ninety-writes

[ninety-writes]

Hi, all!

After some months, I’ve decided that running a blog as a repository for my writing is a bit pointless, especially since 1) I have an AO3 (and link to it on everything I post here) and 2) I reblog everything I post here on my main blog anyways.

Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere! You can find me on AO3 as NinetyWrites and on Tumblr at my main blog, @ninety-smiles-an-hour. Drop by and chat any time!

See you around,

Ninety

[ninety-writes]

Shore Song

While this isn’t the thing I posted about before, I did have fun getting this out. This fic heavily features Molly on the Shore by Percy Grainger. I recommend either listening before reading or doing a read-listen-read (it's short enough, after all).

Please enjoy! (ao3)

Nursey knows there’s something different in the air from the second he steps into the Haus, Bon Iver sounding through his earbuds like an omen. He chalks the atmospheric difference up to the unusual vacancy of the place and shrugs, but there’s something still pulling at the back of his mind, a no, that’s not it that refuses to leave. He could try to figure it out, but he really has to break ground on that sestina collection, so he turns to go upstairs.

His left foot hits the first step and that’s when he hears the whistling.

Whoever’s whistling is hitting a lot of notes, but it’s not frantic -- it’s relaxed, like whistling this brisk tune is an old habit that they’ve dearly missed. It’s got this Irish-sounding lilt to it, like something you’d hear on the soundtrack to an old Maureen O’Hara movie. The performance -- the only thing the sound could really be called -- is rhythmically solid and has little swells and decrescendos when the melody moves up and down. Nursey takes out his earbuds to try to hear the music better, art that it is. It sounds like it’s coming from the Haus kitchen, but he knows Bitty can’t whistle, certainly not this well.

He walks to the kitchen and sees Dex, alone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scrubbing down a soapy plate in the sink. There’s a patch of sunlight that had drifted through the window sometime in the afternoon and nested itself in his hair, the fiery halo at comfortable odds with what must surely be a sea shanty of some sort being painted in the air with long, blue strokes. For a moment, he leans against the doorframe and admires the composition of the scene, but he can already hear his mama chastising him for staring like he’s six. So, he takes a different approach to appreciating the scene.

“What’s that song, Dexy?”

It’s good that the sink was full of water, because Dex jumped , dropping the plate immediately and casting soap bubbles around him from the jerk of his arm. His face heated to match his hair.

“It’s nothing, Nurse. Don’t you have something to do?”

Oh, perfect, how am I gonna fix this? “Nah. I’ll help with dishes.”

Dex opened his mouth to protest, but Nursey was already grabbing a dishtowel and taking a place next to the sink. Dex, knowing that Nursey would not accept any arguments from him for refusing help, heaved a sigh and returned to his scrubbing.

They continued like that, washing, drying, and putting away dishes in a cold, silent rhythm until there were no dishes left. Nursey, knowing that Dex didn’t want him around, turned to leave the kitchen. He stepped over the threshold and-

“Wait.”

Nursey turned around, eyes widening in hope.

“You wanted to know what song I was whistling?”

Nursey nodded.

Dex continued, eyes looking anywhere but Nursey. “It’s, uh… it’s called ‘Molly on the Shore’? It’s this band piece that my mom really likes and that I’ve listened to a lot and… it just makes me think about home. In a good way, you know?”

“Yeah. Hey,” Nursey said, keeping his eyes on Dex. Dex looked back at him, and neither one broke eye contact. “That’s pretty cool, man. And I get it, you know? It’s good to have something from home to hold on to when you’re away.” Dex gulped, nodded. He looked relieved -- no, more than that. He looked understood. Nursey continued. ”Can we listen to it?”

Dex chuckled, his neck and shoulders relaxing. “Uh, sure. Let me just pull it up on my phone.”

They sat down at the kitchen table, sun still streaming through the window as the clarinets began the whirlwind melody through Dex’s phone speaker. Nursey glanced over at him. His eyes were closed, a gentle smile creeping onto his face.

Home, indeed.

[ninety-writes]

I'm still alive! I'm in the planning phase of something I'm really excited about. Gonna try to keep y'all updated on progress without giving away too much. You're in for a treat.

[ninety-writes]

Handprints

Woah! I’m writing something? Yeah! Go thank @skywing206 for being an awesome friend and getting me to write. Anyway, have fun with this one. (ao3)

Fun fact: transporting charred animal corpses across interdimensional lines is called feugrating. The most frequently feugrated animals are miniature cyclopses, followed by tentacle monsters, followed by sheep. Feugrated animals are often carried by hand. Now picture this.

Ford had just feugrated a vampire rabbit when he realized that he had stepped into the wrong dimension. He had been distracted after a scuffle with a customs official, and now he was in unfamiliar territory with unregistered cargo.

Fantastic.

He began to scan the ground for food, traps, anything that would help or hurt him in… wherever he was. He was standing on sand, and there was a body of water on his right. There was a large pile of rocks about twenty feet in front of him, obscuring his view of most of the beach. He took a step forward, and he heard a crunch beneath his feet. He stepped back and saw… glass?

His eyes widened as he got an idea as to where he could be, but he shoved the thought aside. Surely he couldn’t be in Glass Shard Beach. The chances of him stumbling upon his hometown in a parallel Earth were infinitesimal! And even if this were Glass Shard Beach, there’s no way-

“Don’t worry, Sixer. Those bullies don’t know what they’re talking about. Crampelter can go eat a lemon.”

Ford froze. No, no. No. There has to be another explanation.

“B-but…”

The voices were getting closer, he had to go somewhere, but he couldn’t move. There he was, paralyzed by his own memory.

A eight-year-old Ford and his twin appeared from behind the rocks. As they drew closer, Ford walked backwards, but to his surprise, they didn’t seem to be able to see him. He tried to remember any previous interactions with objects in this dimension (maybe this was a spectator Earth), and he remembered stepping on the glass. Conclusion: He could interact with objects, but not people.

Younger Ford look at the sand. “…Stan, look at me.”

“Sixer” - Older Ford flinched - “they’re wrong. You’re not any different from the rest of us because you have an extra finger.”

“Well, you did just point out a difference-”

“Yeah, but it’s not an important one!” He stopped, his face screwed up in concentration. After about ten seconds, his expression got a bit brighter. He seemed like he’d gotten an idea. “I’m gonna show you something. Let’s go back to the hideout, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Older Ford, against the voice in his head telling him that the best way to destroy Bill would be to find a way out of this dimension, followed the twins to their hideout, the rabbit still in his hands.

The hideout was… pretty nice, actually. The boat was the obvious centerpiece, but Stan also had a table and chairs set up in here, with a chest full of what seemed like art supplies. No, those are definitely art supplies. I may have a deteriorating sense of smell from the cinnamon incident, but I still know what paint smells like.

There were two cans of paint on the table- green and orange. There was also a piece of paper.

Younger Ford spoke up. “A craft? Really?”

“Yeah, it’s not that hard,” came the reply. Stan dipped his hand palm-down into the green paint and stamped it onto the paper. He then dipped his finger back into the paint to write out his name above the hand. “See? Simple. Now you go.”

Younger Ford blanched. “No. I can’t do that.”

Stan sighed. “Yes, you can. If I can do it, you can too.” He opened up the orange can of paint and looked at Younger Ford, a soft smile on his face. The Ford who knew the risks that came with trusting Stan set the rabbit on the ground.

“Okay.” Younger Ford took a deep breath and hesitantly dipped his hand into the paint and pressed his palm and all six of his fingers onto the paper. He wrote his name below.

Stan was beaming. “You see, Ford? Your hand and mine are right there. On the same paper. Did anything happen?”

“…no.”

“Did the world blow up?”

“No.”

“Did Godzilla come out onto the beach and destroy everything?”

Younger Ford giggled. “No!” He punched Stan in the arm.

“So it’s not a big deal! Wanna start fixing up that boat instead of just letting it sit there like we always do?”

“Yeah! I don’t know how much we could do with it still in the cave, but we could probably…” Younger Ford rambled, possibilities bubbling out of him. He seemed happy.

As the smiling twins went over to the boat, Ford took a closer look at the handprints. He knew sentimentality wouldn’t do him any good in the short or long run, but he hadn’t seen this paper in decades. He always hated to admit it, but he missed his Gravity Falls, and once in a blue moon, his early Glass Shard Beach. With his vision clouded by tears, he reached out and put his hand on top of the one that Ford had made. He took special care in lining up the fingers. All six.

When he pulled away, the handprint was coated in ash. A tear splashed on the rabbit at his feet.

[ninety-writes]

Anyway I'm in a writing mood so hit me up with requests

[ninety-writes]

Prompts 1

A/N: I found this on tumblr and I’ve seen a lot of other users use stuff like this, so I decided to give it a shot! 

All you have to do is send in a character and a number please!

1. “Come over here and make me.” 2. “Have you lost your damn mind!?” 3. “Please, don’t leave.” 4. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?” 5. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” 6. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” 7. “I almost lost you.” 8. “Wanna bet?” 9. “Don’t you ever do that again!” 10. “Teach me how to play?” 11. “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!” 12. “I think we need to talk.” 13. “Kiss me.” 14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.” 15. “So, I found this waterfall…” 16. “It could be worse.” 17. “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…” 18. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” 19. “The paint’s supposed to go where?” 20. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” 21. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” 22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” 23. “Just once.” 24. “You’re the only one I trust to do this.” 25. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.” 26. “I got you a present.” 27. “I’m pregnant.” 28. “Marry me?” 29. “I thought you were dead.” 30. “It’s not what it looks like…” 31. “You lied to me.” 32. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” 33. “Please don’t do this.” 34. “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.” 35. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” 36. “I wish I could hate you.” 37. “Wanna dance?” 38. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” 39. “Hey! I was gonna eat that!” 40. “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” 41. “You did all of this for me?” 42. “I swear it was an accident.” 43. “YOU DID WHAT?!” 44. “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.” 45. “Tell me a secret.” 46. “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.” 47. “No one needs to know.” 48. “Boo.” 49. “Well this is awkward…” 50. Writer’s preference

  51) “Seriously, now you want to talk?”

  52) “I- I don’t know what to say to that.”

  53) “Well, this motel room is too cold.”

  54) “The water pressure is horrible, see?”

  55) “I don’t understand you.”

  56) “Put my hand where?”

  57) “Hey, I’m going to- oh..”

  58) “Whoa! Buy me dinner first.”

  59) “Watch your hands.”

  60) “100 friggin dollars for a Christmas tree?”

  61) “We need more water balloons.”

  62) “We don’t have enough.”

  63) “You’re reading what?”

  64) “What the Hell is that?”

  65) “It’s so big!”

  66) “Truth or dare?”

  67) “What kind of game is this?”

  68) “No, I’m not a friggin virgin!”

  69) “Do I look like his brother?”

70) “No, actually we’re married.”

  71) “Make out with me.”

  72) “Did you really like it? Like honestly?”

  73) “Ow!! That’s not my arm!!”

  74) “Get you hand off of my……”

  75) “You ate them? I was saving them!”

  76) “Did you bring it?”

  77) “Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

  78) “In the car??”

  79) “A dog?”

  80) “Owwww!!!!”

  81) “Put your hand around my hip.”

  82) “Don’t be shy.”

 83) “Yes, a date.”

  84) “I’m pregnant.”

  85) “Marry me?”

  86) “Cancer?”

  87) “My ass?”

  88) “Seriously, let’s play a game of (spin the bottle, truth . or dare, twister, or whatever game you want.. you pick)”

  89) “Just take it off.”

  90) “Just wrap it around my waist.”

  91) “That’s my (body part)”

  92) “A pink what?”

  93) “How many times have you seen me naked? And now . you’re shy?”

94.      “If you walk out right now, it’s over for us.”

95.      “I need you to forgive me.”

96.      “I love you for you, don’t you dare think otherwise!”

97.      “Come on, let’s throw the dice, see what happens.”

98.      “Is… is that even possible? Like, can we do this?”

99.      “I just need you to do this one thing for me.”

100.      “Go on, tell me. Tell me you don’t love me.”

101.      “Stop! Please, don’t! Take me instead!”

102.      “You should know that the side effects, well, they’re pretty intense.”

103.  “Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you.”

104.  “What were you thinking?? Were you trying to get me killed?”

105.  “Let’s face it- we’re cursed.”

106.  “How about we put the gun down and let’s talk about this?”

107.  “Why is it we’re always the unlucky ones?”

108.  “You can’t leave me in the dark. You have to tell me these things.”

109.  “Just pick a damn name, okay?”

110.  “I don’t care what she said, it doesn’t mean jack squat.”

111.  “This relationship used to be all about communication! What ever happened to that?”

112.  “You walked away. Not me.”

113.  “So because he said you should, you thought it would be okay to follow through with it?”

114.  “Don’t force my hand, you won’t like what happens.”

115.  “We’ll finish it the same way we started it…together.”

116.  “If you walk out that door, you’re no longer one of us. You’ll be one of them and that means I’ll treat you like one of them.”

117.  “Game’s over you son of a bitch! Tell me where (s)he is!”

118.   “Hold my hand dammit, we gotta make this look convincing!”

119.   “Now you said you’d be here. Where are you?”

120.   “We were supposed to be family.”

121.   “How dare you.”

122.   “You have no idea what I’ve done for you.”

123.   “You need to leave. Right now.”

124.   “Stop taking pictures! I’m fucking stuck. Be useful and help me!!”

125.   “Delete that immediately.”

126.   “But the carnival is right down the street! Can we please, please go!?”

127.   “Stop eating all these burritos. I’ll have to pay the consequences later on tonight!”

128.   “It was him! He stepped on my foot.”

129.   “Sorry, I thought I was alone..”

130.   “Shopping? Do I have to go?”

131.   “Is it supposed to look like that? Are you sure?”

132.   “I swear it was like that when I found it!”

133.   “Crocs? Who hurt you so much in this life?”

134.   “Separate them right now or so help me God, I will kill you!”

135.   “So there was an accident..”

136.   “Give me 5 bucks, I’ll explain later.”

137.   “Twins? We’re…we’re having twins?!”

138.   “BOOM! That oughta how you not to mess with me!”

139.   “Blood. Blood everywhere.”

140.   “IT’S NOT COMING OFF!”

141.   “Asking for a friend.. Do you know how to get a foot out of the toilet?”

142.   “She was crying, right there in the middle of the grocery store.”

143.   “It spilled everywhere. And guess who had to clean it up. That’s right. ME!”

144.   “What do you mean you’re sold out?”

145.   “I’m addicted and I admit that I need help.”

146.   “So? It’s not your problem so butt out.”

147.   “My mom thinks you like me. Tell her she’s wrong.”

148.   “I’m laughing because you’re angry. I swear I didn’t do it!”

149.   “I want to come home.”

150.   “This is… this is somewhere I never imagined I’d be.”

151.   “I left everything for this, I left it all…for you!”

152.   “Please don’t leave me.”

153.   “You didn’t tell me it was karaoke night..”

Disclaimer: I did not make any of these someone else did

[ninety-writes]

One Hundred Ways to Say ‘I Love You’

[ninety-writes]

Reblog if you write fic and people can inbox you random-ass questions about your stories, itemized number lists be damned.

[ninety-writes]

Finding Some Inspiration

*emerges from grave* I live! I rise! For Nursey’s birthday! I wrote a short little thing for the occasion. Happy birthday, bro. (content warning: Not Good Poetry) (ao3)

Nursey feels uninspired.

He wants to write. He loves to write. He’s reminded of that every day when he wakes up to smudged ink on his right arm from poems he’s written in flashes of inspiration.

(Funny- he wrote and usually lost the poems etched on his skin, the ones he wrote when he was inspired but just couldn’t find paper, but now that he actually had paper-)

No. This is no way to try to write. You never focus on the fact that you can’t write- you just try to juice your brain for any drop of fluid, scavenging a barren field for any trace of vegetation, or at least a seed.

He looks around his desk and tries to find a seed.

His desk is a bit messy (more than a bit, if he’s being honest). It’s covered with papers- schedules, assignments, small notes he’s written to himself for finding later. Whenever Dex comes by, he always stares at the desk for at least a few seconds, as if he’d be able to clean it by looking at it with that Dex-copyrighted air of judgement- quiet, but noticeable if you look.

He lets out a sigh, getting up from his chair and leaving for the Haus. You can’t force inspiration, that much he knows. He’ll come back later, but right now, he needs to clear his head before the gears really get blocked up. If he’s lucky, maybe Bitty will have a pie ready.

When he gets to the house, he’s greeted with a warm apple-cinnamon aroma wafting over from the kitchen. His mouth starts to water as he walks towards it. When he reaches the kitchen, he sees a golden-crusted apple pie with a note that reads “For later- don’t touch! -Bitty”. He gulps and gives the pie one last look before he turns away.

For once, the Haus looks deserted. Nursey opens the door and sees something he’s shocked that he missed on his way in.

The LAX house is trashed. Toilet paper is draped across the trees. Eggs are dripping down the walls of the house, especially on the windows. Someone mowed the lawn in the shape of a dick. The works. The centerpiece of the display is a banner hung in front of the second floor with bold black letters that spell “FUCK THE LAX BROS”. Nursey knows instinctually that the SMH team was behind it, and guesses that Shitty was probably the mastermind. After all, yesterday was the last day of his visit. He’s just grateful that the culprits haven’t returned to the scene of the crime- that is, until he detects movement out of the corner of his eye. These fucking idiots.

The entire SMH team (excluding Nursey) is standing not twenty feet from the front lawn. They’re gonna get themselves fucking arrested. I’m surprised Bits isn’t doing anything to-

Bitty, as if he’d just come out of a trance, starts to go rigid. He turns to Dex, who is standing beside him, and says “sorry, hon” before smacking him on the back of the head.

Dex recoils. “What the hell was that for?”

Bitty signals for everyone to start heading back to the Haus. “This was your idea!” he says, a shouted whisper.

“Yeah, but you could’ve stopped u- Nursey!” He crosses his arms and smirks. “Admiring the scenery?”

He’s about to ask what provoked this (he learns later that it was revenge from an earlier attack from the LAX bros aimed at Bitty- he certainly didn’t expect something like that happening at America’s #1 Most Friendly LGBTQ+ Campus) when a lightbulb goes off in his head.

“You wish,” he replies and then runs to his dorm before his inspiration slips.

“Toilet paper hung like streamers and

Eggs splattered like polka dots. A team

Triumphant in its glory stands shoulder to shoulder with

Heads held high, a creed of

‘Got your back’

Echoing through their minds.

The lighter fluid smelled strangely of

Apples and cinnamon.”

Hope y’all enjoyed!

[ninety-writes]

Hi! Do you have a main?

Yep! It’s @ninety-smiles-an-hour.

[ninety-writes]

Coffee

Hey! A brief preface- this is something I wrote a while back (July, actually) that I started but never finished. Since I don't think I ever will finish it, I decided to go ahead and post it. Tide y'all over and whatnot. Enjoy 467 words of fluff from your pal Ninety. (ao3)

It was a cool Sunday morning in October in Gravity Falls, Oregon, and so far, it had been surprisingly lazy. Stanford was only just starting to fix himself breakfast at eight o’clock in the morning, which was later than normal (in this case, ‘normal’ was at some ungodly hour in the middle of the night after hours of toil trying to figure out the mysteries of the strange town; however, last night he’d turned in earlier than usual). He opened up the cabinet above the sink and reached in, grabbing a mug and a plastic container of coffee grounds. As he set them down on the countertop, he noticed that the container was suspiciously light, and upon inspection, he saw that he was out of coffee.

Wonderful.

He heard footsteps and creaking stairs. So Fidds is up. Nice timing. At least I’ve got some luck in that respect. He looked up to meet the face of his partner, who was rubbing bits of sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t help but smile- Fiddleford was simply adorable in the morning.

“Fidds!” he said with a grin.

“Morning, sunshine,” Fiddleford replied, rubbing bits of sleep from his eyes. “Man, I could go for some coffee right about now.”

Ford responded by showing Fiddleford the inside of the empty coffee container. Fiddleford seemed a bit disappointed by the news. He didn’t say anything, however, and instead took out the tea kettle and some bags of black tea for an alternate caffeine fix. Sure, it wasn’t coffee, but it still had its potency. Ford got out the eggs from the refrigerator, and together, he and Fiddleford made breakfast (scrambled eggs and toast).

One thing that Ford loved about his relationship with Fiddleford was how well they worked together. Once they had a common goal established, they moved perfectly in sync with each other, one person’s actions seamlessly flowing with the other’s. He wasn’t really one to say it out loud, but he thought that he and Fiddleford made a great pair.

They sat down at the table to eat, and after they had both eaten a couple of bites, Ford spoke.

“Could you go into town today to get some more coffee?”

Fiddleford considered it for a moment. “How about you?”

“Why me?” The matter was inconsequential, but Ford wasn’t sure why Fiddleford couldn’t do it.

“Well, I, for one, can’t quite remember the last time you left the house to do something other than look for supernatural critters. That don’t seem too healthy, Ford. Going to town’ll be good for ya.”

“Well-” Ford tried to counter Fiddleford’s argument before realizing that it was solid and, well,  reasonable. (Not to mention completely accurate.) He sighed. “You’re right. I’ll go later today."

“Thanks, Stanford,” Fiddleford said, taking another bite of his eggs.

Thanks for reading! I'm working on an original horror-ish short story that I'm considering publishing on here. Would you guys be interested at all?

[ninety-writes]

I don't know if you're still doing the fanfic writer ask meme, buuuut... if you are, would you answer 1, 5, 8, 11, 25, 29, aaaaaand 36?

Oh, certainly! (Putting it under the cut because dang, this got long.)

1. Things that inspire you

(Not sure I’m answering this correctly, but here.) Sometimes, when I read something (that something usually being other GF fanfiction), or watch a movie, or just see something walking by, I’ll think, “oh, I can see X character doing this.” And then I’ll jot it down in the notes app on my phone so I can write something based on it later.

5. Since how long do you write?

My elementary school had a thing where everyone would write a short story every year, so I guess I started creative writing there. After that, I had some OCs a few years ago for Gravity Falls that I kinda cringe at now. I wrote a couple of chapters of something for them, but I abandoned that project soon after I started it. I’d been wanting to get back into the fanfiction game last fall, and that feeling only got stronger the more stuff I read. Eventually, I read something, and I said, “screw it, I’ve gotta write something now.” A few days pass, and I’m talking with my best friend when she gives me a really good prompt (she is the queen of good prompts I swear), which became Sweatertown.

8. What time are you most productive?

I tend to get the most done when I go on a writing binge, and those (for me) tend to start after dark. (The most productive I’ve ever been when writing something was Sweatertown, which was written in an hour-long binge from 10 to 11 PM, as a fun/clarifying fact.)

11. Do you listen to music when writing?

Music with lyrics is really distracting for me, so I don’t usually listen to anything. (I did listen to this when writing Gloves, though. I like ML music, sue me.)

25. Favorite line you’ve ever written

Ok, I know it says line, but I’m putting a paragraph, because I’m really proud of this paragraph (maybe a little too proud) and I still can’t believe that I’m the one who wrote it sometimes.

“And another thing- I miss you. This may be the first time I’m admitting it to myself, but I do. Every time I see a laptop that could have been yours in our dimension, every time I hear as much as a note on any instrument that remotely resembles your banjo, this feeling washes over me until I’m incapable of thinking of anything except your smile, the one you always got when we made a breakthrough, the one you wore when you told me you were glad to be with me again, after all those years after college. I’m not quite sure what it is. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s regret. I’ll probably never know.” -Letters to Fiddleford

36. One-shot or multi-chaptered story?

Right now? One-shots are more manageable for me, since I’m still fairly new to fanfiction. Once I get more experience, though, you’ll probably see me posting more multi-chaptered works.

Thanks for the ask, anon!

[ninety-writes]

Official Prompts

Day One - College - July 21st

We all know that Stanford and Fiddleford were “college buddies” back in the day, but what exactly did they do together? Did they just click together right away, or did they have some disagreements first? Did Backupsmore have some paranormal activity, sweeping them into an adventure?

Optional QOTD: What were your initial thoughts on FiddAuthor? What had you shipping them, and is there anyone whom you must thank/file complaints for it?

Day Two - Vacation / Holiday  - July 22nd

The lovely @llamanee-sama brought up some very good points last night for this prompt and it being summer now had me side with her on a Holiday Vacation kind of theme. Choose which ever season you want and write / draw how you imagine they spend their time off (vacations at home or abroad) and / or how they celebrate any Holiday of your choosing together as a couple. 

Optional QOTD: What is an activity that brings them together during their down time? Holiday themed or anything.

Day Three - family - July 23rd

Family is a very important element that drives both of their actions and choices forward in canon. Really show how important family is to both of them by having them bond with Tate, Mabel, Dipper or any of the extended Pines family. 

Optional QOTD: How does the family react to their relationship?

Day Four - Bill Cipher - July 24th

This can range anywhere from Ciphord abuse to Bill just messing with the couple or anything you can think of that puts Bill in the mix.

Optional QOTD: Bill is disgusted by these humans and their human affection, how does he react?

Day Five - Science/ Supernatural - July 25th

This can focus on a project the two are working on together as a team or a monster hunt or them studying something weird and strange together. 

Optional QOTD: Fidds becomes a lab rat during a science project or Ford some how talks him into being live bait, how does this end? Can be as silly or angsty as you want.

Day Six - Gift Exchange - July 26th (The Journal releases!)

This is a very special day for GF fans, so celebrate this joyful day by making something nice for your fellow fiddauthor fans. This can be a request or just creating something you know they will like or based on something they have made in the past.

Optional QOTD: Who is your favorite fiddauthor creator? What is your favorite work by them? And Why do you love them so much?

Day Seven+ - Create from Journal - July 27th and beyond

Take anything from the journal that inspires you to make a wonderful fiddauthor piece of your choosing.

Optional QOTD: Do you think the ship has a chance at being canon?

By the nature of the last prompt alone, we don’t expect you to be on time and really its fine to be late on any prompt. Please go at your own pace when creating these prompts and have fun! This festival will be going strong until the end of August.

Remember to tag everything as ‘Fiddauthor Fest’ so we can share you work to everyone who loves fiddauthor. 

[ninety-writes]

asks for fanfic writers

drop a number and a fandom in my askbox and I’ll answer:

things that inspire you

things that motivate you

name three favorite writers

name three authors that were influential to your work and tell why

since how long do you write?

how did writing change you?

early influences on your writing

what time are you most productive?

do you set yourself deadlines?

how do you do your researches?

do you listen to music when writing?

favorite place to write

hardest character to write

easiest character to write

hardest verse to write

easiest verse to write

favorite AU to write

favorite pairing to write

favorite fandom to write

favorite character to write

least favorite character to write

favorite story you’ve ever written

least favorite story you’ve ever written

favorite scene you’ve ever written

favorite line you’ve ever written

story you’re most proud of

best review you ever got

worst review you ever got

favorite story/poem of another author

hardest part of writing

easiest part of writing

alternate title for (insert story title)

alternate ending for (insert story title)

alternate pairing for (insert story title)

single story or multi-part story?

one-shot or multi-chaptered story?

canon or AU?

do you reread your own stories?

do you want to be published some day?

which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series

one song that captures (insert story title)

do you plan or do you write whatever comes to your mind?

would you ever write a sequel for (insert fic title here)

do you write linear or do you write future scenes if you feel like it?

share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet

share a scene of a story that you haven’t published yet

how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

three spoilers for (insert story title)

writing advice

open question to the writer

[ninety-writes]

(This isn't an ask about writing specifically, I'm afraid.) Can I point out that I'm quite amused by your very username-appropriate avatar (despite it being out-of-context to the actual circumstance)?

I appreciate that you like it, because now that I’m thinking about it, I have a distinct memory of searching for this image and trying to save it. It was quite a process.

Thanks for the ask!

[ninety-writes]

Letters to Fiddleford

What’s that? I finally came off my two-month writer’s block to bring you that thing I mentioned starting about two and a half months ago? Yep, you got it. Wonderful prompt courtesy of @irkensorcerer. Sentimentality dimension from like they were a perfect fit by @sensitiveowl. (ao3)

February 18, 1982

Dearest Fiddleford,

I regret to inform you that you were right all along. You are most likely already aware of this, but I just wanted to make it clear that I now accept it. You were suspicious of Bill from the beginning. In your words, “he's a demon, Stanford. I'm fairly certain that ill intentions are part of the definition of the word ‘demon.’”

Unfortunately, I didn't listen. If I had, I wouldn't be writing this. But here we are. If you're confused about what I mean when I say this, allow me to enlighten you as to what happened after you left the project.

Could we discuss that? You leaving the project, that is. I thought I'd lost you, you know. Your eyes were so empty for what felt like hours. I thought you were gone. When you woke up and you started talking, you weren't making any sense, and your eyes still had that same blank stare. Truth be told, it almost felt worse than when you were limp lifeless unconscious. Naturally, when you asked me to destroy my life's work, I was a bit taken aback. It was my life's work, after all. It took some time (and, admittedly, a toll on your memories) for me to realize that there may have been some significance in what you had said.

Once I had, I confronted Bill about the matter as soon as I could. When he reacted by admitting to betraying me and showing me a glimpse of what he planned to bring to our world, I understood. I now know what it must have been like for you when your head was submerged in that literal nightmare for half a minute. I now know that and more. But I digress. I knew something had to be done about Bill, and it had to be done fast. Once again, I was desperate, only this time, I didn’t call on a demon for help. I called the only person I thought I could trust at the time. (Now, though, I’m not sure I can trust anyone.)

Did I ever tell you about Stanley? I may have mentioned him from time to time, but in case you have forgotten (as you may very well have, since he was never crucial to our lives in Gravity Falls), Stanley is my twin brother. The whole time we were growing up, but especially later on, the whole family knew Stanley wouldn't go anywhere or do anything with his life. We all did, we just pretended not to know it and waited for him to show a sign that he would make something of himself. He never did, and he couldn't face that on his own, so he made sure that he dragged me down with him. I was going to do so much, I was going to change the world, but he took all of my opportunities from me.

In my darkest hour, it didn’t matter either way. He was the only person I could remotely count on to assist me with my plan to hide the journals. When he arrived, we got into a rather large fight. In the scuffle, he unwittingly (characteristic of him, I may add) pushed me into the portal. That was two weeks ago.

When I first arrived here, in the nightmare realm, it was alarming, to say the very least. A more realistic description would be that my already-slipping sanity felt like it would fade completely if I made one false move. Over the past two weeks, I’ve learned various survival strategies that have already saved my life more than once. I’ve had some downtime occasionally, but this is the first time I’ve thought to do anything with it- writing to you.

If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to indefinitely continue my correspondence with you. I’ll most likely be trapped here for the remainder of my existence, and I’d like to hold onto something from the past.

Until I write again,

Stanford Pines

P.S.: I am aware that you cannot receive these letters. This is mostly to help me process what’s going on around me. My sanity’s not gone yet.

Dearest Fiddleford,

How long has it been since I last wrote? I believe it’s been a month. It’s a bit hard to tell these days.

Not much has happened since that time. Things have fallen into a rather steady routine. Allow me to illustrate:

Ghqhe-rise: start moving. I most likely didn’t sleep much (or at all) the previous night, so ‘waking up’ isn’t guaranteed to happen now. Game is hard to find in the first part of the day, so I generally don’t look for it.

A few hours later: be chased by some creature of incomprehensible horror, although the horror is becoming increasingly comprehensible every day. I’m not sure whether or not that development is positive, but it’s a development, which is better than staying still, right? Most days, I only manage to outrun the creature, but if I kill it, that takes care of food for the rest of the day. How convenient!

Midday: if I didn’t kill the beast from before, this is generally when I hunt. The second day after I came to this dimension, I found a weapon not unlike a crossbow. I’ve been using it when I hunt, and I’ve figured out how to make arrows when I need more. The survival training we did around the time we built the bunker paid off, because I’ve only failed two hunting trips in the time I’ve been here, and after those times, I managed to find native plants that didn’t sear my skin at the touch (unlike a plant that looks deceptively like chamomile. I’ve learned not to trust things that resemble tea anymore.)

Whenever I have secured meat: Find a small clearing or municipal camp (there are so many people in my same situation that, yes, they have those) and start gathering firewood. I go through the basic process of cooking the meat once I've started the fire, and then I eat. Since this is my only meal of the day, I generally don't share, but if I'm at a camp like the kind I mentioned earlier and I see someone starving, I give them a portion of the meat. I'm not heartless.

After eating: pack up and keep moving. I don't want to be stuck in this same dimension forever, and I won't be able to find a way to another by staying in the same spot. I might get attacked in the afternoon, but it's less likely than in the morning, and I'm better equipped to fight once I've eaten.

Ghqhe-set: Set up camp. If there's a municipal one nearby, I'm in luck; if there isn't, I have to find a place on my own that isn't inhabited by monsters, which is more challenging than it seems, but not too difficult once you've had enough practice. I'll most likely stay up for hours keeping watch, but some sleep might get a hold of me eventually.

There you go. That's the basic schedule: a day in the life, if you will. Not much has been happening, so I may not write as frequently. If that schedule changes, expect to hear from me, but if it's disrupted by something important, expect to not hear from me until after things get back to normal, since I may not be able to write during that time. On that note, I bid you farewell for now.

Until I write again,

Stanford Pines

Dearest Fiddleford,

I thought I’d write to let you know that I just led a rebellion against a cruel, tyrannical ruler in the Fourth Dimension. I suppose I should have mentioned that I made it out of that original one. That must have been years ago.

I didn’t lead it alone, though. I’ve made an ally in a woman named Janice Green. She’s one of the bravest, strongest, and more importantly, kind and loyal people I’ve encountered in my travels. I believe I’ve found a friend in her.

It was a long fight, but after we achieved victory, most soldiers went back to their loved ones. When Janice turned to me and asked if I had anyone to go home to, for some peculiar reason, even though it’s now been several years, my thoughts when directly to you.

My time here has given me an opportunity to think a lot about what happened, and although I may have at the time, I don’t blame you for your decision to leave. You did what you believed was the right thing, and I can’t fault you. I’m sorry I ever did.

And another thing- I miss you. This may be the first time I’m admitting it to myself, but I do. Every time I see a laptop that could have been yours in our dimension, every time I hear as much as a note on any instrument that remotely resembles your banjo, this feeling washes over me until I’m incapable of thinking of anything except your smile, the one you always got when we made a breakthrough, the one you wore when you told me you were glad to be with me again, after all those years after college. I’m not quite sure what it is. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s regret. I’ll probably never know.

In any case, it won’t do me any good. You and I both know we’ll never meet again, so what’s the point in prolonging the hope that we might? I’m resigned to my fate of never being able to return home, but if I did have any hope, my sole motivation to return would be to see your face again, at least once. It would be enough.

Yours truly,

Stanford Pines

Dearest Fiddleford,

Yesterday, I participated in the legendary gladiatorial competition of Globnar and lived to tell the tale. The winner gets a time wish. With one, you can do anything you wish without causing any paradoxes, no matter how impossible the wish may be. I lost (and, miraculously, I’m still alive). If I had won, you would have known already, since I’d be back in Gravity Falls. I thought I’d report the defeat.

It’s been some time since I last wrote, but I still miss you. Just for the sake of taking notes on what I think of in here.

Yours truly,

Stanford PInes

Dearest Fiddleford,

You won’t believe what kind of dimension I just got out of. You probably would’ve appreciated it, at least during your first five minutes there. The only sounds that could be made were those of a banjo. Speech, vehicles, wind- if it made a sound, that sound came out as the pluck of a banjo string. At first, it was, admittedly, amusing, but after a while of being unable to hear yourself think over twangs from every direction, it grew a bit maddening. I had to make a bargain with a Thelioid (never play a game of euchre with one) to get passage out of there, which was hardly an easy task, since my written Thelian is spotty, to be generous.

In any case, that predicament is over now. I hope things are alright at home. Say hello to Tate for me, if you get the chance.

Yours truly,

Stanford Pines

Dearest Fiddleford,

I just narrowly escaped a demonic cult’s appeasement ritual (which I would elaborate on if I had the words to describe the horror), and it reminded me to ask- why did you form that society? I got my hands on a calendar (through circumstances you don’t need to know) recently, so now I can say that I’ve understood for fifteen years now just how terrifying the other side of the portal is, but even after everything I’ve been through, I’ve never once considered erasing my memories. Perhaps it’s a difference in how the two of us process trauma. Perhaps it was that I was more accustomed to the unusual than you were. In any case, I’ve had a long time to think about it, and I still can’t quite put my finger on it.

So why? Why did you do it?

Yours truly,

Stanford PInes

Dearest Fiddleford,

It’s been five years since I asked you about the Society of the Blind Eye’s formation. I’m still puzzled as to your rationale when you made that particular decision, but that’s not why I’m writing to you today.

I fear that my mental state may be declining even further. Some days, I remember these letters, and I get delusions that I sent them to you through the mail, and I become slightly upset that you never write back to me, especially since I’ve been writing you on a fairly frequent basis for the past twenty years. Then, I look around and remember my situation, but the fact that I’m forgetting? It’s disturbing at best.

Ah, forget it. I don’t have time to investigate the causes of this behavior. I have survival to focus on.

-Stanford Pines

Fiddleford,

I’m writing this because, well, I needed to write? Yes, I know it sounds strange, but it’s just one of those times again where I have to write for grounding purposes. So. How have things been in Gravity Falls? Any interesting findings recently? How’s Tate? Are personal computers still as much of a waste of time as they were back in the day? I think we both know the answer to that question is a definite yes.

Alright, I’ve gotten things sorted out. Thanks, old buddy.

-Ford

Dearest Fiddleford,

I’ve told you about the wanted posters of me that Bill has put in every corner of the multiverse, haven’t I? I must have, because there have been bounty hunters on my trail ever since I fell through the portal 26 years ago. I had to outrun one just a few hours ago, and although I’m in fairly good physical condition (aside from my weight, obviously), I barely avoided the bastard because I stumbled and fell in the middle of the chase, and it took me a startling amount of time to get back up.

Maybe I’m getting too old for this.

-Stanford

Dearest Fiddleford,

Although I’m loath to admit it, I tend to be a bit on the sentimental side. You know this. (In fact, while we’re on the subject of sentimentality- just last week, I narrowly escaped a dimension where dearly-loved objects are worth more than gold or prized jewels. Some more savory Heidans found a picture I have of Stanley and I on a boat we worked on restoring when we were younger, and I managed to get out with both the picture and my life, while they left with neither.) I’m writing you today because I just landed in Dimension Q*80^2, the dimension I arrived in right after I fell through the portal thirty years ago. Nothing’s changed here, and nothing’s changed with me. I know I’ll never be able to go back home, so it pains me slightly that I can return here but not to Gravity Falls. Even still, I know this is necessary, since I’d rather stay in this hellscape for as long as I have left than give Bill passage int

A blinding, white light fills the room, then flickers into nothing. The portal crackles with some kind of strange electricity, now in shambles, with pieces littering the basement. A man emerges from the other side. He walks out with even steps, and upon reaching a maroon journal with a golden, six-fingered hand on the cover, he picks it up and places it in his trench coat pocket, where it sits among countless letters written over a thirty-year span, all addressed to one person.

“What? Who is that?”

“The author of the journals… my brother.”

Thanks for reading! As usual, constructive criticism is always appreciated.

[ninety-writes]

The Battery’s End

Okay, I’ll say it up front. This isn’t any fanfiction. It’s an original short story I wrote for English that I thought I’d share on here! If you’re interested, check it out.

It was just another raid when it happened. By ‘it’, I mean the incident that almost made me give up on Battery raids altogether. I was completely in favor of what we were doing prior to that one mission, but then it happened, and I suddenly started taking everything about what we were doing into consideration. I stopped underestimating the risk involved in every last raid we undertook. I started to confront the reality that, even with all of our losses, we weren’t accomplishing much at all. I almost let them win.

But if I had done that, then the Battery would have continued their operations without any opposition, depriving everyone of the energy they craved and deserved, and I simply couldn’t stand for that. But I get ahead of myself. You must be a bit confused. After all, the Battery isn’t around anymore (since the government finally caught up to them), and no one is being deprived of any energy (it’s considered as common as running water in most households). Now, that ten-year energy drought, if you will, seems like ancient history, even though the government’s restoration program was only put in place just over a decade ago. Allow me to illustrate what life was like after the Energy Crash.

Two decades ago, around the year 2102, we relied on nonrenewable sources for energy. Those were substances such as natural gas, coal, and oil. They could not be reused, and there was a finite amount on the planet. In other words, it had to run out eventually. And two decades ago, it did.

Most people were so reliant on energy that they were desperate to get it back. After the public had demonstrated this by painting the streets with blood, the government began seeking out ways to restore everyone’s power with more urgency. Some methods had been developed prior to the Crash, but since the public had deemed them unnecessary because of the then-abundance of resources at the world’s disposal, any projects were scrapped. No evidence had been left over. While ecologists everywhere started from square one trying to figure out renewable energy, the government developed programs to encourage the public to come up with their own energy solutions. A law was enacted that if anyone found the key to renewable energy, they were to immediately show it to the government, and if they did not comply, they would be imprisoned. Out of these circumstances rose the Battery.

The Battery was an underground organization that had found the secret to renewable energy- a method called ectodynamism- and they rebuffed the idea of spreading it to every last home that had lost power. Instead, they established the black market for energy that thrived around that time, and since they were by far the largest suppliers, they kept their operations mobile so that the government never caught up to them. If they were found, the leaders would likely be executed, which would mean a total loss of any earnings for the group as a whole. If you were on good terms with their boss, a conniving, cheating, and smelly man named Miles Paxton, you could get your energy at a discount.

I first caught wind of what they were up to when my cousin, Terry, dropped by my apartment one afternoon. It was a Sunday, and I had just finished drying that morning’s dishes. I looked out the window at downtown Dow City. What a disheartening sight. Before the Crash, it had been a lively place of business, with apartments stacked next to and on top of the little shops and restaurants lining every sidewalk, with cars parked all along the narrow streets. The air smelled fresh, the sun smiled down on every store owner, resident, and out-of-town visitor, and you could hear all sorts of pleasant conversations taking place inside buildings and on sidewalks. After the Crash, it had broken apart. Most people’s stores went out of business, so they moved away in search of work elsewhere. People stopped coming in from out of town. Some people had become hostile and, after vandalizing the first few places they saw, skipped town as well, because they had already caused enough uproar in the community, and now they wanted to spread their chaos elsewhere. The buildings were mostly empty, and the ones that had been vandalized looked especially decrepit. The streets and sidewalks were devoid of cars and any people looking for a nice day downtown. Things were bleak, and the only reason I hadn’t left was because I had nowhere to go. As terrible as it looked, Dow City was my home.

My train of thought was interrupted when I heard a knock at the door. A bit surprised, I made my way across the room. After checking the peephole, I opened the door for my cousin.

“Afternoon, Terry,” I said. I was slightly perplexed, since I never got many visitors, even before the Crash, but I’d still be nice to him. He was blood, after all.

“Hey, Janice!” Terry said, with a peppy tone that I’d recently grown unaccustomed to. He wore one the biggest grins I’d seen in the past month, and a steady pulse from his tapping foot echoed through the hallway outside my door. He was obviously excited about something, and since things had been going downhill for me since the Crash, any exciting news that he had to offer was good news in my book.

“So, what’s goin’ on? You look like Uncle Roy after he won Wheel of Fortune.”

“You’re not going to believe this, Janice.” He seemed like he was waiting for some reaction from me, so I nodded for him to continue. “I got power yesterday.”

Well, if that wasn’t news, I didn’t know what was. I did my best to not get my hopes up, but I still felt my eyes widen a bit, and I still registered a small gasp from somewhere in the room, and it sure wasn’t from Terry.

He was right. I didn’t quite believe him, not at first. Then he began to elaborate, and I started to see some stock in his story.

“There’s this place called the Battery. I heard about them from a friend of mine who had gone to them already, and I had to check it out for myself. I don’t know how they do it, Jan, but once I told them where I lived, I got power again! It’s a miracle, I’m tellin’ you, and even though the price is a bit high, it’s worth it. Think of the alternative!” He paused, looking around. He continued, a bit quieter this time. “Sorry. I guess you’re living the alternative.”

“It’s nothing,” I said, and to be honest, I didn’t care that much. The gears in my head were starting to spin, and the more I thought about it, the more suspicious this ‘Battery’ seemed. If there was an organization distributing power, how had I not heard about it? That would’ve made headlines everywhere, so unless it was being kept under wraps just to exploit people like Terry…

“Where is this ‘Battery’?” I asked, trying to not sound too interrogative, but failing. Fortunately, Terry didn’t pick up on it.

“That’s what I came here to tell you. Their current HQ is right here in Dow City! They’re in the tunnels, and if you act fast, you can get an energy supply before they move again.”

So they moved around frequently. That didn’t sound like an illegal operation trying to avoid being noticed by law enforcement at all. I didn’t like the sound of these people, whoever they were. I needed to investigate. However, if I was going to do that successfully, I needed to keep it on the down low as much as I could, so I said my goodbye to Terry, after thanking him for the information, and paid a visit to a good friend of mine.

His name was Nick Johnson. I said “good friend”, but that’s an understatement. He was the best friend I had. He was very generous and empathetic, and if he saw someone in need, he wouldn’t hesitate to lend them a hand. When I asked him to help me investigate a suspicious group that was illegally harvesting and distributing energy, he decided to lend everyone who wasn’t getting said energy a hand by accepting my offer.

We decided that we would need someone to help us navigate the tunnels, because neither of us knew them well, and the Battery would have made them even harder to make it through so that a random passerby couldn’t just walk in on their operations. Nick mentioned an old coworker of his who he claimed knew the tunnels like the back of her hand due to how many times she’d explored them over the years, so we decided she was our best bet.

Her name was Piper Lee, and the Crash had cost her her job. She was smart as a whip, and had an impressive memory, judging by the fact that she was able to draw us a pretty accurate map of the tunnels upon command, but she still couldn’t find employment. But when she realized that she could find a job again if the energy was brought back to everyone, she was quickly on our side.

When we sat down, Nick suggested that a good way to go about our investigation would be to just raid them and steal anything they had relating to how they produced energy, be it machinery, a sample, or even written instructions if they existed. No one objected, since we couldn’t come up with anything else. At the time, it seemed like a decent idea.

Whenever we conducted a raid, we would have our wind-up telecontacters on us at all times. Piper would stay in a hidden, safe spot with a map of the tunnels so that she could direct us through the labyrinth. Nick and I would go into the tunnels and try to find something, anything that could be of use to the cause. In case we ran into anyone, we stayed armed. Surprisingly, we were pretty stealthy. Although the raids were generally unsuccessful, we were never caught once by any members of the Battery.

That is, until that day. When the incident I mentioned earlier happened. The one that, after months of tireless effort and dedication, made me begin to question whether or not it was even worth it in the end.

It was just like any other raid we’d attempted over the last three months. The tunnels were as musty as ever. The dirt was just as hard beneath our feet as it always was. Everything looked and felt the same, so of course we didn’t see it coming when we rounded a corner, and, just like that, there he was.

The infamous Miles Paxton, head of the Battery.

He certainly looked the part. He stood about five and a half feet tall, with a bit of extra weight on him. His feet were shoulder-width apart, arms crossed in front of his chest, and he didn’t need any backup to look intimidating (after all, there wasn’t any backup with him now, and he still looked like he could kill anyone in his line of sight without batting an eye). For some reason, he smelled heavily of onions and mushrooms, with some sweat mixed in as well. He had a strong jaw, cold, black eyes, and he wore a harsh scowl on his face. He meant business, and it didn’t seem to be good business.

“So. These are the maggots that have been sneaking around down here for the past few months?” he said, the word ‘maggots’ practically spat out. He looked us up and down before continuing. “I must say, I expected someone a bit more… impressive than you two. I guess you can’t rely on footprints to figure out someone’s muscle mass, but at least it’ll be easy to teach you little rats some respect.”

Nick seemed a bit intimidated by him, but I wasn’t going to let this guy get to me. He could keep his business going over my dead body. Throwing Paxton a glare, I hissed out, “You won’t be teaching us anything.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you think you can get past me? I’ll admit, it took me a while to catch you, but now that you’re here, I can’t just let you go free, now, can I? If that was what I’d had in mind, I would have moved base the first time I saw your filthy tracks.” A nasty smirk flashed on his face.

Nick turned to me, looking like he was starting to doubt our chances against Paxton, and if I had as much sense as he did, I would have doubted us, too. He nudged his head in the direction we came from, like he was trying to tell me we should flee when we still had the chance, when suddenly, I heard a bang coming from Paxton’s direction, and Nick’s urgent eyes turned lifeless.

What happened next was a blur, but some details stuck with me. Like the dull thud that sounded when Nick’s body hit the ground. Like the sneer on Paxton’s face as he said, “one maggot down, one to go,” like he had done this a hundred times already, and he probably had. Like the fact that I started running as soon as I heard those words leave his mouth, and not even remembering that I had left Nick’s body behind until I had reached Piper, grabbed her, and kept running as fast as my legs could carry me until we had gotten back home.

That night, Terry called me on my telecontacter, asking if I had taken up his offer and visited the Battery yet like he had every week since he’d first visited me. I’d come up with a different excuse each time, but that night, I couldn’t stop replaying what had happened in the tunnels, so I just hung up.

I didn’t sleep that night.

If you made it this far- thanks! Let me know what you think if you feel the need.