to go from here. Other than to pick up some Witness Protection Program forms, she supposed.

A phone rang in the silence. She felt the vibration through the table and looked up to see Jheselbraum reach for the device and stiffen, staring at the screen with the closest expression to dread Carla had ever seen on the woman’s face. She turned her gaze to the screen as well.

The caller image showed a single terrifying yellow eye.

The Road Again (USA)    ∆

Eventually they’d just sunk to the ground, drained.

It wasn’t that Stan wanted to admit that things looked pretty bleak... it’s just that they did anyway.

The silence between them was interrupted sharply by his phone ringing. He felt Ford jolt next to him.

Honestly, the turn the day – the past half hour – had taken meant that if it had been anyone other than Carla calling, Stan wasn’t sure he would’ve picked up. As it was, he turned on the speaker so Ford could hear as well, figuring that just because he wasn’t in the mood to plan a desperate and useless counterstrike against Cipher was no reason to keep that opportunity from his brother.

He hit the answer button.

“STAN?!”

Ford jumped again, and Stan flinched too. Had he accidentally turned the thing up to full volume again?

“Oh my GOD, you’re okay, you’re okay- you are, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Oh, hell, are you hurt? How bad is it? Listen to me closely: if you see a light, and it’s not the sun, do not-”

“No, no I’m fine!” Stan assured her hurriedly. “Ford’s here too, we’re both fine,”

“We’re unhurt, Carla,” Ford supplied, and from the look on his face Stan couldn’t help but think that he was not confirming the situation to Carla but more correcting Stan’s choice of words. Stan was inclined to agree with it.

“Jesus, that’s good to hear.” A pause. “Addi and Fiddleford?”

Stan’s stomach dropped out and Ford was silent.

“No,” he managed to get out. “No. They’re not,”

A sigh washed over the speakers. “I was hoping he was lying..."

“Hoping who was lying?” Ford said sharply.

The brief quiet on the other end of the line was very telling. So much so that Stan pretty much already knew what she was going to say before she’d gathered herself enough to say it.

“Jheselbraum and I just got a phone call from Bill Cipher,”

“Let me guess, it wasn’t to surrender himself and his network,” Stan said, dragging a hand down his face. Ford was rapidly losing what colour he’d regained as he too worked out what Carla was about to say.

“No, it... definitely was not. He wanted us to get a message to you.” She paused again, working out how best to phrase it, and Stan really wished she would just spit it out.

After a second, she gave up and did just that.

“He says Addi and Fiddleford are still alive, and if you guys show yourselves quick enough, they might even remain that way.” She let that sink in.

Hearing it out loud when you’re expecting it should really be easier than this, Stan considered with an air of detachment.

“He didn’t say anything else?” Demanded Ford.

“Other than a few taunts and name-calling? No,”

“So how are we supposed to hand ourselves over if he didn’t tell us where he is?” Stan exclaimed.

“I know. It’s a shame, but he really isn’t an idiot. He knew I’d be listening in to that call. He wasn’t going to reveal anything that might lead the FBI to him before he’s ready to fully take us on,”

“What about you, Poindexter?” Stan said urgently, turning to Ford. “You have any idea where he might be?”

“Cipher didn’t just use one place as headquarters,” Ford said, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. “He moved around fairly often. I know of a few places he’d frequent, yes, but there’s no guarantee he’s at any of them right now, and we don’t have time to check them all before he loses his patience with Addi and Fiddleford. Which is another thing! We don’t even know if they’re in the same place he is!”

“Yes we do,” Carla said unexpectedly, neatly stopping Ford dead in his increasingly hopeless rant.

“We do?” Stan looked at Ford.

“Yes. This whole situation with me got Addi and I thinking: he’s made it clear – even more so with that phone call – that he wants to kill or capture you two himself.”

“What situation with you?” Stan said warily.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, and he definitely didn’t believe that at all, but she was on a roll and they needed to know this, so he let it go for now. “The point is, you’ve been too much of a pain for him not to hold a grudge. Same situation with Oracle Division,”

“So they’ll be in the same place,” Stan nodded his understanding, and then frowned. “But that still doesn’t help us a whole lot. It just means we only have one raid to do instead of two, in a location we still don’t kn-” Stan stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d just seen Ford stiffen. Looking at him again, there was the tell-tale gleam of understanding in his eye: he’d just worked something out.

“Ford?”

“I know where he is.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t why I thought it was possible he’d be anywhere else,”

“Alright, tell me where. We can alert Tactical and take him out before knows what hit him,”

Ford opened his mouth, and shut it again.

“No,” he said.

“No?!” Stan repeated incredulously. “Do you want Addi and Fiddleford back or not, Ford?”

Ford’s gaze was flinty and his words were cold enough to chill the Sahara.

“If Bill didn’t think he could kill Addi and Fiddleford before a strike team managed to kill him, he would not have gotten that message to us through you, Carla,”

“Ford, I know you’re worried about them, and I understand that their safety is paramount, but tactical teams know what they’re doing. They are trained for situations li-”

“Their safety is paramount, which is precisely why I’m not going to endanger them even more by telling you where Cipher is,”

“Oh, jeez-” The situation was rapidly flying off Stan’s well-used map of moves-that-could-be-considered-even-remotely-sane.

“So you’re just going to blindly hand yourselves over?” Carla said witheringly, as if she could stop Ford through brute force of will alone. Unfortunately, when Ford got like this there wasn’t really anything anyone could do short of getting into a fistfight with him, and Stan knew from personal experience that that would only harden his resolve.

“Of course not. We’re going to take him down ourselves. Or-” Ford faltered for the first time. “Or I will, anyway,”

He looked up at Stan defiantly, and Stan half wanted to get into that fistfight just to see if it was possible to knock some sense into the guy this time. The other half of him though, was indignant. He’d followed Ford across the world to make sure he wasn’t in trouble. He’d punched more people than he could count for him, and that wasn’t even from this recent jaunt. He’d willingly been flown by someone who didn’t know how to fly, almost been shot, actually been shot (and now his shoulder was hurting again, great), been drugged and dumped, chased and left behind, ambushed, momentarily convinced his brother was dead, and Ford still hadn’t been able to shake him.

Honestly, the most unbelievable thing about this situation was that Ford thought Stan wouldn’t come with him on this.

He groaned. “Weren’t you listening earlier? You don’t think I’m gonna let you do this alone, do you?”

Ford’s face broke into a relieved grin which told Stan that despite how it had sounded, he wasn’t taking this course of action lightly in the least.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Stan could practically feel Carla’s mind whirring.

“As soon as it’s safe to, you need to tell me where you are,” she reluctantly compromised.

“We will,” nodded Ford. Good. At least he wasn’t being idiotically stubborn.

“And Stan?” Her words were clipped and short, but the next ones had the hint of jaunty casualness to them, nevermind if it was a bit forced, just like they always did when they said goodbye. And because it wasn’t the last time they would, Stan thought fiercely, there wasn’t any need for it to be different this time. She might not be able to stop Ford through sheer willpower, but he knew she’d be damned if she let that mean she couldn’t stop anything else that way.

“See ya later,” she said.

“Can’t leave ya hanging, can I?”

There was a brief whiff of sound that might have been a huff of laughter, and the call disconnected.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” he said as soon as it did.

“I don’t,” said Ford immediately.

Stan stared at him. “Well, at least you ripped that band-aid off quickly,”

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

Busy. Keep busy. That was the thing. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have time to think about… whatever she had just condemned Stan and Ford to. She aggressively ripped the Witness Protection forms out of the printer.

Just get this to Wexler and mush his face into it until he agrees to sign it. She sighed. Well, no. She wouldn’t do that. Although maybe she could get away with staring at him unnervingly until he did.

Abruptly, she pulled back from the corner she was about to turn. Window. Large window.

Stay away, you don’t want a bullet in your brain. Way to go, Carla.

She turned back, striding down an alternate, less populous, route. It took her deeper into the building.

Get to interrogation, get to interrogation. Not far now.

And someone knocked the breath out of her.

The Road, California (USA)    ∆

“He’s not going to let them go, Ford.” Stan said flatly. “We can’t just turn ourselves in and hope for the best. Guy’s convinced he’s on the verge of plunging the world into chaos-” He paused, rethinking that statement. “Guy is on the verge of plunging the world into chaos. No way is he going to stick to any deals we make with him. We need to be smart about this.”

Ford paced up and down the dusty roadside, nodding in agreement. “We should also expect that he’ll expect us to try something, and he’ll be accordingly prepared. The question is, does he know that we expect he’ll expect us to do something, and therefore expect our expectant strike at a whole new level of-”

“You’re making this too complicated,” Stan interrupted, passing rapidly through stages of grim agreement, horrified fascination, and irritated dismissal. “Stop thinking about might-bes and doing that get-in-his head routine - this isn’t some Sherkey Homes adventure,”

Ford looked faintly disappointed.

“What we know is that when we get there, he’s going to take our guns off us-”

“Actually, mine’s back in the forest somewhere. We only have yours now,”

Stan’s stomach dropped. “I don’t have mine either,” he admitted.

Ford’s eyebrows shot up and he warily asked, “What happened?”

Stan told him. Ford slapped a hand over his eyes.

“It’s still in the car somewhere!” Stan said defensively. “There’ll be plenty of time to find it on the drive there,”

“But you actually lost-”

“Shut up,”

“You shut up,”

∆

Her body had shut down with that blow. She couldn’t breathe. Her stomach muscles were seizing up. Before she collapsed to her knees, the assassin caught her by her collar and plunged a knife towards her throat.

She caught his wrist and wrenched it down and around, felt something give and his hand sprang open, the knife clattering to the floor. He hissed through his teeth, instinctively loosening his grip on her collar. Her legs took her weight. Her elbow took his senses.

He stumbled back, reeling from the strike to his jaw. She’d bought herself some time. Fighting back the surges of adrenaline that had her shaking and her brain screaming at her to sprint away as fast as she could, Carla focused, and her lungs seemed to expand again, filling with air, combating the pain and panic.

The assassin recovered at the same time she did. He struck first. She dodged, stepped in close, fired a punch into his side and stepped away again, springing lightly on the balls of her feet. He was driven back sharply, but that seemed to be all. Not a flicker of discomfort registered on his face as he reappraised her. Her mouth quirked in response. You didn’t have Stanley Pines as your sparring partner for long without picking up a thing or two.

Keep it simple, keep it simple.

∆

“Alright, alright, keeping it simple.” Ford considered. Having no weapons was a substantial drawback. “We get the memory gun off Bill and use it on him,”

Stan frowned. “Good plan – except there’s no way he going to let us get that close without a fight. And do we really want to fight him while he has that thing and Addi and Fiddleford?”

Before Ford could irritably point out that at the rate he was shooting down their ideas nothing was going to work, Stan straightened.

“Wait, yeah, that’s good. We should just fight him,”

“You just pointed out why that would be a bad idea,” Ford said, annoyed that the one time Stan was changing his mind about a bad idea was when the bad idea was his own.

∆

Not good.

One of the assassin’s legs hooked behind hers and tripped her up. His hand closed around her throat. Her back hit the door of the observation room. Her head slammed forward from the recoil and something metallic snapped. The door sprang open, and they were falling.

∆

“I can keep a gun from shooting me and whoever else is around,” Stan said confidently. He had just spent a couple weeks proving it, after all. “Look, Cipher’s probably not going to be paying much attention to me – you’re the one he wants vengeance and ruination and a spike up the butt and whatnot for-” Ford winced slightly – “meanwhile, what did I do? Just tagged along and punched him in the face that one time. So, you just keep his attention and when he least expects it, I’ll grab the gun from him.”

“If he doesn’t really care about you then why would he demand you show up as well?” Ford objected. “We can’t count on that working. And even if that wasn’t the case, you grab the gun from him and then what? You don’t know how to work it, Stan,”

“So I’ll smash it instead,”

“But then there’s still the problem of Bill – and before you say anything else, remember that he’ll probably have more weapons than just the memory gun on him,”

Stan closed his open mouth. That was a good point.

“So I should do it instead,” Ford stated.

That wasn’t.

“No,” said Stan instantly.

“I know how to work the memory gun. You distract him, I can take it from him, use it on him, and problem solved,” Ford insisted.

Blinking away images of his brother lying motionless, Stan rallied and said, “One: I’m the better fighter,”

Ford frowned and opened his mouth to argue, probably on principle, and Stan quickly amended his statement to, “I mean, you literally cut a probe out of your head and stitched it up a few hours ago. It’d be weird if you were still alright,”

Ford allowed him to continue, moderately appeased.

“Two: how am I going to distract him? If he is interested in me, we don’t know why, and even then you’re the one who’s been working for him for years: no matter what, you’ll be able to distract him better,”

“I refuse to believe that you wouldn’t be able to figure something out,” Ford said firmly. “Stan, it has to be you. The best and quickest way we have of neutralising Bill is if we use the memory gun on him, and since I’m the only one who knows how to do that safely-”

“Safely?” Stan picked up.

Ford waved a hand vaguely. “It’s a very delicate device. If it gets even slightly damaged, the consequences of using it could be-” he hesitated – “not good. Very, extremely not good.”

Stan practically radiated a demand for a better explanation.

“Well, for a start, it could explode, and since when I constructed it I dismissed trying to extract memories in their rather abstract pure form…”

“Right, that does sound hard,” Stan acknowledged.

“I designed it to simply rewrite matter instead, and while I intended the matter to only be neural pathways, it could conceivably be anything,”

Stan stared.

“In my defence, it was just meant to be a prototype,” Ford said in embarrassment.

Stan took a deep breath. “And you thought that was easier than just trying to grab memories?”

“I did,” confirmed Ford. “But the point is, it gets damaged, bad things happen. Most likely in a… silicaceous manner,”

“Bad things,” Stan said hollowly. “Yeah,”

∆

The assassin was at her back, an arm wrapped around her throat, crushing her windpipe. She’d managed to get a hand under his elbow before the lock was fully on and her muscles were screaming as she strained to break it. Her vision was going fuzzy at the edges. She sucked in a sliver of air. She… she had legs.

She hooked an ankle behind his and threw all her weight backwards. He tried to shift his stance to compensate but his foot was trapped by hers and he overbalanced, falling, and she felt the jolt as they collided with something. It was just enough of a distraction to rip herself free of the hold, spin, drive a fist into the side of his face and stumble backwards, coughing violently as the air simultaneously stung her throat and cleared her mind. No time for recovery. She made herself push off the desk she was clutching and ran forward and flung herself at him and took him off his feet and hurtled into the two-way mirror behind him.

∆

“I’m telling you, this is the best chance we have of defeating Bill-”

“And I’m telling you, you’re not a match for him right now! Sure, it could work, but there’s too high a chance that you and the others would get hurt. My way will be less dangerous for everyone,”

“Besides you, you mean,”

“Yes!” Stan said vehemently.

Ford gritted his teeth. They had been running in circles with this plan for far too long, and with every minute that passed he was itching more and more to just get underway already, the temptation to try and figure everything out in the car growing stronger and stronger as the thought of Addi and Fiddleford pressed increasingly insistently at him.

Stan was glaring at him, and had by now joined him in some irregular pacing. He was also occasionally clenching and unclenching his hands to let some agitation out. Clearly, he was also feeling the pressure.

He sighed, and Stan echoed it a moment later.

“Look Ford, there’s no way this is going to end perfectly,” Stan said. “We just have to go with the best option available,”

“And that’s the problem,” said Ford ruefully.

“Because you think using the memory gun on him will end it quicker, with the added bonus that it’s a poetic way to go out and will be pretty cathartic for you,” Stan said with a humourless smile.

“And you just want to do to him what you do to everyone who hurts the people you love,” Ford countered, equally pointedly. “Make sure he can’t do it again by hitting him like a ton of bricks,”

∆

A startled yell rang in Carla’s ears, almost missed in the cacophony created by the shock of the landing and the crash of the glass all around as they’d gone through the window.

She untucked herself from a protective ball, giving no acknowledgements whatsoever to the pains in her neck, back, shoulder, side. They were barely registering anyway. Her head was ringing. She scrambled up off the floor of the starkly-lit interrogation room, the assassin doing the same on its other side, jagged reflective fragments spread across the floor between them. Breathing hard, she got herself into a boxer’s stance, glancing at her hand when she had trouble closing it into a fist. Huh. It had a piece of glass sticking out of it.

The assassin had picked up another, larger shard. He held it firmly in his hand.

Oh joy, Carla thought numbly. A weapon. She decided then and there never to tackle someone through a window again.

The assassin didn’t make to move towards her. His attention had been caught by the third person in the room, handcuffed to the table and looking fairly shocked at what was going on. A person who could be very damaging to the Cipher Wheel, should he decide to cooperate.

The assassin switched targets and lunged towards Wexler instead. He leapt out of his chair and attempt to skirt around the table, but the cuffs anchoring him to the middle restricted his movements. The assassin recovered from the momentum of his first swing and jumped onto the interrogation table. Wexler paled, unable to move out of range. The assassin drew back his makeshift blade and Carla tackled him. They crashed to the floor, Carla saved from feeling most of the impact due to the combined effects of shock, adrenaline, and the relatively cushioned landing provided by the assassin.

His head had cracked against the floor. The fragment had gone deeper into her hand. The room was wavering slightly, but she didn’t think that was actually happening. She’d probably hit her head at some point. That didn’t sound right. The assassin had probably hit her head at some point. Jerk.

He groaned below her, trying to get up again. Carla drew back her good hand dealt him a swift uppercut. He slumped back, and didn’t move again.

“What the hell…” breathed Wexler behind her.

Ah, right.

Carla staggered to her feet and pushed her sweaty hair out of her face. She took a deep breath to try and get her – her everything under control, and delved deeply into her pocket. Wexler watched with wide eyes.

Out of it she drew a very crumpled and slightly torn sheaf of papers. She laid it down in front of Wexler, brushed some glass off, smoothed it out, left some bloodstains behind, and straightened up again.

“Please sign this form to apply for the Witness Protection Program,” she said professionally.

Wexler stared, slack-jawed.

“Unless you still think the FBI can’t deliver on its promises to protect you,” she added.

Wexler’s eyes flicked to the motionless assassin behind her, and back again.

“No, I’ll sign,” he said quickly.

∆

No bright ideas suddenly sprang into Ford’s mind to break the stalemate they found themselves in. No desperate last-minute solutions. Nothing.

Eventually, Stan sighed, and looked away.

Then he cocked his head slightly. Ford looked back at him. He was staring at their reflection in the Stanleymobile’s windows. There was nothing out of sorts to see there, as far as Ford was concerned.

“Y’know,” said Stan slowly. “I’m really glad I got that haircut,”

∆

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are just receiving word that the crisis at the FBI field office has ended, and the assassin has been apprehended with no further fatalities. We go now to Roberta Lopez, spokesperson from the FBI, and – oh, her, uh, colleague?”

“Thank you, yes. While the assassin has indeed been arrested and secured in a holding cell, the current situation is far from over, and before we go any further, we must inform you that Oracle Division is not the agency behind the Manhattan Blackout and Ned Guy’s assassination as the news has been reporting. Thanks for that, by the way. Rather, they have been framed by an organisation known as the Cipher Wheel, which the FBI has been investigating for several months now. At this very moment, we are concentrating our best efforts on bringing down these terrorists before they can cause any more harm. In collaboration with Oracle Division, who Mr Colleague here is a representative of, we fully expect to be able to handle this threat. Take it away, Neil,”

“BOOM! How d’you like them facts?!”

“Thank you, Neil. We will now take questions,”

∆

“Well, at least he’s cooperating now,” Jheselbraum said, arms folded as she peered over Carla’s shoulder at the folder containing Wexler’s new identity.

“For the most part,” Carla muttered, scratching at the bandage over her wrist. She was covered in glass cuts and more, but had only deemed the actual stab wound serious enough to address at the moment.

“Cipher is a sticking point. He insists on the guy being dead before he spills the beans, which on the bright side means we’re back to the original deal, but unfortunately also means that the only lead we have in figuring out where Stan and Ford have gone won’t talk until such time as it doesn’t matter anymore,” By which she meant “until Stan called her to tell her where they were because they’d managed to kill Cipher” and not “because Cipher had effectively destroyed all systems of world order thereby making Wexler’s sharing of information redundant.”

Jheselbraum’s speculative voice broke through her dark thoughts.

“Actually, I have been wondering about whether he is our only lead,”

Carla looked up at her with wide eyes.

“Has Oracle Division tracked down Addi and Fiddleford?” she asked eagerly.

Jheselbraum’s mouth quirked. “Not Oracle Division. And I’m not even certain she can help us. But if anyone has the ability to, it’s her.” She straightened decisively. “I’ll get back to you soon. In the meantime, perhaps you should deliver that folder to Agent Wexler, and savour the look on his face,”

Indeed she did, when she handed his new identity over a minute later. It was the least he owed her for the past few months.

“Alright Mr Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, it’s time to meet your new life as a travelling banjo minstrel,”

Gravity Falls, Oregon (Soon-to-be-Divided States of America)    ∆

A proximity sensor buzzed, signalling the approach of Pines, which was good news to Bill, who was getting impatient, and especially good news to Blondie and Fiddlesticks, whose heads he had been about to riddle with bullets.

“And right in the nick of time, boys,” he said, grinning as he lifted the gun off the man’s forehead. All sorts of shouts and protests finished their ringing echoes around the basement, leaving a breathless stillness in their wake that left him free to speak without competition. As the prisoners sagged, he continued, “Congratulations you two, you get to live another few minutes,”

They didn’t reply. Fiddsy he wasn’t even sure could at this point.

Spinning on his heel, Bill turned to the monitors.

He’d brought the brother. Good.

Stanford and Stanley were trudging across the grounds towards the cabin, their movements slow and deliberate. A smart choice, as Bill was more than capable of killing them where they stood thanks to Stanford’s enthusiasm and/or paranoia in his design of this place’s defences. It really was a shame that he’d sided against Bill.

They reached the front door, hands raised in surrender. As per Bill’s orders, the agents in the house above them let them through.

“Hey, you guys wanna play a game?” Bill suggested suddenly. McGucket made no response. He just hung there, his legs no longer able to support him. What a drip. Marks though, she raised her head and fixed him with a gaze that was definitely more lost than it had been a couple hours ago.

“Let’s try and figure out what their play is.” He peered theatrically at the next monitor, putting the gun on the desk before placing his palms flat against it too, pushing his face close to the screen. The upstairs agents were searching the brothers for weapons, going over every inch of them so that not so much as a pen knife would be brought down to the basement.

“Hmmm. Hope your pals here weren’t going to try taking me by surprise.” Twisting the screen around so that she could see, he asked, “What do you think?”

Marks’ eyes flicked over to it momentarily, but she seemed reluctant to look away from him – how flattering.

Then she did a double-take, and her eyes locked back onto the screen. She looked like she was concentrating. She was even leaning forward a little, trying to see it closer, an expression like there was a word she couldn’t think of right on the tip of her tongue, but remaining stubbornly out of reach.

Bill narrowed his eyes and stepped over to the edge of the desk, where he’d laid the memory gun on top of the Journal as a bookmark. He flipped backwards a few pages until he found what he was looking for.

“Ohh, right, you gave Fordsy your own little stop-and-frisk session back in China, didn’t you?” he teased.

Her eyes flew back to him, a sudden clarity in them. Hmm. Obviously his new toy wasn’t as refined as he’d thought.

“Funny,” Bill said, tilting his head. “I thought we already covered China…” He shrugged. “Must have missed this bit.”

A brief spin of the dial and a click of the trigger and a flash of light later, and those memories were once again gone. Marks flinched back, gasping, shaking her head and blinking the stars out of her eyes. When she looked back at the search of Stanford that the agents were finishing up, there was no recognition of the situation.

“Damn thing.” He shook the memory gun a little. “What about you, your head’s not fixing itself is it?” He shot at McGucket before he replaced the device. He didn’t expect a response, but he got one anyway.

“Well, it ain’t like Ah’d tell you’f I was!” And then he cackled – yep, cackled – briefly. Huh, looked like he was finally losing it. Well, it made things livelier anyway.

Out of curiosity, Bill tried erasing the ocean from his head. There was a brief pause, but McGucket continued cackling soon after. Marks looked sick.

“Finally, one of you’s seeing the humour in the situation. I don’t mind saying, you’ve been a pair of Debbie Downers lately.” Bill rolled his eyes and replaced the gun on top of the Journal, then resumed his position in front of the monitors. McGucket’s laughs died down soon after.

Pines and Pines 2.0 were being led through the house now. Returning to his musings on their possible plans, Bill said, “Credit where it’s due, at least they’re not attacking those agents. That would just be embarrassing for everyone,” If either of them so much as twitched aggressively towards an agent, the others, both visible and hidden from view, would bear down on the Pines like the wrath of, well, Bill.

No incidents occurred. Last week, Bill would have been inclined to put that down to Stanford’s forethought. Now… Bill was more informed.

He watched them walk compliantly through the rooms. Another thought struck him.

“Do a perimeter sweep,” he ordered through the mike. “We don’t want Oracle Division pulling any fast ones,” The command was acknowledged, and the monitors showed an increase in activity around and within the property moments later.

He doubted Stanford would have told the FBI where he was, not with Marks and McGucket so easily within his reach, and so far his and his brother’s cautious actions were confirming that. But Bill knew Jheselbraum. If there was anything that witch was good at, it was coming out of nowhere with devastatingly unexpected strikes.

The Wheel reported that all was quiet, however. It seemed that not even she had managed to find her way here.

On the central screen, one of the agents opened the bookcase revealing the stairs down to the basement’s first level. The other two escorted Stanley and Stanford through with a warning hand on their shoulders. They moved carefully.

At the elevator the lead agent typed in the access code, the buttons on the grainy image lighting up. Turning his gaze to a smaller monitor off to the side, Bill wondered if the elevator would be where they attempted something. It was the most strategic place for it.

Stanley and Stanford wordlessly entered the small area. The three guards visibly tensed in the tighter space, clearly also expecting an attack. Bill heard the elevator begin its trundle downwards, the sound propagating through the space and filling the once again silent area. Marks wasn’t even attempting to make escape plans with McGucket anymore. The lack of whispers in the background while he was apparently distracted was new. It was probably the certainty of death that was hanging in the air. Earlier, they probably hadn’t fully realised that he was going to kill them. And doing it in front of Stanford? Just a bonus.

The elevator reached the third level of the basement and its doors opened, revealing Pines, Disappointing Pines, and Guards One, Two, and Three, who had not been subdued, injured, or knocked unconscious. They pushed their charges out roughly.

Bill moved sedately over to the end of the bench, the motion alerting Stanley and Stanford to his presence. Their eyes alighted on him immediately. He settled comfortably against the edge, with the memory gun and Journal to his left, and the regular gun to his right, both easily within reach. He grinned at them.

“Just dump their weapons over there, you two,” he directed the agents.

“They didn’t bring any, sir,” reported one of them.

Bill raised an eyebrow at the Pines’. “Not very hopeful, were you?” he quipped. When they didn’t respond he continued, “Alright then, go back to your stations. Keep watch, be on guard, all that jazz. If you hear any screaming, that’ll be them. Don’t worry about it,” With a cheery wave, he dismissed them, and they turned and walked swiftly back to the elevator.

Once it started its rattling journey upwards, Bill examined his new prisoners. Stanley and Stanford returned his gaze with identical apprehensive expressions. And jeez, speaking of identical… they really did look similar. The monitor screens hadn’t done it justice. Stanford of course had blood and dirt all over his shirt, and Stanley wasn’t wearing glasses, but other than that… sheesh.

“I’m glad you brought your brother, Fordsy,” Bill started conversationally. “I would not have been happy otherwise,”

“You’re happy now?” said Stanford disbelievingly.

“No,” Bill admitted. “But this is nothing to what I would have been like,” The viciousness in his words was tempered by the palpable trepidation in the room.

“Well, you know,” said Stanley, far more flippantly than the tension in his body suggested he was capable of, “wherever we go, we go together,”

Bill gave an overexaggerated wince. “Ooh, might wanna rethink that line, buddy,”

Another difference between the two was that Stanley’s focus was solely on Bill, whereas Stanford had noticed McGucket and Marks manacled to the wall on Bill’s left.

“I assume I don’t need to do introductions?” he said lightly. Marks was looking all pathetic and desperate as she looked back at the frozen Stanford, which made Bill glad he hadn’t gotten around to burning out the latter bits of the Journal from her mind. No recognition would have been so much less entertaining, although Pines’ reaction to that would’ve been a sight to behold. Upsides to everything, Bill considered.

Stanley finally appeared to notice the other occupants of the room, and the expression that crossed his face was such a mixed bag of intensity that Bill actually laughed, whereupon it just became one of hate. Stanford had never been so open and easy to read. He liked this new guy.

“Addi? Fiddleford?” He asked in that rough voice of his. “You two-” He shut himself up before asking if they were okay.

“And look at that, you’re smart, too,” Bill praised. “No, Stanny, Miss Adeline and Mr Fiddleford are definitely not… well, how about you tell them yourselves, guys?” He gestured for them to go ahead and speak.

Marks glared, jaw clenched tightly shut. McGucket, however, was the more noticeably silent of the two. Not only did he not speak, but he didn’t move either. He hadn’t, in all the time that Stanley and Stanford had entered the basement. All eyes were drawn to him.

“Fiddleford?” said Stanford cautiously. No response.

“You wanna tell them or should I?” Bill cheerfully asked Marks.

She swallowed.

“He- he doesn’t know that’s his name,” she said softly.

Bill nodded emphatically. “Yep-amundo! Oh, don’t look so shocked, I had to do something while I waited for you guys, didn’t I?”

McGucket stirred. On shaky legs, he pushed himself to stand on his own a little more. “S’my name?” he murmured to Marks.

“Y-yeah. Fiddleford,” she replied unsteadily.

Well now the guy seemed a little more focused and clear-headed, and that wouldn’t do at all.

He slammed his left hand down on the Journal, and Stanley and Stanford would have had to be blind not to notice McGucket and Marks flinch as he came close to grabbing the memory gun again. Instead, he picked up the Journal.

McGucket’s eyes burned as they fixated on it. Bill’s grin broadened, and he flourished it at Stanford, who’s jaw was tightly clenched.

“Look familiar? It sure does to these two, I’ll tell you that. And it’s just chock full of all sorts of information! Families, histories, interests, missions… and I’m sure they both wanted all of it to end up in an easily accessible diary like it did, to be used against them at their earliest convenience!” Bill gave a mock salute. “We’re ever so grateful, Stanford,”

“Ford, he would’ve just found other things to use against us, or another way to get the information-” Marks started, valiantly trying to preserve the idiot’s feelings – and sure, she may have been right, Bill would have gotten the information anyway, but where was the fun in admitting that?

It was McGucket who interrupted her before Bill could, however.

“Didja write that?” The man was shaking, and not from the spot of torture. His hands were clenched tight, fingers biting into his palms. “All that- in that there book?”

Bill looked at Stanford, whose face was stonily shut down, unresponsive.

Like a switch had been flipped, McGucket chuckled suddenly. There wasn’t the slightest hint of mirth behind it, but he still shook with laughter.

“An’ Ah only had two months before retirement!”

Bill rolled his eyes. “I swear I already wiped Oracle Division…” he muttered. He picked up the memory gun again and shrugged amiably at Stanley and Stanford. “The things that slip your mind, am I right?”

He spun the dial with practiced ease and loosed the bright stream directly into McGucket’s face. The Pines’ started forward.

“AH, AH, AH, BOYS!” Bill held up the memory gun. “Stay where you are,” he warned vehemently. They did, standing further apart than before. “Good. No need to forget what the order of things is here, now is there?”

McGucket hadn’t reacted all that much to the burst from the memory gun. Bill would have wondered if it had even worked if he hadn’t stopped laughing so quickly.

“Alright, enough messing around,” he decided, leaning back against the bench once more and replacing the memory gun in its position atop the Journal, although he kept his hand on it. Pines and Disappointing Pines looked just about ready to charge, and while it would entertain him no end to have yet another excuse to hurt Blondie and Fiddsy because of them, he did want to get around to dealing out some pain for the Brothers Dim, too. That would only be delayed if he had to go and restrain them.

“You have us. Are you going to let Adeline and Fiddleford go?” Stanford said, his gaze flicking momentarily to the memory gun.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just waste my time with that question,” Bill said flatly.

“Then why are they still alive?”

In the peripheral of his vision, he saw Stanley take a step closer to him. So that was their play. One of them distracts him, the other gets the memory gun off him. Not great, and not going to work, and he would have thought that Stanford would be the one trying to wrest the thing away, but he’d play along for now. It’d make the finale all the more fun.

“Oh, because of this and that. Just never got ‘round to it, I suppose.” He turned to face more fully towards Stanford, like a thought had just occurred to him, and Stanley took the bait, edging closer.

“I gotta say, I am surprised you’ve managed to stay alive up ‘til now. I s’pose you’ve got your bro to thank for that, haha. Seems like a shame though, to let all that hard and unrewarding work just… disappear,” He punctuated the word by tapping his left fingers playfully on the memory gun. Stanley came closer still. Honestly, he hadn’t even crossed half the distance! He could definitely do with some pointers on strategy.

Quite happy to keep talking, Bill continued, “Y’know, what the heck!” He spread his hands wide and then dropped then back down, noticing that yes, Stanley had taken advantage of that chance too.

“Since you left, Stanford, I have to admit, there has been a bit of a vacuum left in your wake, and I don’t want to fill it with just anyone, you know what I’m saying? It really does need a Pines touch,”

Stanford stiffened.

Bill tilted his head innocently.

Stanford said, “No way in-”

“I’m sorry, WAS I TALKING TO YOU?” Bill thundered, and then he stuck out his right hand and grabbed the gun that didn’t fire white light and shot Stanford in the chest.

∆

“A’course Ah know where he is, y’think I was gonna let my husband go off in a state’f emergency without havin’ me as backup? I put a tracker under his tie this mornin’. He’s in some town in Oregon,”

“Thank you so much for your help, Madeline,”

“Why don’t you know where is? Jheselbraum? Why are you out of contact with him? Something hasn’t happened, has it?”

Silence.

“Madeline, we’ll need you to transfer us your tracking frequency as soon as possible,”

Silence again.

“Ah’m bringin’ it to ya myself. See you in twenty,”

∆

The blast hadn’t finished echoing around the basement before Bill was turning to Stanley.

“So whaddaya say, sport? Finally ready to join the fold? I gotta admit, I was sceptical at first, but y’know what, Sixer’s convinced me! He’s been singing you praises since months before you even showed up, isn’t that right Fordsy?”

On the ground behind him came a spluttering, gasping, pained noise. Stanley’s face was sheet white, his whole body frozen as if every joint was suddenly locked. Bill tossed the gun to his other hand and picked up the memory gun. So many guns! So many targets! Not the guy in front of him, though. At least, not if he made the right choice.

“All through that tour around the world, after every single mission, it was ‘Stanley this!’, ‘Stanley that!’ and I’ll admit, I didn’t wanna see it! I thought IQ over there was the golden boy!” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Stanley’s eyes finally moved to follow its trajectory – hah, tragic-tory, more like.

“Wasn’t meant to be, unfortunately. Good thing you showed up! And I reckon you’re much more suited to this kind of life. After all, you didn’t go making friends with enemy agents first chance you got, you know how to focus on what’s important, and you know how to think on your feet and do whatever it takes to get what you want. And I bet you, kid, know what the smart option is now, don’t you?”

Stanley staggered a little. His eyes looked distinctly wet.

“I get it, you need a moment to think. Gotta weigh up those choices. Sure, on the one hand, I shot your brother. But on the other, I could just as easily shoot you. I’ll give you…” He deliberated for a moment. “… until I next get bored to make your decision, how’s that?”

He spun around to chat to his other prisoners. Marks’ expression was delightful, it was like he’d shot her instead, with that open-mouthed, shocked look, and eyes slowly filling with tears as she processed what happened. And even though McGucket wasn’t really up to date on what was going on, he didn’t appear any less affected. What a guy! Bill had been telling him practically since he’d arrived that the guy who wrote the Journal was the reason for all his torture, and he still only looked horrified. He was also the only other person in the room who hadn’t just stopped, rock-like. Even now he was examining everything that was happening, and fixing Bill with a pretty impressive evil eye.

Stanford’s groans of agony meanwhile were growing less and less, as were his laboured breaths. Bill didn’t even spare him a glance.

Feeling the constant background thrum of anger in him spike again, he was about to turn around and demand an answer of Pines when Marks drew a quick, shuddering breath and attracted his attention.

“Got something to say, lovely?”

She was stuck for words for a moment, but quickly found something to say.

“How- how could you do that?”

Pity it was so unoriginal.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Blondie, but I’m a little short on all those ‘heroic qualities’ you value so highly,”

“Ya- ya didn’t haveta kill him,” said McGucket, not letting the tremors in his bones stop him it seemed.

“Didn’t I, now?”

“He could’ve still been useful, fer yer – yer whatchamacall it… robotical and weaponisifyin’ office! Where all the mad folk go to unleash their minds upon the world!” He cackled again for a moment.

“You mean the R and D department?” Marks asked him.

“That too,” agreed McGucket.

Bill arched an eyebrow. “Thanks for the suggestion, but he was being far more annoying than useful by the end. And besides! Too late now,”

There was a flicker on both their faces. Wow, shooting Stanford had really rattled them, hadn’t it? They hadn’t been this in sync with each other for hours. It was almost like they had a common goal again.

Bill frowned. “You guys aren’t trying to distract me, are you?”

He whipped around just as Stanley finished crossing the distance and slammed his boot into Bill’s wrist. The memory gun went flying.

It hit the floor, threw up sparks, skidded, and whirled around and around until McGucket brought his foot down and stomped on it with a viciously triumphant expression. The shimmern bulb audibly cracked, and electricity fizzled up and down its length before dying out.

It was broken, that was for sure.

And Bill had no other copies.

And of the two men who could build another, one was all but dead, and the other was rapidly heading towards insanity.

Was Bill angry? No. Was he incandescent? Closer. Most importantly, he was still holding one gun.

“YOU IDIOT!” He roared, and brought it up and struck Pines across the face with it. He went down hard, and Bill wasted no time lashing a kick into his side that knocked him away and onto his back. Bill advanced again as Stanley, coughing, went to scramble up.

Pines made it to his feet and threw a punch. Bill dodged it easily and sent his boot into the side of Pines’ knee, which dropped him again with an agonised yell. Must’ve already been injured. He kicked it again, snarling. Pines screamed.

Stanley was kneeling now. Good. Bill brought the gun around but couldn’t resist hitting him again with it. It struck his temple in the same place as the first time, colliding with his skull in a satisfying crunch, sending him sprawling. Bill brought the gun back again, finger on the trigger, so ready for the sight of some blood and brains, but Pines caught the barrel and pointed it away from his face. Bill fired anyway. The bullet shot into the ground by Pines’ ear, concrete scattering, the bang deafening. The heat from the explosion scalded Pines, who yelled out again and shifted his grip off the hot barrel and over Bill’s own hands, still keeping the weapon away from himself. Bill pressed down with all his weight. Almost immediately, he began to win. Well, it was good to know that the esteemed skills and strength of Stanley Pines were so easily overcome. He must have hit him in the head harder than he’d thought.

Pines was flat against the floor now, almost all of Bill’s weight bearing down on the gun in the grip between them, forcing it slowly back towards Stanley’s face. Bill pulled the trigger again. It blasted into the concrete, barely a millimetre between that hole and the first. He pulled the trigger again. Stanley’s head jerked away from the third hole, neatly in line with the others, but he didn’t let up. Again. A fourth hole appeared, and this time the bullet skimmed his ear, the blood dripping into the cracks on the floor. Bill grinned right into Pines’ strained and desperate face. He sighted along the barrel of the gun. Pines’ left eye widened underneath it.

“Hey wise guy. Thought you wanted me dead,”

No. There was no way.

Bill looked back so fast his neck cracked.

He was on his feet. How was he on his feet?

There was a trail of blood marking where he’d crawled from his prone position. He had one hand pressed tightly just below his ribcage. He looked like any second could bring him down, but the grim set of his face gave some inkling as to how none had yet. And he was aiming the memory gun, the broken, sparking memory gun that Stanford Pines would not fire in a million years, directly at Bill.

He forgot about the man under him and bounded up, one hand extended out in a wild grab-

“STANLEY-”

-and nothing.

∆

The blinding flash faded from her eyes and Addi blinked desperately to clear them.

“What…”

She kind of wanted to scream, kind of wanted to cry, kind of wanted to curl up and pretend like nothing was real, but she didn’t. She didn’t, because the futile hand Cipher had outstretched was immobile, that expression of frenzied desperation permanently locked onto his face. The colour had been leeched out of him.

He’d been turned entirely to stone.

His back still to her, Ford’s arm shakily dropped and the memory gun clattered to the floor once more. He groaned and his knees sagged, and he would probably have fallen flat on his face if Stan hadn’t suddenly been there, grabbing him and offering what support he could.

“Stan? Oh God, how- how do you feel?” Stan was saying… as… he lowered… Ford to the ground…

His voice sounded very different.

“Worse’n I look. Urggh, no, actually scratch that…”

And he sounded different too.

No. Nononono. Wait.

Cipher had yelled out Stan’s name right before…

“You switched?” she burst out, cursing herself for not seeing it sooner. Ford had six fingers, for crying out loud! And they were similar, yes, but not identical…

Neither twin responded, which she supposed was fair enough. F-Stan squeezed his eyes shut as Ford put pressure on the wound. There was a lot of blood, but evidently it wasn’t in an imminently fatal position – although the amount of time that elapsed before Stan got proper medical attention would still be a deciding factor. She’d seen Stan doing his best to plug it, but frankly she was amazed he hadn’t passed out yet.

Ford cursed and looked around, spying his glasses lying a little way away where they’d dropped off Stan when he was shot, and jammed them on his face with a trembling hand. Nope, she needed an answer.

“Why did you switch?” she demanded.

“We thought Ford was the only one who Cipher would be distracted by for long enough to get the memory gun off him, but he was also the only one who knew how to work it,” answered Stan, looking like he was trying to distract himself. “So we switched so I could distract him and Ford could get the memory gun off him, and hopefully everyone would come out fine.” He winced as Ford shifted. “As you can see, it worked amazingly,” he grunted.

It was possibly the most ill-advised plan Addi had ever thought anyone could conceive of. On the other hand, they had pulled it off, in a kind of roundabout way.

“Ford, get me out of here,” Addi called. “I can help, I have medical training,”

Thank God Cipher hadn’t taken those memories from her.

“Not ta mention we’ve been chained to this wall fer hours and we don’t want to be anymore,” Fiddleford chimed in with a far more valid reason. When Addi looked at him, he seemed utterly confused, but she thought that was because of Stan and Ford: he’d been clear-headed enough to keep Cipher’s attention on them. That most definitely did not mean that he was fine, though; he trembled like a leaf, and he couldn’t hold himself up properly. She was getting him, and Stan, and Ford as well, to a hospital ASAP.

Ford hadn’t moved from his position tending to Stan. It was like he hadn’t even heard her. Her heart clenched.

Five gunshots right next to the ear, plus dazing from multiple blows to the head. He probably didn’t.

As if just noticing that the shirt Stan was wearing was beyond saving at this point, Ford sighed and complained – a little louder than he normally would have – “You got blood all over my clothes,”

“You got blood all over your own clothes,” Stan muttered, affronted.

“What?”

“You got blood all over your own clothes,”

“What?”

Stan rolled his eyes and gestured towards herself and Fiddleford. “Just- just go help them down, Addi can at least recognise snark…”

Following his pointing finger, Ford’s eyes widened and he sprang up, finally remembering them. The key was on one of the workbenches, and as soon as it was jammed into the slot on Addi’s manacles, they clicked open. She hissed as her shoulders rotated for the first time in hours, her fingers and forearms tingling painfully as feeling rushed back to them, her back aching-

And Ford enclosed her in a hug and everything seemed a bit more bearable.

What did she know? She knew… she knew he was important to her, very important, as both a friend and something not yet defined but certainly real. She also thought that they’d probably worked together. He made her happy. He was fun, and stubborn, and she knew she needed to help him out of trouble a lot, and... damn it, what else? The little she knew of before Cipher and the basement seemed like a hazy dream. The first moment she could remember between them was… a reunion? In the El Dorado forest.

No, that wasn’t true.

A flash of memories crossed her mind. Her heart beating fast as he held her hands and leant in close. The breath literally being driven from her as he elbowed her in the gut and immediately looked horrified. His suddenly nervous but pleased expression as she asked him to buy her a drink.

Reluctantly, she let him go, and made her legs stumble over to Stan. There would be plenty of time to puzzle out the past later, when they weren’t dying.

She shook her head and dropped down beside him.

“How’s your breathing?” Other than painful and quick. “Difficult? Do you feel like coughing?”

“Nah. Kinda hard to focus, though,” he said, head lolling around to her.

“That’s the blood loss. Try and stay awake, okay? Tell me all about, uh…” She faltered at the realisation that she didn’t know him well enough to bring up his interests. Then a name burst into being behind her eyes.

“Carla! Tell me all about her.” She bent down and listened to the hole in his torso, moving his hands for a moment. She couldn’t hear any air. The bullet had missed his lung then. His hands felt clammy as she pressed them back down. He was in shock, too.

“Ford, we really need to stop this bleeding,” she said, interrupting Stan’s rambling. Ford straightened up from helping Fiddleford to a chair.

“Right.” His gaze passed rapidly over all of them in succession, lingering harrowingly on Stan. “I’ll- I’ll go upstairs and call for help-”

“No, ya darn well ain’t gonna, Stanford Pines!” Exploded Fiddleford. “’Cause there’s a veritabibble army of Cipher Wheel murder-machines dressed’n human form up there and I haven’t had a cat-piddlin’ second to design my own murder bot fer a counterattack!”

Addi stilled. The Wheel. It was still active. And the only reason she and her friends were still alive was because they didn’t know their boss was now a garden ornament. If they came down here, out of all of them she was the only one who would have any kind of chance at fighting back – Stan needed immediate medical help, Fiddleford couldn’t stand on his own or stop shaking (and that wasn’t even addressing his mental state), and Ford was one good hit away from collapse himself. It really shouldn’t be up to the girl with a mind like swiss cheese to protect them all, but it appeared it was.

The elevator came to life and dinged open.

“Area secured,” Carla McCorkle, dressed in full tactical gear, said into her mike.

“We found ‘em. They’re in th’basement,” her partner breathed in relief, throwing her head back and slumping.

Her partner…

“Maddie!” Addi cried.

“Addi!” Madeline McGucket responded automatically.

∆

“It seems that trouble has once again come to Gravity Falls. In a shocking turn of events, the creepy cabin in the woods that we all feel like is watching us when we go near it and out of which strange sounds and black-ops-looking type people occasionally enter, has been the headquarters for a mad spy organisation this entire time. It was stormed by the FBI and Oracle Division – whatever that is – not two hours ago, and four severely injured individuals were safely recovered from the basement, in which they had been held prisoner by the leader of said mad spy organisation, Bill Cipher. In events that are not entirely clear, Cipher had been… turned into a statue? Is this right? It is? Alright then… Cipher had been turned into a statue. When it was brought up out of the house and our reporter on the scene questioned whether Cipher might still be alive inside it, the thing was fly-kicked into a million pieces by one of the aforementioned prisoners, a Mr Fiddleford McGucket, to assorted cheering from the other prisoners, the FBI, the Oracle Division agents, random spectators, and the mad spy terrorists themselves. To conclude, the answer to that question is a resounding ‘no’.

“Meanwhile, the prisoners themselves are receiving treatment at the scene, as they are apparently too stubborn to leave things in other people’s hands…”

∆

From what Stan could see from his position lying on the stretcher in the ambulance, the clean-up seemed to be going well. Red and blue lights flashed into the night, and an almost continuous stream of Cipher Wheel operatives were being led out of Ford’s house, loaded into FBI vans, and driven away. It was much easier to take in his surroundings now that pain and cold fear weren’t pulsing through his body; the paramedics had given him something, and now the entire left side of his body was numb. And they’d assured him he wasn’t dying anymore, which was a relief. Also, they’d bandaged up that bullet graze on his shoulder. It was nice to be looked after.

Carla’s fingers were winding through his hair.

“We’re getting married as soon as possible,” she said. She was sitting in a chair next to him, occasionally touching the plaster the paramedics had insisted on putting on her multitude of cuts and scrapes.

“We are?” he asked.

“We are,” she confirmed. “I don’t trust you not to go off on yet another adventure and do something reckless and get yourself shot again before our wedding day,”

“Me do something reckless?” Spluttered Stan. “You tackled an assassin through a window today!”

“But I didn’t almost die!”

“That bandage over your wrist arteries and those bruises around your throat beg to differ,”

She flicked his nose.

“Ow!” He decided to let her idiocy go, at least until he could properly defend himself. “Yeah, let’s get married soon,” he agreed.

The last of the Cipher Wheel agents were driven off.

“So, case closed, huh?”

“Almost, thanks to you,” she smiled. “There’s still moles in practically every agency on the planet, I’ll bet, not too mention all the bureaucratic higher-ups Cipher had in his pocket – Jheselbraum’s superiors, for one. Fortunately, Wexler is free to help us with that, now,”

Stan groaned. “I thought you were going to take a break! What happened to us having some time off together?”

Carla blinked, startled. “I- uh, well, I’m still needed, there’s still things to-”

“Agents! There you are,” Came Jheselbraum’s voice.

Tilting his head, Stan saw her standing at the entrance of their ambulance.

“I couldn’t help overhearing the tail-end of that conversation,” she stated, “and I’m afraid Carla is right, Stanley. There is still much to see to with regards to the Cipher Wheel investigation,”

Stan’s heart sank.

“In fact, Carla, as a reward for the extensive amount of time and effort that you have put into this case, as well as the exceptional valour, initiative, and determination you have displayed these past few hours in the midst of crisis, I have taken it upon myself to use my not-inconsiderable influence to offer you a promotion,”

Carla’s face lit up.

Great. More work for her to take on.

Jheselbraum continued, “This will enable you a firmer command over the investigation, and I expect you’ll want to take full advantage of the delegative duties now available to you,”

Delegative duties? Well, just because it doesn’t sound like more work doesn’t mean it isn’t…

“I should also mention that this promotion comes with the condition that you take appropriate steps to address the large amount of stress and mental strain that this has placed upon you. Whatever those steps may be,” Jheselbraum looked from Carla to Stan, and back again. “Some leave, perhaps? Or time to work from home?”

For one heart-stopping moment, Stan thought Carla was too proud to accept. A few different expressions warred on her face, until something in it cleared.

“I’ll take that as a yes, Supervisory Special Agent McCorkle,” Jheselbraum smiled.

Carla sat back in her chair, breathing out slowly, and then grinned at Stan, who beamed broadly right back.

“So that’s that, Agent McCorkle?”

“That’s that, Mr Pines” she agreed.

Stan looked out of the ambulance again. Directly opposite, another ambulance was parked, its back doors open to them. He raised a hand in a brief wave to Addi and Ford, who were cuddling with their legs swinging off the edge of the ambulance floor. Ford had finally gotten some proper stitches in his head, as well as a bandage around it, and a knee brace. Addi was physically fine, but had a shock blanket draped around her shoulders. His brother smiled back at him.

“How often do ya put trackers on me?” Fiddleford wondered. His ambulance was next to Ford’s.

“Only when there’s a big whoppin’ emergency,” Madeline answered. Fiddleford was sitting up on his stretcher, and Madeline had joined him on it. The tremors had all but stopped, Stan was glad to see. Those were what had scared Madeline and the paramedics the most, but it had apparently only been shock symptoms, and wasn’t indicative of any kind of lasting brain damage. That hadn’t stopped Addi from flatly stating that both Fiddleford and herself were going to be booked up in mental therapy for the next few months, an action which Stan for one wholeheartedly agreed with.

Funnily enough, Fiddleford’s erratic speech was nothing to worry about. Madeline had disclosed that it wasn’t that out of character for him. He was way worse when he was drunk, apparently.

Something that balanced out the heartbreak that Madeline had shown when Fiddleford hadn’t entirely recognised her was the amazement and happiness on his face when she managed to tell him that she – at this point flushed from the action of the conflict with the Cipher Wheel agents, dressed head to foot in tactical gear, and backlit by the light from the elevator like some sort of avenging angel come to save them all – was his wife. Since then he’d seen Fiddleford staring off into space occasionally, just thinking things over.

“So what’s happening to Oracle Division?” Carla asked.

“We’re dissolved,” Addi replied. She nodded off to where Jheselbraum had moved to talk to some FBI officials. “The director said our mission’s over. The FBI has it handled from here, and Oracle Division agents will be picked up by other departments,”

“Is that what's going to happen to you?” Stan inquired, looking between her and Fiddleford.

Addi hesitated.

“Like hell it is!” Fiddleford snapped for her. “Whatever son of a bitumen road tries to stop me from retirin’ right this minute is goin’ ta be sorry. Ah’ve had it up to here with spies!”

“Fair enough,” Stan said, as Madeline high-fived him.

“I think I’m done with that scene for a while too,” Addi said, nestling closer to Ford.

“In that case,” Ford said, clearing his throat, “since I appear to be out of a job as well, how would you like to stay here with me? I’ve been thinking about going the scientific research route for years now, and this seems to be the perfect opportunity to do it,”

“Wh- really? Yes, of course! I’d love to!” Addi exclaimed, lurching off his shoulder to look him in the eye.

Happy as anything, Ford leaned forward so he could see into Fiddleford’s ambulance. “You’d be welcome too, Fiddleford. I can also look back over the memory gun schematics, see if I can reverse-engineer them. Any chance to make things right-”

“Ford, ‘making things right’ isn’t going to happen,” Addi interrupted.

Ford looked shattered.

Addi blanched. “No, no! That’s not what I meant! It’s because the memories are coming back on their own! We don’t need you to make a reverse-memory gun!”

“Wait, they are?” exclaimed Stan.

She nodded at him. “Every now and then another one gets triggered,”

Ford looked at Fiddleford. “Is this happening with you as well?”

“It is. Maddie’s been tellin’ me about Tate, and I’m rememberin’ him better all the time,”

“Well then maybe-” Ford reached behind him and grabbed the Journal, which he’d taken from the basement – “it would help if I recounted our missions together… that is, if you want my help…?” He looked uncertainly at Fiddleford. Stan winced as he remembered the anger he’d seen on the man’s face as Cipher had indicated the Journal.

Fiddleford sighed. “Stanford, Addi’s right. Cipher didn’t need that thing to hurt us, it was just convenient for him. Ah’d greatly appreciate yer help, and,” He glanced at Madeline, who shrugged in an easygoing manner, “Ah’d be happy to work with ya in th’future,”

Relief crossed Ford’s features.

Stan privately noticed that Fiddleford was clearly – to him at least – holding back quite a lot. Those first sentences had a rigidity to them that Stan thought probably meant that while Fiddleford could say them, and know they were true, there was still a way to go before he would really believe them. However, the fact that he had said them meant that things were already looking up.

“So you’re… doing okay?” Carla cringed at the inadequacy of the question.

“Improvin’,” Fiddleford nodded. “The memory gun stopped workin’ on me after a while, so that’s helped. Don’t think Cipher noticed, or cared too,”

“It did?” Addi asked, wide-eyed. “I mean, thank God, but… it did?”

At Fiddleford’s shrug, Ford straightened up. “That’s incredible! Perhaps you built up a resistance to the ray, or maybe the gun lost its power after a while – although that wouldn’t explain why it continued to work on Addi… I wonder, if we took an MRI of your brain-”

“Ford, are ya a neuroscientist?” Madeline asked with an amused tilt to her head.

“Ah, no-”

“Then leave it alone fer now. Let’s just relax for a while,”

Ford gave an embarrassed grin and Fiddleford squeezed his wife’s shoulders contentedly.

“All that bein’ said,” he piped up suddenly, irritation entering his voice. “Writin’ down yer top secret escapades was an idiotic thing ta do, Stanford, and if I’m goin’ to be workin’ with ya, you’ll be usin’ a computer, yer hear?”

“Computer’s can be hacked,” Ford responded weakly.

“Not mine,” said Fiddleford grimly.

Ford nodded his acquiescence, not that he had much choice, and then turned hopefully to Stan and Carla.

“We’ve already got jobs,” grinned Stan.

“We’ve also got some mandatory leave,” Carla put in. “I’d be happy to spend it here. After all, we’ve got ten years to catch up on, Ford,” She offered, and laughed as Stan immediately agreed to the idea. He was in no way ready to say goodbye to his brother yet, and he didn’t think Ford wanted him to leave yet either. There was still plenty of sappy hugs and conversations to have before then. And it looked like they were about to start now, as Ford opened the Journal on his lap, pressed a kiss to Addi’s hair, rolled his eyes at Stan’s eyebrow waggle, and began to read.

What had his life been like two weeks ago? He’d had a girlfriend who loved him, but who had also been extremely pressured by her work. He’d had a steady-ish job, but no friends. And a brother who he hadn’t seen in five years. Two weeks ago, life had been lonely, and quiet.

Now, he had a fiancée who loved him and whose case was all but wrapped up so she wasn’t in danger of dying of stress, he had taken down a terrorist and probably deserved a medal or some cash or something, he had two very firm friends who pulled stunts he found completely nuts but which probably meant that they weren’t about to be scared away any time soon, and a brother who wanted him around, who liked talking to him, who once again wanted his help and wanted to help him in return.

Now, life was moving on to better things, and he was looking forward to their next adventures even more.

#gravity falls #fanfiction #spy au #double o sixer au #stanley pines #bill cipher #carla mccorkle #fiddleford mcgucket #adeline marks #jheselbraum #blind ivan #madeline mcgucket #stanford pines #*emperor voice* #BOOM BABY

[radiojamming]

Cody in the rdr2 world being a gremlin

i’ve been nesting on this one since i couldn’t figure out if cody would be in the law or an outlaw. now i know, and i also thing she would be a glorious thing to behold in the rdr2 universe.

also, cameo of a friend!!!

- - -

Arthur looks at the paper, at the faint line of Valentine street dust collecting in the crease, right down the middle of the girl’s face. Girl is probably not the right word. She’s a woman, around thirty-two by the bounty’s estimate, but she’s wide-eyed and grinning like a child in the photograph. It looks like a candid shot, as though someone caught her mid-boast.

The deputy clears his throat, and Arthur can hear him shifting his weight on the floorboards. “That’s, uh… Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard of her.”

“Can’t say I have,” Arthur says.

“Miss Oakley. She’s been somethin’ worse than a terror around here.”

Arthur hums in acknowledgement, but his eyes fix on disturbing the peace. Of course, there are charges for larceny, cattle rustling, train robbery, and attempted murder; but if Arthur knows anything about the life of an outlaw, disturbing the peace can have all sorts of interesting connotations. He’s earned that high honor quite a few times in his life.

The deputy goes on, “Came through here about, oh, five weeks ago or so. Feller at the saloon said she drank through a whole bottle of damn near embalming fluid, stole two bottles of prize whiskey, drank one while walkin’ down the street, stole some gentleman’s horse, and took off westerly ways beltin’ out somethin’ that’d make the dogs howl.”

“That all?” Arthur says jokingly.

The deputy doesn’t seem to think it’s all that funny. Arthur turns to look at him, only to find a morose expression twisting his face. “I’m afraid it ain’t.”

- - -

“Now sir, I know you said you were a gentleman, and I am completely prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. But, well–” There’s a decisive click of a revolver being cocked. “What you said ain’t so gentlemanly.”

The man on the ground whimpers like a scolded dog, trying in vain to scoot back while tied up tighter than a caterpillar in a cocoon. He only gets as far as the back wall of the cabin, and to his right side is the massive bear of man that’s been accompanying his captor. A heavy hand settles on top of the gentleman’s head, suddenly twisting it to face the revolver.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” says her friend, his voice like stone scraping stone. “If she misses, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the man pleads. His voice wheedles out of him like some backwater farmer playing a reed. “All I says to ya was–”

“Oh, please do repeat what you so kindly said!”

He pauses, swallows hard, and feels sweat snaking down his back. “Th-that I wondered if–”

“Go on.”

“If you was red down th–”

- - -

Arthur finds bits of the poor bastard’s brain on the back wall of a cabin, but the campfire outside’s gone cold, and the bootprints circle around like Miss Oakley was trying to construct a maze, doing sprints in every direction. He curses, gets back on the horse, and tries again.

- - -

“I want it.”

“No.”

“No, wait, I need it.”

“You need food, water, shelter, and half a brain. I think you’re missin’ one of those.”

“Ye of little faith!”

A sigh. “I think I’m the only thing keepin’ you intact.”

“Ain’t so. I was doin’ alright before you came along.”

Another sigh. He’s going to wheeze himself to death, but he doesn’t deign a reply except for a more emphatic, “No.”

“Says you.”

A pause.

A longer pause. Her horse isn’t moving.

“Stop looking at it.”

“I’m gonna go get it.”

“Cody! Jesus Christ, get back here!”

- - -

The general store owner in Strawberry whistles through his teeth and stares at the ceiling in thought. “Yeah, yeah I think I might’ve seen her. Nice gal, really pretty, got a baby raccoon with her.”

Arthur frowns. “A what?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I can’t say I ain’t seen weirder things, but that was definitely a baby raccoon. Named it somesuch, uh–”

He pinches the spot between his brows. “But you did see her.”

“Oh, sure! Came in here, what, about three days ago? With a big, tall feller. Head nearly touched the ceilin’.”

“They take anything?”

At this, the owner gets a smile like a proud entrepreneur, ready to extol the virtues of his ventures. “Not a bit! Paid for it all right fair and square. Lady with the raccoon said they were spendin’ a windfall of theirs.”

He thinks of the corpse in the cabin, blown to kingdom come by a woman who is coming across more like a Heartlands twister than a human being. “Thanks, sir,” he says as he puts his hat back on.

“Wait! You gonna buy anything ‘fore ya go? Fair’s fair!”

Arthur grumbles and digs around in his pocket for change.

- - -

“Oh, I got a son in Valentine! Took him on and made him mine! Big ol’ eyes and a nice ringed tail! Eats outta the mayor’s garbage pail!”

“I don’t think that’s how the song goes.”

They’re riding up through the Grizzlies now, the horses huffing and pressing on through the snow. Inside Cody’s satchel, Jean-Jacques happily gnaws on an oatcake. In a moment, he sticks his tiny paw out of a fold in the satchel until she hands him another cake and coos at him like he’s a newborn baby.

Her friend sighs, adjusting his hat on his head and minding the dark clouds forming on the ridges above. “That’s a damn raccoon. Ain’t a pet.”

“You’re right, ‘cause he’s our son.”

“Your son– No. No, I’m not even gonna talk about this with you.”

They ride on, minding the twists and turns in the path, while the clouds get heavier and bluer with an oncoming storm. Finally, Cody grunts and hands Jean-Jacques the last of the oatcakes before drawing part of her duster up over the satchel to protect him. “Probably should make camp, huh?”

“Find a cabin, more like it. We’d wake up in four feet of snow.”

“That bad?”

He nods.

“Ugh, fine. Better for Jean-Jacques, anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. “And us, by the way. I know we’re inconsequential.”

- - -

The snowstorm has nearly cleared every single track that Arthur’s been following. Pursuing them this high into the mountains while fully aware the weather was due to turn bad wasn’t the brightest idea, but a bounty’s a bounty. The wind kicks up plumes of snow, shrieks through the pass, and chills him right through the heaviest coat he owns. It’s like Colter all over again, and Arthur’s determined to kick himself as soon as he gets somewhere warm enough to thaw his legs out.

The scent of woodsmoke draws his attention, and he turns his horse towards it. He can’t rely on sight at this point, with the snow coming down as a solid white curtain, blanketing his vision. “Easy, girl,” he tells his horse, running his hand down her neck. “Not much further.”

It turns out he’s right, as the cabin comes into view, jutting out of the mountainside like it’s as natural as the trees around it. There’s a small stable built off its side, currently occupied by an enormous draft horse the color of a new penny, and a sleeker, darker Arabian. There’s just room enough to hitch his own horse, and he hopes whoever the occupants are of the cabin, they won’t mind the liberty he’s just taken.

Once she’s secure, he comes back around and stomps through the snow until he reaches the front door. Hesitation would only make him more cold and miserable, so he knocks twice. Waits. Waits.

The door opens, and there stands Miss Cody Oakley, Terror of Valentine, mother of raccoons.

She grins like he’s just given her the greatest gift in the world.

“Well,” she says, hands on her hips. Her auburn hair is in a braid running over her shoulder. “Was wonderin’ when you were gonna catch up.”

- - -

He’s staying the night with two hardened criminals.

That statement shouldn’t mean anything in his life. He lives at a camp with hardened criminals nearly every day on the calendar. He’s a hardened criminal.

But these two are in another, comparatively stranger league. That is to say, they’d fit in so well with the Van der Lindes that Arthur’s surprised that Dutch hasn’t snapped them up yet. Her friend is an ox of a man, apparently happy to sit in perfect silence and eerie stillness next to the fire that they’ve built up in the crumbling hearth. His eyes, however, stay locked on Arthur like a wolf sighting prey. As relaxed as he seems on the surface, Arthur gets the idea that if he wanted to, he could spring up and tackle Arthur in a second.

Cody, on the other hand, is all movement. She’s a flurry of copper-colored skirts, dancing from one end of the cabin to the other, pouring coffee into tin mugs, setting out a plate of biscuits, and then twirling over to where a tiny, tiny raccoon is curled up in a satchel on a chair, happily snoozing in the warmth. She leaves it another biscuit, next to its head like she’s a spirit of animal generosity. Then, she’s off dancing again.

“You get used to it,” her friend says, just as she presses a mug of coffee into his hands, kisses him on his scarred brow, and shimmies her way over to Arthur.

“Thanks, ma’am,” he hears himself saying to his bounty target.

“Of course, darlin’! Ain’t nothin’ but hospitality here!”

“Occasionally murder,” adds her friend.

She gapes at him like he’s said the most scandalous thing she’s ever heard. “No! Not to this gentleman! He’s been nothin’ but polite since we met him!”

“An hour ago.”

“Perfect amount of time to create and enforce an acquaintance. Mr. Arthur, sir, do you take sugar in your coffee?”

He blinks, then shakes his head, feeling a smile come to him faster than he can control. “No, ma’am. Thank you.”

“So sweet!” she exclaims, and then puts her hands on her hips and directs a pointed glare at her partner. “You could stand to learn from him, sir.”

“Duly noted,” he rasps.

- - -

Arthur leaves the next morning when the exact amount of the bounty in his satchel, happily provided by Miss Oakley and her moose of a counterpart, who just introduces himself as the Soldier. Arthur’s full of oatmeal, warm biscuits, and coffee, with a tin of oatcakes for himself and his horse. Cody sends him on his way with a kiss to the cheek, which fails to rouse the Soldier at all.

“Come hunt us any time,” she says, holding both of Arthur’s hands in her own. She’s got the callouses of a gunslinger, and he can’t ignore the powerful grip she has. This woman could choke the life out of him if she wanted to. Instead, she smiles, just as bright as the sunlight bouncing off the fresh snow. “We love the company!”

“You stickin’ around?” he asks.

She giggles. The scourge of New Hanover giggles like a schoolgirl. “God, no!” she exclaims. “I like my neck unbroken, thanks. Nah, you’ll find us.”

Another quick kiss, this time to the end of his nose. Then, Cody’s sashaying away through the snow, pausing only to draw her raccoon son out of his satchel enough to make him wave one of his tiny paws in a bon voyage gesture. Behind her, the Soldier rolls his eyes so far back in his head that he can probably see his own brain. After that though, he gives Arthur a short, curt wave, then puts an arm around Cody’s waist and kisses the top of her head before leading her back inside.

Arthur’s not sure what to make of it. He’s fairly certain that what he’s just experienced was a very vivid and long fever dream.

Even so, he heads back to Valentine, fully prepared to explain that Miss Cody Oakley successfully escaped justice. Too bad, condolences, we’ll do better next time, and all that. 

And he smiles the entire way back.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #oc: cody oakley #i lowkey ship them tho? #and yes! cameo! #who i also ship her with more! #prompt fill

[thorwaldhq]

Summary: Claire begins to have a recurring nightmare. These are all depictions of characters through her subconscious and imagination. Basically, I wanted to have it written out once so I don’t have to keep writing it over and over and over again each time it happens. Warnings: death, blood, guns, stabbing, dismemberment.  Characters Mentioned: @ofbandits @camxhuynh @sarpelui @micahz @silentkept @wrathfillcd @bencvolentways (also including both Aaron and Claire’s parents) All playable characters mentioned do not have any written dialogue.

(you can find a TL;DR at the bottom)

A small string orchestra plays sickeningly sweet music that sounds all too light and airy for Claire’s taste. While she can’t exactly put her finger on what the song is called, she knows it is far too fantastical and mushy for a wedding between two people who have practically fought tooth and nail to get to this day. She looks at herself in the mirror and blames her pure nerves on the fact that it all seems like a big white blur to her. She can feel it hugging her body tightly, as though it were keeping her from gliding off the floor and floating down the aisle. 

Claire hears Cam’s voice doing what was usually the redhead’s job during important dates and events; micro-managing everyone and everything. Dressed in a haze of pastel pink, she walks up to Claire and merely touches her shoulder, probably the only thing she could do without disturbing her hair and make up. She mutters something inaudible, yet the words go straight to Claire’s heart as she already begins to feel a sweep of happiness and anxious anticipation falling over her. 

After Cam makes her big entrance into the ceremony, it is Rigel who enters to see Claire next, looking like he had just heard the sweetest words in the world from someone out there before coming to see her blushing face accompanied by her thundering heart. Claire cannot possibly comprehend why she feels so anxious even more so now, because that look of comfort on his face should have settled every last nerve as he practically slapped the sense back into her. Yet she feels heavy at the same time. It doesn’t go away once he enters into the ceremony next.

The cheesy music changes a bit as she can hear from the room where she waits to make her grand entrance, but the room feels so empty and cold now. Perhaps it’s because the window is open, causing the white sheer curtains to dance with the wind. One big gust of wind nearly ruins Claire’s perfect up-do, and then she feels a warm hand on her upper back near her left shoulder blade. 

“It’s like looking at my mother’s wedding photos come to life...” a deep, warm voice says.

Claire immediately spins around to see the face of a man with thinning hair and stubble on his face, a smile brighter than the sun itself, everything about him was warmer than anything she had previously experienced, which meant that this could only be one man.

“Dad...” she sighed as though it were from complete relief. She frowned at herself, wondering why she didn’t sound more surprised that her father, who has been dead for years, showed up just in time to walk her down the aisle, “I didn’t think you’d make it...” 

“Why?” he asked, sounding a little sad that she’d even ask such a thing, “No matter where I’m coming from, I wouldn’t miss this day for anything...” He turns her gently with his hands until he looks at her in her dress up and down, “Did you know that the happiest wedding I ever attended was-.”

“I know, dad,” Claire said with a playful roll of her eyes, “Grandma’s wedding with grandpa. You always said they looked so happy and in love in their photos that anyone who looked at them could swear they felt like they were there, like their love was so... alive and thriving.” Her father chuckled before he sighs, kissing his daughter on her forehead. “Hey! I’ve still got make up on!” 

He laughed harder, the boom of it could have shook the whole building, “I am so proud of you, my seraph... you picked a good one.”

The mention of Aaron flooded her with joy, seeing his smile in everything, the way his eyes lit up when he saw her, thinking about how happy they were going to be for the rest of the day and for the months to follow as they dwelled in the newly wed glow. “I don’t know... sometimes I feel like he picked me... and then he dusted me off and... he saved me.”

Her father looks at her for a moment, sniffing and wiping away a tear from his face. “Come along,” he quickly says afterwards, holding out his arm to her, “Let’s get this show on the road before your bother gets tired of waiting and leaves.”

Claire stands completely still, “Can’t we wait 5 more minutes?”

He laughs, shamefully shaking his head as he tugs her forward towards the double doors that soon open up to a large venue covered in white. The ceilings were white, the chairs, the flowers, the aisle. Everything was bathed in purity and happiness. Hints of pink and mint green peppered in different places as if they were beginning to create a collage on a big canvas.

And at the very end, there he was, looking so handsome that Claire could abandon all tradition and just jump right into his arms, loathing the long walk she would have to slowly take. So she looks at him long enough to get his full attention on her face after he’s done gawking at her dress. That’s when she mouths ‘i love you’ to him, followed by an ear-to-ear smile. His lips part to say it back when, suddenly, the sound of footsteps unfamiliar to her own that she makes against the floor. She looks over towards the groom’s side and finds his mother and father, rushing along the sidelines. 

Claire tries to grip onto her father for security, but he has vanished. In shock, she nearly falls back, but she is caught by Niko, whom she hadn’t even seen anywhere until that moment. His face is stern, stoic, unassuming. He tries to drag her away, tries to stand in front of her, tries to shield her eyes from what’s about to happen, yet Claire can’t help but scream at the top of her lungs. She looks from guest to guest, seeing Tas and Bash standing in front of their chairs, their hands simply folded in front of them as they watch Aaron’s parents grab onto him and drag him away.

“Aaron!!!” Claire screams, though it feels like no air is leaving her lungs. She chokes on the words, coughing as she falls to her knees, Niko gently guiding her down into a pool of her own tears. She can see Aaron trying to fight against the pull, one hand reaching out towards her. She reaches back only to see Aaron cry out in pain while Claire’s mother seems to appear from thin air, using a blade to cut off his hand. He screams in agony and Claire feels the pain as if it were her very own. She tries to pick herself up off the ground, but it feels like the air is pushing her back, the ground pulling her deeper and deeper in. Yet she fights back anyway as tears fall down her face, as she keeps screaming. 

Niko tries to reach out for her again, but she barely escapes his grasp, feeling like as though she’d just swam a thousand miles just to finally reach Aaron’s body, her tears falling onto his white shirt and staining like blood. She looks up and sees his father holding a gun and pointing it directly at Aaron. 

“No!!” she cries out, throwing her body over Aaron’s. And then there’s a boom and everything goes dark.

When the vision comes back, civilians are being chased after and run down by Savages, Lion heads blazing all over the place. Chaos ensuing, though it’s all white noise to Claire as she is held back, once again, by Niko. A blur of red finally comes into focus and she sees Aaron with a bullet in his chest. She screams again and again and again and again. “Let go of me!!!” she shouts at Niko, though he doesn’t yield as the smoking gun still remains in Aaron’s father’s hand as he looks over his son’s body. 

“He made his choice,” someone’s voice says, though Claire can’t seem to make it out. She doesn’t know if it came from any one particular person, though it could have been anyone as each and every Cobra in attendance stands as on-lookers. 

“Help him!!” she screams again. She tries to run to Rigel, but he also stands as still as a statue next to Cam. “Someone, please help my husband!!!!” she cries as every single part of her body falls heavy and weak, causing her to fall to the ground again, landing in a pool of Aaron’s blood. “He’s dying!!” she hears the sound of his scattered breathing, as though he’s about to draw his last. “Let me go!” she begs again, only to feel like she was practically thrown into the direction of Aaron, but by the time she is able to lay a hand on his body, it has gone cold. His chest is covered in blood and Claire’s dress is thoroughly soaked in his, the redness seeping all the way up her hands.

“Help me! Please, help me!” she sobs as she touches his hand, a silver band now appears over his ring finger. Claire can feel the presence of all of those people who just stare mindlessly at her. She tucks her hands under Aaron’s body and holds it close to her, hugging him, begging for the chance to say goodbye, for him to open his eyes, for him to come back to her. Yet no one is helping. Everyone is watching. They let him die. Everyone had at least one chance to save him and none of them took it.

And now... thanks to the people she hates the most, combined with the people she loves the most... her true love is dead and the evidence lies cold and lifeless in her arms, never able to hold her back again. It’s a betrayal and heartache that she can barely take all at once, and so she does the only thing she can do. She lets out a scream so loud, that it shatters the windows, causing colorful glass to cut each and every person who stood by and watched as Aaron died. That scream rings through all of Valdez, so everyone knows what has happened on this day.

It is that scream that carries her as her eyes open wide, feeling like thunder as she looks into the night sky that rests in the thickness of reality. Her eyes are wet and the tears are immediately released once they’ve opened. While it was only a nightmare, Claire still clutched the sheets tightly in her fist, fearing and praying that this could be one dream that would never, ever come true.

TL;DR: It’s Claire and Aaron’s wedding day and it’s super sappy! Her dad is there and she’s really happy, but she gets literally halfway down the aisle when it gets pretty bad. Her mom chops off his hand and his dad shoots him while the Savages chase after the civilian guests and the Cobras kinda just chill and watch Aaron bleed out and die. She wakes up crying and screaming a bit. Poor Claire.

#self para 1 #❦ ~ AARON ~ heaven's perfect angel #♜ ~ NIKO ~ valdez's strongest leader #✵ ~ RIGEL ~ orion's brightest star #☾ ~ CAMMY ~ world's greatest friend

[frogsandfries]

It's so good to be back!

I still have this annoying cough, and now, I also have this really annoying, slightly concerning new aura. Background/tangent: I have a pretty long history of migraines--I've been getting them since I was a teen--and my dad gets migraines. Usually, they seem to come out of nowhere. At first, they were easy to figure out: Usually, they were caused because I hadn't shampooed recently enough (I used to need to shampoo like at least every three days, but covid related concerns have pushed me to work on extending that, and now I can go about seven days; I know, it really is gross by contemporary standards, but it feels important to be able to go without shampoo as long as possible just in case of any kind of further disasters or disturbances) and more often, caused by hunger.

Given that at least my dad has migraines, which gives a family history, I'm not actually super concerned about auras. I mean, my pupils having to do their job shouldn't cause an incredibly distracting visual disturbance. As in, I can't see around it. If I was driving a car, I could only drive far enough to pull into a parking lot where I would have to sit for several minutes. But at the same time, on the one hand, auras are kind of part of being a migraine-endurer; on the other hand, I don't remember my dad ever mentioning auras or visual disturbances.

All that said, that's not really what I wanted to get on about.

I've been taking advantage of feeling better every day, and the limited days between when I started feeling better and when I start, first, the next leg of training, and next, potentially, the actual job. It's really, really good money, so it's incredibly hard to say that I don't even want to try. But I'm really anxious about going back on the phones. In my doctor's notes, my anxiety is mentioned. I've hardly had any anxiety since taking time off work--but I think that has more to do with not feeling anxious to go on the phones and take difficult calls, rather than just not having to go to work. My introduction to phone customer service was brutal. Anyway--

I always come out of the office and tell my partner how pleased I am with how the project is going and how good I think everything looks and he remarked on it today, something like, is that normal (to be so proud and happy with your art)? And I responded with what I've been repeating a lot lately:

Art school may have been incredibly expensive. I may not have finished. But it wasn't a total waste. I went to art school to get a degree in some kind of visual art so that I would be pedigree-qualified to get paid to do art. But really, on the ground, I was there to learn about portraying human anatomy; I was there to learn how to continue to push my own growth if maybe I couldn't get others to look at my work critically and help me grow. I was there, personally, to be the best possible visual artist I could be. Now, I originally thought I would spend much of my studio career creating unique and lovely ball joints dolls. I actually will go out of my way to avoid drawing. I don't enjoy drawing. At my core, I'm a sculptor.

But even deeper than that, I've had this story weighing me down for over ten years. And it's time. If I don't start to draw regularly, my style is only going to continue to change, but it won't change as quickly as if I was drawing at least every week. If I don't work on the graphic novel consistently, every time I return to it, I might as well start over, since jumps in my style will be noticeable. If I don't start now, there will just never be a good time to start.

My style is mine. I've worked really hard on it. I've worked really hard to get to a skill level that I'm happy with.

And here's the thing: Telling a story with art, every single individual frame doesn't need to be a masterpiece. Just like writing a novel, every single sentence doesn't need to be perfect. It's like a YouTuber said, people are scrolling through so quickly, they won't notice that weird detail that you couldn't get right. Like, my partner keeps complaining that my protagonist's grandma's face is just super weird. And it probably is. But I don't think most people are really going to notice. Grandma only appears in the very beginning and the very, very end of the story. Or, working at the scale that I'm working at, in pixel art, for example, I just can't get good hands. They're all wonky and weird. I'm pretty sure as long as I don't say anything where anyone can care about it, nobody will care about it. They should be too busy soaking in the story itself.

So yeah. I like my style better than I like myself, and I love how every single frame looks when it's colored--my color palettes are generally really strong, speaking in terms of range of tones/shades, contrast, and so forth. Of course, with the pixel count in my frames, and the scale of some details, not every frame is my favorite, not every frame is something I want to stare at for hours. I'm no line artist, they probably won't call me to do linework for the next Vaughn epic or anything like that, but I'm really the only person who needs to see my raw linework, or work with it, and it does the job I need it to do. I think when it's done, and as people find my story, they'll be able to appreciate the story and the art. And honestly, even if no one ever finds my graphic novel, I'll still finish it for me and purchase my own personal copies of the work on paper for my own ego. I can say, hey, my first ever graphic novel took me years, and it's hundreds of pages, but it's mine, it's complete, it's a real book. I did it. And half the people I dare to show it off to will be like, how beautiful, it's a shame it never took off. Ha ha ha ha!

I think the obvious choice is to be happy with a day's work, or an evening's work. I'm actually kinda stunned that I am where I am already in the story. I feel like I kind of just stumbled and bumbled my way this far and I'm not actually ready to really, solidly start telling the story. I've worked so damn hard this year, and I hope I can continue to work as hard and fast next year.

With not being so concerned about cleaning and shading my coloring work, I have absolutely belted out frames. I went through like forty frames in what, about two months. Of course, the consequences being that it's probably going to take several more weeks to get these frames cleaned up, it's going to feel like my production is slowing down. The upside to this being, I'll have plenty of time to produce a hearty new backlog of lineworks. After all, presently, I only actually have to finish one frame a week to keep up my queue. I mean, if I produce just two frames a week, I'm already overtaking my own queue backlog. This being the entire point, if I want to confidently and stress-lessly release two frames a week next year.

There are fifteen weeks left in this year. Currently frame 044 (or 045?) is live this week; frame 075 is ready to go live right this minute; frames 076-107 all need to be cleaned. It looks like frame 060 will be the last frame to go live this year. If I only produce fifteen more frames this year, I'll still finish the year with approximately twenty weeks worth of content.

I don't know what the hell I'm even worried about.

[adamreadsthewheeloftime]

Gathering Storm: An Alternate Ending

Howdy boys and girls! :)

So, as is my habit, I’m returning from a period of shameful neglect to show some attention to my beloved Wheel of Time blog. And, just to keep you all on your toes, I’ve got, not artwork, not reviews, but some honest to goodness fan fiction! Not sure if that merits an exclamation point, but it seemed like a fun change of pace to me. I’ve also got some artwork in the pipeline, featuring three characters, two of which never get drawn (and the third not very often) AND a pretty fun setting. I’m scratching away at it as we speak, and in the meantime, here’s a short piece that popped into my brain and demanded I write it. The first two paragraphs are Jordan/Sanderson near the climax of A Gathering Storm; after that, I take over (and look at the possibility of Rand choosing... differently.) :P Enjoy,

Adam

Slaying the Great Serpent

A Wheel of Time Fan Fiction by Adam Masterman

“Lightning cracked above, thunder buffeting him. Rand closed his eyes, perched above a drop that plummeted thousands of feet downward, in the middle of a tempest of icy wind. Through his eyelids, he could sense the blazing light of the access key. The Power he held inside dwarfed that light. He was the sun. He was fire. He was life and death.

Why? Why must they do this over and over? The world could give him no answers. Rand raised his arms high, a conduit of power and energy. An incarnation of death and destruction. He would end it. End it all and let men rest, finally, from their suffering. Stop them from having to live over and over again. Why? Why had the Creator done this to them? Why? Why do we live again? Lews Therin asked, suddenly. His voice was crisp and distinct. Yes, Rand said, pleading. Tell me. Why? Maybe . . . Lews Therin said, shockingly lucid, not a hint of madness to him. He spoke softly, reverently. Why? Could it be . . . Maybe it’s so that we can have a second chance.”

In Lews Therin’s voice, there was a touch of lightness, almost hope, but its effect on Rand was to cause the opposite. His mind foresaw nothing but pain, destruction, and more of his own unbearable failure to stop it. And at that moment, the last lingering thread of hope in his heart was extinguished; vanishing under a tidal wave of grief and despair. The choice was made, because there had never been any choice at all.

Under his hands, the weave formed, and even in his agony Rand observed that balefire was not simply another weave, as he had always believed. Instead, in its fullness he saw that it was somehow the perfect opposite of every other weave. This was pure negation, simple and elemental, and under his gaze he watched it become something more. Not a weave, not a blast of power, but a conduit, where the One Power itself assumed the terrible aspect of erasure. It radiated from him in a wave; an expanding sphere of purest white.

And finally, as the end arrived, there was no fire, no struggle, and no pain. From a brilliant spark atop the world’s highest peak, spreading across the land, past cities,nations, and oceans, the world was consumed. The Shining Walls of Tar Valon, the foul black slopes of Shayol Ghul, and long stretches of nameless grass forgotten between great nations; all vanished with the same effortless lack of protest. Creation itself burned away like morning mist, all light and darkness passing away forever without leaving the slightest trace.

Rand beheld the wake of this bloodless, terrible erasure. The mote that had moments before been Rand al’Thor was gone, all that grief and fury erased as perfectly as everything else. And yet, somehow, Rand was able to see this, to observe and recognize the absence of all that was. It was impossible, but nevertheless, it was. And before any emotion, any thought could fill the awestruck gap, Rand heard a voice.

“AT LAST, IT COMES TO THIS. SETTING ME FREE WAS ALWAYS YOUR FATE, AND YET, HOW LONG AND MIGHTILY YOU RESISTED.”

Rand’s disorientation held for many moments before slowly turning to recognition, and then bitter anger. He had no mouth and no voice, but nevertheless, he answered: “Shai’tan.”

“INDEED, THOUGH I MIGHT NAME YOU THAT AS WELL. AS MUCH AS I AM YOUR ADVERSARY, ARE YOU NOT ALSO MINE?”

“You had many foes, Father of Lies; I am simply one who tired of the fight. Have your victory, your meaningless freedom. I’ve taken men beyond your reach forever.”

“I’VE NO MORE CARE FOR MEN THAN I HAD FOR INSECTS; THOSE WHO SERVED SHAI TAN WERE NO MORE THAN USEFUL GNATS. ALL THIS TIME, IT’S BEEN YOU AND ONLY YOU I FOUGHT, AND THAT IS MY PRIZE TODAY. NOT MEN, NOT CREATION, ONLY YOU. I HAVE BESTED YOU, AND ALL YOU EVER WROUGHT LIES CASUALTY TO YOUR DEFEAT.”

Rand struggled to comprehend this unexpected response. As proud as he had grown as the Dragon Reborn, he had never imagined the Dark One to have seen him as anything but an obstacle to freedom. What would the Dark One care about breaking and defeating one mortal man, however powerful? “You disappoint, Shai’tan. Defeating a single man? What a pitiful goal. Better that you had simply killed me in my crib, and left mankind free from your petty vendetta.”

“STILL YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. LOOK AROUND YOU, AND CAST YOUR MIND BACK TO THE BEGINNING. MY PRISON IS GONE, AND SO IS YOURS.”

Flickers of recognition danced in Rand’s awareness, but remained beyond his grasp. Again he thought of the mote that was Rand al’Thor, now gone with everything else. Where was he, and who was he, to be having such an exchange.

YES, I FEEL IT NOW. THE BARRIERS RECEED, AND WHAT WAS LOST SLOWLY RETURNS. TELL ME, WAS BEING IMPRISONED ANY LESS A BURDEN FOR YOU THAN IT WAS FOR ME?

“I don’t…” Rand trailed off, because he did see, or was starting to.

A MASTER-STROKE, I ADMIT. HOW DOES ONE DEFEAT THEIR EQUAL, AND HOLD THEM IN BONDAGE, WHEN BOTH POWERS MATCH EACH OTHER PERFECTLY? HOW COULD I HAVE GUESSED WHAT YOU WOULD BE WILLING TO ENDURE TO HOLD ME AGAINST MY WILL?

Slowly but surely, knowledge flowed into Rand’s awareness as memory. He was Lews Therin Telamon, champion of the Light and hero of the Age of Legends. Much of that memory was already familiar, but suddenly Rand recalled another man, Oscar Sunchaser Reid, who led an armada of starships against the dark forces scouring the galaxy. And another, Brighton Freehold, who woke ancient totems of power to battle the Demon of Many Faces. More of them, countless men in countless ages, fighting different battles, fighting the same battle. Revalation threatened to shatter his awareness.

YOU RECALL, BUT STILL YOU REFUSE TO GRASP. HOW SUBTLE AND BRILLIANT YOUR SACRIFICE, ALL THOSE AGES AGO. EVEN AS I NOW STAND FREE, YOU REMAIN BOUND.

Had he still a body, Rand might have stumbled. He felt the weight of the revelation Shai’tan hinted at, even as he recoiled from it’s power. “Tell me,” he breathed, “what fresh deception are you claiming, Father of Lies.”

MUST I FREE YOU, AS YOU FREED ME? VERY WELL THEN; CONSIDER: CREATION WAS MY PRISON, ADVERSARY; THERE WAS NEVER THE SLIGHTEST DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE TWO. CREATION, WHOSE INHABITANTS WERE LEFT WITH A CHAMPION IN PLACE OF THEIR CREATOR’S PROTECTION. IF ONLY THEY HAD KNOWN THE TRUTH, IN ALL THOSE AGES WHERE THEIR PRAYERS WENT UNANSWERED. As Shai’tan spoke, his words resonated with the revelation dawning in Rand’s awareness, a revelation he could no longer prevent. Shai’tan seemed to draw it forth deliberately, savoring the wrenching pain it caused.

THEIR CREATOR WAS GONE, BECAUSE HE WAS DEAD. CREATION CAME WITH A PRICE, AND ONE SUCH AS I COULD NOT BE BOUND WITH A POWER LESS THAN EQUAL TO MY OWN. STILL, I WAS UNPREPARED FOR THE RESOLVE OF MY OPPONENT. HE WOVE MY PRISON WITH HIS VERY LIFE, AND IN DOING SO, WAS REDUCED TO NOTHING BUT A MOTE WITHIN ITS FABRIC.

As the words poured across Rand, he found them reflected back from within, richer and more potent. He knew of an agony beyond words that came with such a sacrifice; recalled a nearly infinitesimal hope that nonetheless buttressed a grim resolve. And finally, he accepted the thread connecting these perspectives, and assumed the identity that had lain hidden for so long. “I defeated you. A thousand times; a thousand times a thousand. Without knowledge or power, I still held you bound, time and time again.”

YES. AND NOW YOU’VE SET ME FREE, BURNING MY PRISON AWAY WITH YOUR OWN ESSENCE. ALL THOSE AGES OF RESISTANCE RENDERED MEANINGLESS, BECAUSE ONE TIME YOU WERE TOO WEAK TO RESIST MY LIES. HAVEN’T I SAID THAT YOUR PLAN WAS ALWAYS DESTINED TO FAIL?

It was true, and Rand could not deny it. He had tried, all those millennia ago; tried to contain this malevolent force, tried to build something beautiful and fine that his opposite couldn’t scour to dust. He found a way, he thought, not a guarantee but at least a possibility. He gave his life, his memory, his boundless understanding, and left behind only a fragment of a fragment. A champion, wielding nothing but the power of a mortal man, but drawn inexorably to anywhere creation was threatened. Immortal but perpetually ignorant, a focal point for mankind to rally around, a way for creation to defend itself when it’s author could not.

IT NEVER COULD HAVE WORKED, NOT FOREVER. YOU KNEW THIS, AND STILL YOU SACRIFICED. WHY?

“Because I long to build,” he said, no longer Rand al’Thor. “Ever I long to create, and create I did. You might have your victory now, but mine were in numbers beyond counting. Every moment my Creation stood was a fresh victory, as was every moment I denied you your greedy lust to destroy. And here at the end, I stole even that prize from you, as I knew I inevitably would. Creation dies, but not by your cruel hand.”

The two voices, perceptible only to one another, fell silent. It may have been for a moment, or for one hundred million eons; such is the nature of existence beyond time and space. We may as well say it lasted, it lasts, forever. In the end, as in the beginning, there is only the balance of opposites. Creation and destruction, each immobilizing the other, each preventing and negating perfectly its opposite, so that all is completely void. The beginning and the end, identical: nothingness… and possibility.

#Wheel of Time #WheelOfTime #fanfiction

[adventuresofpipoy]

"When people started to ALMOST like me"

Growing up, I've always been a shy-guy. Anxiety kind of brewed up along with it when I've been constantly yelled at by my Aunt when I was a kid for being "always shy" (so I've been told). Never had the knack for participating first hand and always on the same sit everyday, same corner, eating almost the same meal as I've found comfort on things which are all stationary. Don't worry this is not a success story, this is the time that I came to realize that I've lost myself along the way and who I am right now, is who the person around me are.

Elementary have been so tough. To describe myself, I've always been so skinny and not-talking-when-i'm-not-approached-at kind of kid. But managed to make some friends along the way, I'm not a robot! But this is the time that I don't have any identity. I'm not good at anything that I can show my friends which would end up being likeable. So, I somehow taught myself to write. Creative writing have been my sword when I was in grade school, 4th grade is where I decided to join the campus journalism. Don't have to interview people, I just have to write. I've never read any books about it though 'cause I don't have the luxury of buying one. But I've managed anyway. That's when people started to recognize me, as someone who is good at writing. And to be honest, I kind of feel good about it. That's when all of the other so-called talents appeared. Dancing, I also somehow got myself into singing when I joined the local church's choir group, oh! and drawing. I think I'm getting better now at this one though I'm still not proud of it (and my girlfriend is the one who inspires and encourage me to draw more, that's why I've managed to create a blog and a twitter account for all those artworks). But looking back, I can't even look at my finished art work maybe even praise it a little. I'm looking at myself as a no-good trying-hard bastard and the solidarity that comes with it I came to terms with already.

I remember putting "mediocre" as a strength to one of my annual reviews at work. It was almost the butt of every joke but gladly died along the way, maybe I'm just good at making fun of myself that no one dares to take every word I said seriously and you know what, I'm Ok with that. I can't even say something good about myself so I'm expecting less to everyone that I came across with.

But the thing is, all of this and who I am today is the result of 23 years of coping and molding myself into someone would like. Cause way back then, I'm scared. Of being laughed at because no one would pick me as a partner for a school activity. Scared of being embarrased in front of other people. Scared of being told every single time that I'm weak and skinny and no one will ever love me for who I am. That's why I change myself, and saw that's when people started to almost like me.