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lilyofthestyx · 9 months ago

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𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴: 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝚆𝙾 (𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙿𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛) (𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝙿𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛) ▲

A.N.: okay guys i know im late i got in a car accident and insurance is a bitch im so sorry here it is you animals [@infernal-frog-toes namely] i really enjoyed this second bit :)

part two of the previous chapter linked here!!!

some warnings this is QUITE A BIT DARKER THAN THE PREVIOUS ONE!!!

TW: im writing this and keeping the age of the reader ambiguous just don't be weird. AS ALWAYS MINORS DNI. I don't NOBODY'S parents contacting me for NOTHING. UNCOMFORTABLE SITUATIONS AHEAD FOLKS!!, unwanted physical contact, bill is a little bodysnatchin bitch,

THINGS GET WEIRD IN THE PORTRAIT ROOM for a reference point

Word count: 4.5k

Pairings: stanley pines x reader, stanford pines x reader, bill cipher x reader?

Something stirs in the doorway just beyond the giftshop. A thin curtain that covers the entrance to the rest of the building flows in the gentle breeze. There’s a faint shadow there- it stands there.

Watching me.

“Hello…?” I call out, moving a bit closer towards the shadow before stopping.

I don’t know who this guy is- even if it is Ford, I met him on the street for all of twenty minutes.

But I really need this job if I’m going to be stuck out here.

What’s worse is from the moment I set eyes on this place- this raggedy, old shack smack middle of the boonies- I want to work here. Something so mundane and seemingly normal as the woods being the object of such tentative and passionate idolization seemed… Beautiful, in a way.

Something seemed to call me here… Keep me here.

Destiny, maybe.

And besides, a cool tourist trap spot with a hot boss in the middle of an absolutely picturesque forest-scape that seemed to breathe relaxation?

Uh… yes please?

“Um… Mister, uh, Soos?” I try again, still looking at that figure staring at me from the next room. “We spoke on the phone earlier, I’m-”

The figure quickly ducks away, disappearing from view.

And in a split second decision that’s made before my brain has time to catch up, my feet follow deeper into the house. “Wait! Sir, I really-!”

As I cross into the threshold, pushing through the curtain, a loud cheer erupts and the lights switch on. My brain has little time to register before a series of pops sound throughout the room.

“SURPRISE!”

What the fuck.

Whaaaat the fuck.

Confetti falls from onto my face as I get a chance to understand the scene in front of me. The room is filled entirely with various residents I had seen on my walk through town, along with Ford and Dipper- with near-matching grins. A giant banner with hastily made, precisely glued letters of various glitter shades is draped overhead- ‘WELCOME’. Hearts, rainbows, puppies, kittens, dolphins… a couple of strangely drawn men- they’re all scattered along the letters but beneath them- a signature from everyone in town.

My mouth falls open, eyes wide in shock. Dipper and Ford step forwards, Dipper following behind a girl I don’t know- but who is an exact replica of the boy himself. She grabs him by his vest and tugs him along, her bright eyes never leaving mine as she proudly presents herself. “Hi!” She says with a tone that just adds to her natural cheery aura. “My name’s Mabel! This is Dipper, and my Grunkle Ford!”

She throws her arms out to her side to display her goods- one cute kid and one cute man. They both smile. Dipper steps forward, ducking his head a bit, I can see the tips of his ears are a deep red. He lifts his head with an ahem that still doesn’t prevent a voice crack, “Mabel’s my twin, I told her about your situation after sh-”

Mabel cuts him off when she throws her arms in the air, hitting him across the face with the sleeve of her bright pink sweater. The next few words out of her mouth are a trainwreck of syllables colliding into each other on the way out of her mouth, “IheardyoutalkingwithSoosandIknewwhenIcameout herewithnofriendsIwas-” she takes a deep breath in here before continuing like nothing, “miserable! But after a big party we threw, I met my two bestestestest everest friends- Grenda and Candy!” She gestures to two girls- both holding party favors and plates of the typical party food. Mabel runs over to them, hurriedly explaining who’s who and why one has an iguana and why they’re her two bestestestest everest friends. The shorter of the two- a spectacled girl with straight, long black hair and shy eyes places a party hat on my head with a gentle, proud smile. The other girl, slightly broad in shoulder and with biceps that would make my gym trainer cry, hands me a plate filled with the basic food groups.

Cupcakes, candy, pizza, and soda.

Ford sidles up next to me, leaning down slightly and lowering his voice just enough for us to hear. “The kids have a tendency to get away from me,” he mumbles as we watch Mabel and Dipper show off the banner they made. “Handling them has always been my brother’s strong suit.” He chuckles- something deep in his chest that crackles and pops a bit at the edges. “Speak of the devil- here he is.”

I manage to pry my attention from the kids as the four of them- now joined by a slightly older red-headed girl with freckles. As she turns to wave hi and bid me welcome to Gravity Falls, I can see she’s wearing a baseball cap with a pine tree on it. She starts for us before Dipper has her attention and the two rejoin their group, convening at the fishtank.

“[Y/N], I’d like you to meet my brother and founder of the Mystery Shack, Stanley Pines.”

I turn around to face Ford and meet his brother, smiling brightly. “Hi! I’m sorry, I was just watchin’ those kids, they’re a cute bunch-”

Oh damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

Twins.

Stanley and Stanford Pines are twins.

I could have guessed, really. Twins are hereditary.

Stanley Pines, notably a bit grouchier than his brother, eyes me up and down with sugar-brown eyes. He’s tall- a bit taller than Ford, who happily continues on chatting- and dressed from head to toe in a neat pressed black suit. A maroon velvet bolo tie stretches across his chest as he huffs a few pleasantries at me. A string of golden rings pearls over his thick fingers as they nervously grip and ungrip the matching orb at the end of his cane. The orb itself swirls and whirls around inside, glittering all the while like liquid gold-sand- no doubt adding to his aforementioned ‘Man of Mystery’ persona. Pink-white scars are littered amongst the skin beneath his rings and the backs of his palms, running up under his sleeves for safety. He’s quite a bit naturally burlier than Ford, as well- broad shoulders and thick hands.

I wonder if he stole all Ford’s nutrients in the womb- my cousin’s boyfriend allegedly stole all the nutrients from his twin brother.

I dunno, it could happen.

“So you meetin’ with Soos later?” He asks, eyes locking on me.

I suddenly feel very small, trapped in the identical gaze of these two men. Something about them feels… larger-than-life.

Intimidating.

Maybe it’s Ford’s brain and Stanley’s reputation and my sudden precarious (desperate) position getting to me.

I gulp. “Y… yessir.”

His eyebrow quirks, “What- are ya sick, kid? Speak up.” Ford nudges him in the ribs, smiling as he hisses something under his breath. Stanley ignores him, not budging his gaze from me for an instant.

I stand a bit straighter, shoulders squared back. This is a sixty-something year old man- I’ve defended myself against scarier.

And more agile.

“Yes, sir. I’m the one who talked with Mr. Soos on the phone.”

His lips are the ones to quirk up this time, into a proud toothed grin. “Thaddagirl- gotta have moxie to work here at the Shack! Take Mabel here-” He gestures with the end of his cane to the group of kids- who look… more upset than when we left.

Stanley is in the midst of them before anyone has much time to process anything.

He even tosses his cane off to a confused Ford- who manages to barely catch it. The staff end of the cane swings up in Ford’s grip, smacking his glasses askew.

Dipper and the older red-haired girl stand in the middle of their circle, staring daggers at a much taller, much angrier-looking teenager dressed in black. Stanley easily walks up and plucks… that very same whole, entire teenager out from the group with a single hand. Stanley glares at Dipper and the girl before the four walk (or in the poor dude’s case, are dragged) out of the view of the townspeople.

The party resumes without so much as another beat of silence. Ford clears his throat, sets his glasses straight and his brother’s cane down. Stepping forwards, he walks up to Mabel- who seems to cower in shame beneath him.

The two converse amongst themselves, save for passing glances over Ford’s shoulder from both of them at some point or another.

…Does it involve me somehow…?

I doubt it, I don’t even know that other boy. I can’t possibly have beef with townspeople already, right?

Ford quietly, quickly, and concisely utters an apology and somewhat of an explanation. Dipper and the other boy have had some tension for quite awhile now- they apparently were both fond of the red-haired girl at one point and every so often they’ll butt heads out of sheer pride. Whatever caused tonight’s particular incident was unknown to me but it seemed that Wendy (Red herself) had tried to intervene.

Ford then quickly darts outside, leaving Mabel and I alone. She spins around, hands on her hips and grin hanging onto her ears like nothing happened. She puts on her sleaziest salesman impression, “[Y/N]! …baby!” she shoots finger guns at me and winks. “How you doin’, you doin’ good? You look good! Look thirsty, you thirsty?!” She says, sprinting off to the punch bowl. She clambers atop the table, hastily pours bright red punch (expertly missing a pristine white tablecloth) and runs back to me.

She practically shoves the red plastic cup into my hands. “Here! Now, tell me all about yourself!” Mabel reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a sequined pen and journal. What comes next is a rapid-fire line of questioning. “How old are you, what’s your previous work history- are you single?!”

I choke at that last one- sending pink punch flying from between my pinched lips. Mabel doesn’t seem to notice as I struggle to swipe away the dribbling liquid down my face- she’s deep in her own mind, glitter gel pen tapping her chin in thought. She continues on as I watch in amusement- this kid is adorable and her excitement is contagious. Besides, what kind of employee would I be if I didn’t let my future boss entertain me?

“I’ve been going over my statistics with Dipper and Grunkle Ford and you’re the perfect candidate for some summer romances- you’re smart, funny, kind and girl, your style is working!” Her smile- metal brackets and all- seems to glisten. The more questions she asks, the more she scribbles down into her notepad. No question seems to be off-limits.

Everything from past work history to past exes were discussed.

She even asked for credit card information, no doubt taking after her Grunkle. I denied her this information. I have to at least make sure the kid will spend the funds on something cool.

“…the only thing is we need t’get you hired! Soos! I have another applicant for you!”

After a more professional but relaxed interview with Soos, I was happily given my uniform- a slightly form-fitting gray shirt (the last one was a size smaller than my own) with a white question mark on it. It fits quite nicely, accenting the right curves and angles.

Point being I look damn good.

The last of the stragglers of the party start to shuffle out, leaving the two sets of twins, Grenda, Candy, Wendy, Soos, and I in the Shack. Soos had assured me training and a proper tour would be done tomorrow- tonight was strictly for the private celebration kicking off the official start to the summer season and the welcoming in of new friends and old.

The setup is incredibly impressive. Various hunted animal heads are mounted on the walls- each with different types of party attire on. A lion with a noisemaker in its open jaws, a deer with a party hat between its antlers- even a full-body taxidermied wolf on its hind legs is wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Each of them are cast in flashes of blue, pink, and green lights that coordinate with the music that floods the room. The wood interior of it all makes the reverb rattle the insides of my bones.

Soos stands behind the DJ booth, expertly mixing records while doing the robot. The younger group of girls stand in their little triangle just before Soos’ speakers. Mabel has already tried a backflip once already, which is why Dipper keeps an eye on her from his spot beside Wendy on the wall. The two of them chat over a shared cup of punch as they watch the rest of their group torture a poor boy named ‘Thompson’. Even the teen from earlier has returned, a purple-haired girl under his arm. They stand with Wendy and Dipper and enjoy the scene playing out before them.

I’ve been left to my own devices in between visits from each of the groups. They’re a neat little group- a bit unorthodox, really, but neat nonetheless. And I can’t say that I’ve felt like much of an outsider since coming here.

Something feels…

Right.

Meant to be, maybe. I smile at that thought, taking a sip from my cup. Stanley (‘Stan’, as was made clear to me by him later) had joked about spiking the punch after the kids go to bed. Ford advised him otherwise- now the two stand by punch bowl bickering. Ford’s grip on Stan’s forearm is tight and he struggles to hold it upright. Ford’s staring daggers as Stan smirks, holding the opened flask over the bowl.

I saunter over, intrigued by the two’s dynamic. It’s obvious what it is- the nerd and protector duo- but there’s more to it.

Or maybe I can just admit I’m just insanely attracted to the two of them and want to get to know them better. As I get closer, more of their conversation becomes audible. And it becomes clear that Stan has had a bit of whatever it is in the flask- he’s a lot less gruff than earlier.

“C’mon Sixer, it’s a party- once the kids are asleep there’s no reason us adults can’t-”

“That’s absolutely out of the question, Stan,” Ford cuts in, succinctly emphasizing each word to ensure their meaning is not lost on his brother. “And you know exactly why-”

“How ya likin’ the party, [Y/N]?” It’s Stan’s turn to interrupt as he notices me walk up.

I laugh, gesturing to everything. “It’s incredible! I can’t say anyone’s done anything like this for me before!”

Stan puffs his chest a bit with pride. “That’s all them kids- Mabel’s a pro at this stuff. Threw together an entire puppet show with pyrotechnics last summer!”

I gesture to the flask with my cup and a nod of my head. “You trying to throw together somethin’ of your own, Stan?”

The grin that stretches across his face is positively wolfish. “Why? You interested?”

I shake my head, “I gotta get back to the hotel- it’s gettin’ late and I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Ford uses this to throw in his two cents. “Exactly what I had told him myself, [Y/N].”

Stan rolls his eyes, easily taking his arm from Ford’s grip and tucking the flask into his suit pocket. “Another time then,” he shrugs, “You want someone t’walk you out?”

“If you don’t mind!” I chirp, happy he offered as the woods seemed to peer into me as much as I do into them. It only seems to be creepier now that it’s dark out- the very gaping maw of the forest poised to swallow me up without so much as a sound. “Lemme grab my bag from the ‘bag check’.”

At the beginning of the party, Dipper and Wendy had been set in front of one of the bedrooms in the home as bag checkers and ticket collectors. My bag should still be inside- Mabel assured me she had put it in the best possible hiding spot. The painting on the side wall opens up, it’s where Stan keeps the contraband he confiscates from the kids.

The room is dark but I can make out the shapes of clothes strewn about the floor. A neon sign buzzes in the corner. I make my way to the painting of a . Gripping the edges, I pull- and it swings free from the wall. Inside are a few different things, including a red leather book sitting neatly on top of my bag.

I take it and turn it over. A gold hand with six fingers is on the front- the number two drawn in the center. The book itself has no other markings on the outside, no author or publishing office information. I’m almost sure it’s the same book I saw with Ford and Dipper yesterday- I wonder what a brain like Ford’s enjoys reading.

I open it to a random page.

…

What?

What is this?

The inside is a mess of scrawl, hastily penned as if the hand doing it could not keep up with the thoughts- or that the thoughts themselves transcended the body that was trying to document them. The ink bleeds into each other, words colliding into a mess on the yellowing pages. Symbols- so many symbols- are etched into what little free space there is on the page.

It doesn’t make any sense.

The next page is a drawing of a grotesque mix of a woman and a spider with notes on the appearance. Tagged to an arrow pointing to the thing’s… face? is a note. ‘Deceptively beautiful and equally as charming, this beast is an intelligent foe- without even so much as a mention of the arachnimorph’s ability to hurl acidic digestive juices at its prey.’

Is this for a book he’s writing or something? Something to bring more attention to the Shack Maybe that’s why so many people seemed to be here- this place is a niche pop culture spot.

I continue to mindlessly thumb through the pages, entranced by the detailed diagrams and meticulously documented notes. Whatever this is, it’s beautifully and delicately handcrafted. Each detail is perfect in its imperfection. The content of the notes- what few I take time to scan over- are enchanting as well. The pages range from near-manic in their scribblings, while others can be almost painfully detailed.

The page that catches my eye has a haunting image. It’s simple- a dark triangle with a single pale white eye. Beside it is its name- Bill Cipher.

Hard to think a thing this unsettling would be named something like ‘Bill’.

Why does it…

It’s so…

Familiar.

There’s something- something, something, deep in my guts. Something that’s been bothering me since I first was driven into this sleepy-eyed town. Everything has a haze that burns with something bittersweet on the tongue.

Nostalgia.

But I’ve never been here, never seen this thing before- why is it so-

A hand settles heavy on my shoulder.

“Have you found something interesting, [Y/N]?”

Ford.

I whirl around, blushing like mad and furiously trying to explain myself and apologize at the same time. The stammered syllables come out broken and a bit timid at the edges. I hold the journal to my chest, protecting the page from his gaze. Ford’s glasses- catching the colored light from the open door- are sheened over with a haze of purple.

I can’t… His eyes. I can’t see his eyes.

I take a single step back and watch him. He’s stock-stiff, his arms hanging at his side with enough rigidity to make them look… disjointed. He stays quiet, staring at me-

Was he the thing staring at me in the doorway earlier? Before the party?

“...Ford?” I call softly, my eyes not leaving his frame for a moment.

“What page did you read?” His question comes out sounding like what I know Ford to sound like- whatever little that is- but it feels…

Broken.

Guiltily, I peel the journal away from my chest and show him the page. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Ford,” I whisper, tears starting to prick around the corners of my eyes. “I don’t know what came over me- I just… It was sitting on top of my bag and I just… I thought it-”

He’s coming closer as I’m rambling. Each word is punctuated with the thud of his boots, the hum of the music against the wall to my back.

“What did you learn, [Y/N]?” Ford’s voice cuts my stream of words from the air. It’s deep, deeper than normal. It seems to bite into my sternum when it hits me, the gnawing vibrations as it saws through bone rippling across my chest.

My mouth falls open, eyes blinking wildly between him and the bookpage. “Wha- well, I…”

Ford shushes me, takes the book away. Without a word, the book is safely and neatly taken and tucked into that verysame jacket pocket it was hidden in during our first meeting. The sudden closeness of him- his height as he towers above me- makes me take another step back.

“Such a…,” he murmurs, six fingers stretched out towards me- grasping. He takes another step.

“Ford?” I mutter, “What-”

I step back and into the wall. I can hear the party in the other room. His hand holds the side of my face. It’s… gentle, a full finger warmer…

Familiar.

“Such an inquisitive mind,” he whispers and it’s broken. A sad wilt to his words that hangs almost awkwardly in the air between us. “You truly don’t remember, do you…?”

“Remember…?” I whisper, eyes narrowing at his face. His glasses are still obscured- the rest of his face near unreadable.

“Remember,” he continues, his thumb now rubbing against my cheek. “You… can’t possibly…”

His hand slides a bit down and rests in the crook of my neck. His thumb sits in the base of my neck, catching the pulse.

“...Ford, please, I don’t… I don’t understand…”

“You couldn’t possibly have forgotten,” his voice cuts like ice now. There’s almost a staticky kind of crackle when he takes a deep breath in. His grip tenses slightly around my neck for just a moment, “what you and those damn kids took from me.”

“Ford, please, I’m-”

He cackles a bit, “Please, [Y/N], you know I’m not that six-fingered freak-, not really!” He throws his head back to look down at me with wild eyes.

Wild…

Yellow. Wild yellow eyes.

His pupils- they’re like… Cat eyes. Long and-

Like Cipher’s eyes.

“What is this…?” I whisper, eyebrows drawing together as I stare at him. His smile stretches almost too far- like his skin is drawn too taught. Muscles in his temple twitch but he smiles at me. My mind fizzles and sparks as it tries to come up with… something. Anything. “What the fuck is this? I’m… I have to-”

“What?” He barks, head wrenching onto its side. By the hold at my neck, he pulls me closer to him. “And leave your lovely Pines twins behind again?”

Again?

His eyes rampantly scan my face for a reaction before widening suddenly. He drops me, takes a step back. A smile- more crooked and broken than the last- cracks across his lips. “The memory erasing gun- the sons of a bitch, I didn’t think they could do it!” He claps in excitement, hollering and whooping and-

The walls begin to peel and melt around me like water washing paint away. Drips of wood and wallpaper start to fall from the ceiling.

I can’t… No, I can’t have a…

Another hallucination. That’s what this is, why didn’t I realize this earlier? I can’t- I don’t have my medication on me- my bag.

They’re in my bag, my pills are in my bag.

My body jolts itself off the melting mess of… house that begins to pool in the center of the room where Ford- Bill? It. continues to celebrate. The portrait-hole is still open, my bag partially hanging out of it. I can see the orange of the prescription bottle peeking from it. Gripping the sticky, gooping muck of an edge, I pull myself up as the floor begins to swallow me whole. The bottle tumbles out from my bag- my hand juts out and grabs it.

Not real, not real, not real.

I can’t… I can’t stop fumbling with the lid.

Got it.

Two pink and blue pills rattle out into my palm. Shutting my eyes, I quickly throw them into my mouth- making sure to clap my hand over my mouth so the pills don’t spill into this-

It’s not real- the goop, it’s…

My eyes flutter open after the pressure of the pills in my throat disappears.

A scream leaves my lips as I watch in horror as where the material once was begins to reveal hissing cracks- red light streaming through them. Inhuman growling and the tormented screams of ancients flood the room as it falls apart around us.

My brain threatens to collapse under the weight of stimula- my heart seems to stutter in my chest as it struggles to fight buckling. Eyes darting around me as I try to find a grip on something real, something in reality.

The pills- they always work immediately- why…?

Breathe.

Just like we practiced. None of this is…

It can’t be real.

My eyes catch a droplet beading just overhead- of wood and metal and concrete- and watch in horror as it disconnects from its base on the ceiling. It washes over me like water- like it didn’t just open some hole to… someplace not right- like it wasn’t made of the very wood of the building I was in.

The creature in the center of the room- the one with Ford’s face- seems to remember me. It stops its celebration and stomps back towards me with a heavy sigh. It stoops down beside me, looking over me with stolen eyes. “Such… an inquisitive mind,” he mutters, this time more bitterly. “Ford adored that about you.”

What the fuck is it talking about?

It’s eyes narrow. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, heart-eyes… You’ll figure it out sooner ‘r later!”

I wake with a jolt.

The entire Pines family stands over me, worriedly murmuring. Their faces blur together and apart as Ford produces a flashlight and checks my pupils. My voice croaks coming out, “What…?”

The group collectively shushes me from behind the light.

Ford’s light clicks and he sighs. “Are you alright?”

It’s my turn to sigh. I nod, “Yeah… I used to have these intense hallucinations- they sprang up out of nowhere a few years back but I haven’t had one in a year- I had hoped they were gone.”

“You had dropped to the floor- if Stan hadn’t caught you before you hit the wood,” Ford murmurs, gesturing to his brother. His brother’s eyes are narrowed over Ford’s shoulder, thick gray eyebrow quirked up as he takes a good look at me.

“Thank you, Stan,” I mumble, head sloshing back and forth as I get to my feet.

After a bit more explaining and a bit more reassuring, the group felt comfortable enough to drive me home in the ‘Stanmobile’. I even assured Soos I would be alright for tomorrow’s training.

The older set of twins even walk me to the door of my hotel room. My goodbyes were said to the kids in the car- sleepyeyed ‘byes’ as they snuggled deeper into the worn leather of the backseat. The two of them look worriedly between the two of them- Stan rubbing the back of his neck and Ford rocking on his heels.

“I’m fine,” I smile, leaning against the doorframe. “Medication did its work- whatever it was that I was seeing, I don’t even remember.”

“You sure?” Stan asks, “You were… you were mumbling ‘nd thrashing around a bit. That normal for these kinda things?”

I nod, “I think so- my friends had said I would talk and move around like I was dreaming. I just… I never remember anything.”

The two look at each other again.

“I promise, I’m okay,” I murmur, gripping the door. “I gotta get some sleep, fellas, c’mon.”

They nod, each mumbling their goodbyes. With a slam and a click, the door is shut and locked. And with a huff, I collide with the bed.

I’m asleep before I can notice the moonlight flickering through the windowsill.

It’s almost time, now that she’s back.

Finally.

They… took you.

me.

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lilyofthestyx · 9 months ago

Text

𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴: 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙽𝙴 (𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙿𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛) (𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝙿𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛) ▲

A.N.: WOW It has been a LONG time since I last did this! Like any of this! It feels soso good to be back. This is going to be a bit of a... an adventure! I think! I hope! I have to tag @infernal-frog-toes for being such a help for this fic [and for life]

basically chapter one of a first person romancing :) i hope you guys enjoy!! ▲

this thing is a fucking MONSTER, im so sorry guys idk if you prefer smaller bits to read at a time or big old things- this isn't even the whole thing I have written, there's a part two coming out TOMORROW!!!

TW: im writing this and keeping the age of the reader ambiguous just don't be weird. AS ALWAYS MINORS DNI. I don't NOBODY'S parents contacting me for NOTHING. there WILL BE REFERENCES TO SMUT/SMUT/OTHER NSFW THEMES IN THE FUTURE

Pairings: stanley pines x fem!reader, stanford pines x fem!reader [note: i do not own these or any other character mentioned, except my own personal headcanons and plot.]

Word Count: 3,440 :)

Go on a road trip, they said. It would be so much fun!

A road trip- one right alongside the Pacific coastline- from the valley in California where my family lives all the way up to the very edge of the Canadian border in Washington. I’d see everything; mountains, the ocean, forests, lakes, deserts- everything! It would be a perfect getaway from work, which had been nothing short of heart-palpitation inducing.

Oh… and then we get to the ‘road’ part. It’s nothing but spacious skies, lush forest, sandy beaches, rugged cliffs- they’ve got it all here in the western spine of the nation. I loved every bit of it. The twisting, turning, churning of the roads and the way everything seemed to bleed together and collide against each other all the same.

After almost four days straight of driving, my poor, sweet car needed a break.

By breaking down in the middle of Buttfuck, Oregon.

About 15 miles away from the nearest town.

The various signs I passed literally trudging through the mud on the side of the road tell me I’m nearby a town called ‘Gravity Falls’.

Funny.

After trekking through the woods to find cell service and calling in a tow truck to said nearest town I’d been thoroughly and entirely beaten halfway to death. The tow guy was nice enough to give me a ride to the nearest (and only) hotel in-town and I crashed almost immediately upon laying eyes on my bed.

It was the first real bed I had slept on in five days.

So I slept fifteen hours.

Waking up was a blur of sloppily-made and hastily-eaten breakfast food from the lobby, flashes of green (and tears) as I handed over the cash to pay the mechanic, and absently stumbling around town.

The mechanic said my transmission is blown. Needs two months for the parts to be shipped- one for the actual work.

Three months. Not one, not even two- three whole months.

What am I going to do for three months? Most of my cash went towards the mechanic- what little is left has to go towards food and renting a room out at the hotel. But even that won’t last. I’m going to have to call my job back home, too- what am I going to tell them? They might fire me- not that I would mind, really, I hate that job more than I care to admit but then-

As I mutter about my predicament, I mindlessly walk into the back of someone. They go stumbling forwards and I go stumbling back- the lack of quality sleep making my reflexes too slow to do much of anything about any of this.

“Whoa!”

“Grunkle- watch out!”

A hand wraps around my arm, pulling me forward.

“Apologies, miss!” The man I bumped into puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, steadying me as I balance myself. “I have a habit of not paying attention to where I’m going- my many apolog-”

He stands there, mouth slightly agape as his eyes fixate on me. A red leatherbound book is in his hand- fingers nervously rubbing the edges of the book before tucking it into his inner coat pocket. His brown eyes frantically bounce around my figure, assessing the damage.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says. He suddenly turns bright red and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s a- it’s a small town. You know a stranger when you see one, ya know!” He laughs- it sounds a bit strained coming out.

After a few beats of silence, he extends out his hand to shake. “I’m Stanford Pines- ‘Ford’ for short- and this is my nephew, Dipper.”

Looking down, a brown-haired boy with freckles appears from behind Ford’s legs. He has another book similar to the one Stanford tucked away in his coat- which he sheepishly waves from behind. “...hey.”

“I’m [Y/N],” I smile at both of them, taking Ford’s hand and shaking it firmly. “And you’re right- I just broke down a few miles outside of town on a road trip. You’ll be seeing me a while, I think. Mechanic said it’ll take awhile to get the parts in for it.”

Ford nods slowly, his finger holding his stubbled chin in thought. As the two of us continue to exchange pleasantries- much to Dipper’s dismay, as I got the impression the kid really wanted to get back to whatever it was he was doing with his uncle- I run my eyes over this stranger. He’s an older man, in his sixties for sure, with slight wrinkles forking off the corners of his deep brown eyes.

Nodding through a conversation about nearby tourist spots, I take note of this ‘older man’ I’ve stumbled into. A tan trenchcoat covers most of his body- save for a pair of dark-wash jeans, a neatly pressed red sweater, and beaten leather boots. There are a couple of holes in his jeans that I wouldn’t have noticed, save for the small and very meticulous stitching outlining where a patch was placed.

I wonder if he did the stitching himself- or if he’s got a matching little older woman at home. One who does his sewing, brings him his coffee- in bed together by eight, lights out at nine, that whole spiel.

His hands catch my attention back to him and away from that faceless little woman. They seem to jump from spot to spot- from scratching the back of his neck under his salt-and-pepper strand to wiping the tip of his reddish nose. Even from there, they smooth down the lapels of his jacket and hook his fingers into the edges of his pockets, which- onetwothreefourfivesix-.

He has six fingers.

Hm.

My eyes trail up to his bushy gray eyebrows, then settling on the way his pink lips explain about how ‘while the lake proves to be the main tourist attraction every summer my belief is that the woods are by far the grandest thing about our tiny town’. There’s a tiny, tiny scar trailing through his upper lip out to his left cheek.

He is a good-looking older man.

Which is why when he refers me to apply for short-term work at a place called the ‘Mystery Shack’, I have to stop myself from choking on my own spit.

“It’s a bit of an… interesting spot, to be sure- but it’s a place that’s hiring,” he sticks his hand into his pocket, rustling around for something. “I’ll be staying there with my brother, he’s the one who started the place.”

“Oh, Ford, I couldn’t-” I stammer, shaking my head as he continues fishing through his pockets.

Ford stops rummaging to look me in the eye as he shakes his head and scoffs, “Please, [Y/N].” He says this in a tone of feigned disappointment, much like how one would scold a puppy.

…

I’m going to pretend that didn’t elicit any sort of reaction from me, I don’t think I can afford the therapy needed to treat that issue so if I pretend it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen.

“- a disoriented, dazed thing like yourself,” Ford continues on, “lost out in the middle of nowhere, far away from friends and family. I can’t stand idly by when I know all too well the feeling.” He finally finds what he’s looking for and pulls it out, offering it to me.

A card.

I take it.

Turning it over in my hand, I realize it’s a business card. It’s simple- just a golden question mark on a glossy black card with an address and number in matching gold lettering on the back. No name anywhere.

Hm.

I pocket it.

“Bumping into people on the street to refer them to your business a new employment tactic these days?”

Ford starts to redden around his nose and tips of his ears. “W-well-.”

“Thank you,” I smile. “I really appreciate it, Ford.”

Dipper, now completely over waiting for his ‘Grunkle’ Ford, tugs at Ford’s sleeve. Ford chuckles nervously, looking from his great-nephew to me. “I- It’s nothing- I… I hope you like our town, it’s not much but there are some mysteries to uncover here-”

Dipper is now pulling Ford down the street by his jacket sleeve and Ford continues talking as if he’s not now ten feet away.

“I- I hope you’ll consider! I’ve- I’ve heard my brother’s replacement is- very agreeable!”

With one final shove, Dipper and Ford disappear around the corner. The two bicker for a moment before the streetcorner falls quiet.

Dipper’s head- furry trapper hat and all- pops back around the corner with an awkward smile. “Not! To be rude, it’s just… my uncle talks a lot and he… kinda has a lot to do today…,” his smile relaxes. “You should apply- I know Zeus could use the help.” He waves a goodbye and disappears after his uncle.

I wonder if all the townsfolk will be this interesting.

There’s a bench looking across the street at the town square- thoroughly buzzing with excitement over an event happening later this week I can overhear being discussed as ‘Summerween’. I sit down and absently watch the passersby, debating my options.

Three months in the middle of nowhere with nowhere to go- the nearest airport being over fifty miles away and home being even further- and not much more money left to speak of. I’m going to need to make some moves here and fast.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Taking it out, I read the first few lines of a very angry text from my boss, below the texts and missed calls from friends and family asking if I was alright. Sighing, I swipe the Evil One’s message open and prepare a ‘professional’ response. The resulting message was more akin to me dropping to my knees and publicly crying out for the personal forgiveness of my boss and selfless savior to be bestowed on a lowly worm like myself.

Or something like that, I don’t know.

My finger hovers over the ‘send’ button, eyes locked on the placation I had typed out. At all the placations I had typed out- spanning over the length of this job. The endless stream of abuse I had endured for years, the endless pitiful muttered apologies, the shame of it all.

I was sick of it.

I had been sick of it, really.

It was why I wanted a road trip for my vacation- to have the satisfaction of driving further and further and further away from my life back home. All the issues with work, with school, with my lack of a love life- it was all too much. I needed out.

Something different.

Something better.

Something… exciting.

I sigh and stick my hands in my pockets. The sun is dipping low behind the horizon, the town now bathing in tones of amber. Everything hums with a gentle glow that reminds me of the flickering ends of old film as it sputters out of its reel.

Small moments in little lives- a man enthusiastically cheering on a game of basketball, two cops giggling over a cup of coffee in their patrol car, a woman serving food in the diner down the street. People happily living in their little world, their little lives.

I sigh again, heavier and sink further into the bench I’m sitting in.

‘Angry’.

It did not begin to cover it.

I felt robbed- none of these little moments were waiting for me in my little life back home. I had been cheated out of my little moments through circumstance and choices not my own. For so long, I had been cheated out of my little moments- my job eating up so much of my life it had long since starved the other, more enjoyable aspects of my life. All the time in the world just suddenly and totally gone, chewed up and spat back out into my own face and all I had the stomach to say was nothing more than “I’m sorry” and “can I do anything else for you”.

And then the issue of my social life. My friends, no doubt feeling neglected by my lack of quality time with them or otherwise just plain busy themselves- have all but dried up it feels. It just never seems to be the right time or there never seems to be time.

Even my family had had enough of my schedule being what it is. The endless hours, the countless overtime, the endless abuse from higher-ups; they had a front row seat to my self-destruction and they were adamant on me taking a very long vacation. One that, my mother hoped, would be long enough for me to get fired so I can be free to find something else for myself. Or at least long enough for me to have a fun summer romance.

As my mother- again- made crystal clear.

So I hoarded my PTO hours and worked through lunches and kindly reminded my supervisors that my lawyers would have an absolute field day with their business practices if I wasn’t approved for a three week vacation. They were quick to approve after that.

I snicker to myself, shaking my head at the memory of their hastily-typed email in response to my formal threat. They even misspelled ‘humblerst apologies’.

Can’t out-hustle the hustler.

The truth is, there isn’t anything left at home for me. Nothing that can’t come visit, at least.

My eyes lock with the message begging forgiveness typed out on my phone screen.

If I’m going to be stuck in Gravity Falls, I’m going to do it my way.

I erase the message, replacing it with a mildly intense fuck-off text.

Quickly revised to a mildly intense fuck-off-I-quit text.

I hit send and mute my messages, tucking my phone into my back pocket. My fingers brush up against something and pull out a card.

The business card Ford gave me.

Gilded lettering glints at me in the fading sunlight.

It’s a slightly lighter shade of black- or maybe the slight difference in the glossiness of the font makes it look that way- but there’s a line of lettering I didn’t notice before.

‘A life of mystery awaits…’

Well…

If I’m going to be here for a while, I have to get a job someplace. Maybe the place where the hot older nerd will be wouldn’t be such a bad spot to work at.

The man on the other end of the line when I called about a job had told me to come later in the day tomorrow- tours can run into the evening, of course. So I came around early afternoon the next day to scope out the joint. If it turned out to be a creepy murder shack that I was essentially seduced into then I wanted to at least try to prepare myself.

And maybe to possibly see Ford again- whatever, whatever.

What I was met with was a…

A bit of an eyesore, actually.

It’s littered with advertising signs of the homemade variety- strewn about the mossy rooftop and walls of a slightly… delicate-looking modified A-frame log cabin in the woods. One of these signs- the biggest and the name of the place itself- is missing a letter, which had fallen off and now rests dejectedly against the wall.

The whole of the sign, by comparison, proudly displays what lay beneath its own grandiosity- none other than the mysterious world famous tourist trap and the eighth wonder of the world itself…

The ‘Mystery hack’.

Even if the spot where the ‘S’ was still has an imprint of its shape, it’s still a bit funny considering this place’s alleged reputation.

And of course by ‘alleged’, I mean ‘admitted’. Zeus (or rather, ‘Soos’, as he clarified over the phone) had denied ‘any and all responsibility for any and all of the following crimes, including but not limited to-’ before stopping to ask an off-phone ‘Mr. Pines’ what the rest of his ‘lawyer-proof’ speech was supposed to be.

A poorly parked golf cart sits out front of the modification to the home- an addition to the side of the building that adds to the main floor and makes up most of the second, properly signed ‘Gifts’.

Under the sign appears a doorway with the door swung open. I start for the door before hesitating at the sight of a ‘NO REFUNDS’ sign.

Didn’t come to a full stop until reading the ‘SERIOUSLY’ sign underneath the aforementioned sign- this one with a large cartoonish depiction of a gun and skull and crossbones. The letters on both signs are hand-carved from wood planks and…something. Has been placed- stuffed- into the space the gun and bones are.

I squint down at… whatever it is that’s been crudely forced into the gap.

It’s… oozing.

It’s… different colors of glitter-y paint? Green in the gun and pink in the bones. Now that I’ve got a good look at it, I think it’s supposed to make the gun a ray-gun and the skull has pink lipstick, with matching pink cartoon pink heart stickers at the end of its… ulna.

I question the anatomical correctness but I appreciate the creativity and pursuit for a more kid-friendly atmosphere in a family setting.

Giggling to myself, I go for the door again before stopping at the sight of the gun precisely and deliberately, over many hours chiseled into the wood…Maybe I should be more concerned about the fact that a self-admitted conman, potential future murderer, and assumed zoning code violator is my potential employer.

…

. . .

I already quit- it’s, like.

God- it’s, like, really way too late, isn’t it.

Fuck, okay.

I scurry into the house, eager to use my foot in the door with Ford to my advantage with Soos.

This is also like an actual house, isn’t it? Aren’t people also supposed to be like… living? Here?

That’s what I remember Ford mentioning, anyways- that his brother, their niece and nephew and himself were all staying in this… place. They were even given the home to live in by the Shack’s current owner, Soos- who told us that after training a new employee (me, pleasepleasepleaseplease) he and his beloved abuelita would take a vacation.

…to his old home a fiveish-minute drive away from the Shack, which he still owned due to the recent increase in popularity of the Mystery Shack. But whatever caused this recent increase- almost cult-like increase- is lost on me. I can only imagine what phenomena brings willing victims out to the middle of Oregon.

Says the loser willingly stuck out here for more than a month- okay! Let’s get inside already- I need this job.

Bad.

I step further inside, gripping my arms tighter across my body. The light of the dying sun in one set of windows mixing with the bright birth of the moon in the opposite set dips the room in a beautiful swath of deep red. Various tables are covered in thick, dark velvet blankets- no doubt hiding the displays of knick-knacks and doodads being sold. Dust swirls about the room, slightly glowing in the poor lighting.

It’s cold and it’s getting dark- and there’s nobody here, maybe I should-

Watching me.

“Hello…?” I call out, moving a bit closer towards the shadow before stopping.

I don’t know who this guy is- even if it is Ford, I met him on the street for all of twenty minutes.

But I really need this job if I’m going to be stuck out here.

Something seemed to call me here… Keep me here.

Destiny, maybe.

And besides, a cool tourist trap spot with a hot boss in the middle of an absolutely picturesque forest-scape that seemed to breathe relaxation?

Uh… yes please?

“Um… Mister, uh, Soos?” I try again, still looking at that figure staring at me from the next room. “We spoke on the phone earlier, I’m-”

The figure quickly ducks away, disappearing from view.

And in a split second decision that’s made before my brain has time to catch up, my feet follow deeper into the house.

And that's all until tomorrow folks :)

please comment, reblog, follow, and like if you enjoyed! i would love to hear your thoughts! <3 ▲

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lilyofthestyx · 9 months ago

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yeah hey hi

I know I never post on here but every so often I'll actually get excited about something and post it here and I have only recently started writing again (and living? I can explain later).

CONSIDER ALL OF MY WORK FROM BEFORE OCTOBER 26TH 2024 OFFICIALLY

DISCONTINUED

i should be posting that fic out here in a day? maybe 2 or so? im actually genuinely really excited. its a stanley/stanford pines x reader!! i recently was reintroduced to it by my bestie irl

anyways explanation? partially? It's framed more like a trauma dump, honestly. whatever it is, it's below the and its really heavy stuff, guys, like seriously. i am okay now, but

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION

so i cant even really remember where i last left off, i had half a mind to clear out my entire page and start from scratch. ive changed. no doubt you guys have too! but i seriously have changed. maybe not for the best in some aspects but changed for the better in most ways i think :)

the last 6 years have been intense. i was thrown out of my home with my mom and brother by my stepfather (my chosen dad at the time). he had made sexual comments to/about me and had raised me in such a strict environment that i suppressed a majority of my personality when i was at home and even (when i started to decline) in public.

i was then robbed of my perceived future and my goals and aspirations leading up to that point and was forced to forgo my dream college in lieu of a more affordable option after essentially becoming homeless and scrambling to 1. find a place to move 2. find a way to pay to move 3. pay to move 4. move 5. deal with the mental anguish that your family has crumbled in front of you overnight. [note: community college which is a perfectly acceptable way to go to college i was just severely depressed and unable to escape a home that reminded me everyday of the future i "lost"]

i was sexually assaulted after being drugged. i will not be disclosing further information for my own personal privacy. also why would you ask.

i fell into multiple rapid toxic relationships that i played a big part of the toxicity in too. i also sabatoged a lot of good relationships or let a lot of them wither.

i tried to get a fresh start and moved away with my biological father (who is no longer associated with me) and his girlfriend (who will never be associated with me again beyond this post) and their two children. for reference, i am/was 21 years old. his girlfriend is 28. he is 43. my biological father and i had been estranged until i was 18, and our relationship had remained neutral at best. this made things even more complicated in terms of power dynamics and roles in the home. they also indulged in lifestyles that added to the strain that are private which i will respect by not divulging details. no i will not dm you. no it was not illegal.

i began to spiral further into a depression as winter came in the northern part of the USA and i was living in a basement in a state where i had no friends and no vehicle. this was exacerbated by an emotionally distant (and long distance) partner and my own personal anxious attachment style.

l come back home after breaking it off with said partner and realise my stepmother (which she had become essentially, however evil or not remains to be seen) had planned to kick me out of the house we were living in when i came back home. this then leads me to depend on my grandmother [my biofathers mom] who took me into her home. my cousin (and best friend, and someone my age) lived a street away. things become better. my cousin and i get closer and i get further away from things that i felt weighed me down from being happy.

due to tragic and unfortunate circumstances, my cousins father and her only true support financially passed away. it was very sudden. my cousin and i were the ones who discovered him. i attempted cpr. my family was slow to help my cousin as they had become estranged from my uncle some time prior. if they ever did help at all. while flowers were sent and a pretty funeral was had, my cousin- a girl of no less than 20- was left with little to her name and a seemingly suffocating amount of her fathers name. her mother, our grandparents- they had failed her in my eyes. i tried to help her as best i could with what i had. i don't know why i felt the need to help her so badly. why i was so desperate to help her, save her. why i was so angry with people who were better equipped to help for NOT helping. all i knew was i had to save her- this little-winged hatchling- because she didn't ask for any of this, to be born into this. maybe i thought i could save her. maybe i thought saving her would save me.

i was wrong (and dramatic), of course. my cousin had saved me just as much as i had seemingly saved her. she taught me how to have tough skin and a sure hand. i taught her how to have a sister. an OLDER sister, no less. i thrived. i grew. i blossomed. i started therapy. I'm becoming what i want to be and am going where I want to go.

i have many decisions ahead of me now, but as im slowly processing my PTSD and previous traumas, i am slowly reclaiming myself. one of the ways i am is by writing. over the course of the next few days i will be releasing some stuff i have written over time. some of it is my own work. most of the work I'll release is going to be that gravity falls fic!

so yeah sorry i like. disappeared.

#jayistalkingtoherselfagain #trauma #tw

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lilyofthestyx · 3 years ago

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okay sooo

two things:

1. chapter one of everything is dying was my 100th post on this blog so thats actually amazing

and 2. we reached???? 200????? followers!??!?!?!?!!!

how can i ever thank you guys for being here to read my stuff oh my god

i love you guys so much :’)))))

#jayistalkingtoherselfagain

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lilyofthestyx · 3 years ago

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Everything is Dying (But You’re Still Here); Chapter One: The... Last...? Grimes

A/N: Whew.

My humblest and most deep apologies for how long this took. I had some stuff come up that got in the way (cough midterms cough cough) and also work and relationship stuff (or lack thereof lmaooooo) but I’m here, this chapter is out and I can sleep well now that I’ve gotten it out. I hope you all enjoy!!! <3

TW: canon-typical violence, swearing, mentions of death, it’s the end of the world

I do not own nor claim to own TWD, AMC, or any of their characters or plotlines. The only character and plotline I claim are my own- this is purely a work of fanfiction.

I get why that Tom Hanks guy lost his mind and started talking to volleyballs when he got stranded on that island.

I’m not planning on losing it anytime soon- or at all- but I’m starting to seriously see the appeal of carrying around a little basketball friend. Just something to have around, something that I can talk to. I’m just pretty sure my vocal chords are falling apart in my throat.

It’s got to have been a few months since I left the last settlement I was at- that was the last time I remember talking.

Jesus.

Staring down my outstretched legs across the room, I sigh. Past the dirtied pair of boots I’m wearing is a pile of supplies that’s slowly but surely withering away. Ammo’s been good- thank the gods- but food and water are another thing entirely.

If I’m going to make this shitty house my home for a while, I’m gonna need a more stable source of food.

Another sigh.

I push off the wall and onto my feet, dusting off the back of my legs. Pulling the tattered map from my back pocket, I roll my shoulders back.

I miss my massage therapist in California.

The little red and green lines blur against the yellowing background of the map. One corner is singed- it was a really cold couple of weeks a month ago. There’s a water stain that makes another corner unreadable.

…I need a new map.

My eyes scan over the various town names until I find the general area that I’m in. Turning the map around, there’s a list of towns with various businesses and amenities listed under each town. My little town has been mostly tapped- save for a small plant nursery a couple of miles out.

If I want to have a reliable source of food, it’s worth a shot.

Just a couple miles- should be safe… ish.

The rotter group I encountered when I first left the settlement keeps circling the area but they should be on the opposite end of their little cycle by now. It’s been relatively clear around here- no people, no rotters.

In and out, just a couple miles, just a couple hours.

I’ll be fine.

My fingers tap on the pistol that lay against my thigh. The other holder on my holster has a thick bucknife I found in an ammo shop that had almost been completely picked clean. My two best friends.

My eyes narrow.

Leaving my supplies out like this is risky. If anyone passes by, they could rob me of a couple weeks worth of food and a few days worth of water.

I pick up the tattered green duffel I keep next to my ‘bed’ (a ratty old mattress with a dusty blanket) and start loading up the various cans and bottles. There’s a loose floorboard in the kitchen- if I put it there and someone takes it, it’s the universe’s will.

My fingers wedge their way between the loose floorboard and the others. The wood cuts into my skin as I pry the board loose. I let out a little hiss of pain, massaging my raw fingers as I kick the bag into the small space under the floorboards. Using my foot, I slide one end of the board back into place and stomp the other end in.

I sigh, rolling my eyes as my head falls back.

Time to go.

The nursery is covered in thin, lush vines that branch out like veins from a broken pane of the greenhouse’s glass. They reach out and blanket the entirety of the right side of the building. There’s a couple of dust-clouded windows beside a rotting red door.

I tug my knife out from its holster. Tapping the edge on the glass, I wait.

Listen.

Hope.

…

Nothing.

I reach back, pulling out my flashlight. Clicking it on, I press the pads of my fingers against the door. It creaks open like a damn horror movie, revealing the nursery’s dark innards.

My flashlight sweeps the inside- the entirety is almost completely visible. Small place. I hope it’s not cleared out.

The inside is only slightly trashed. Various tools are obviously missing- pruning and hedge shears, gardening forks, axes are gone. Scythes and rakes, too.

A small laugh passes my lips. Imagine carrying around a scythe, swinging it around at rotters like the Grim Reaper.

…

That’s kind of badass, I take it back.

I step into the nursery, moving my flashlight from the wall opposite me to the one to my right. There’s an archway encased in glass that leads out to the greenhouse. Stepping over bags of fertilizer and some mushrooms growing from a hole in the corner, I make my way into the greenhouse.

Small trees are growing under the hole in the glass. A littering of bushes and shrubs grow beneath them and spread the entirety of the greenhouse. Fruit dangle from some of the bushes and trees. Flowers and weeds intermingle with the crops. Muted streams of sunlight pass through the yellow-green glass, bathing everything in a soft glow.

This is the most peaceful place I’ve been in…

A while.

A very long while.

I’ll clear the back room and I’ll load up on supplies.

It’s cold in the nursery and smells of mildewed wood and old fertilizer. Overhead, the roof lets out a low croak. My eyes flick up. The ceiling is sagging, water droplets dripping down from the center of the ‘sag’.

…

Gross.

I sigh, looking back down and minding my step as I round the cashier counter. There’s another door just behind it- probably a small office or a stockroom. This place isn’t that big.

I put the flashlight in my mouth, facing towards the door. One of those weird textured glass windows is in the door but I can’t make out anything besides light and shadow.

The toe of my shoe taps against the corner of the doorframe. Knife gripped in my hand, I wait.

Listen.

Hope.

…

The shuffle of feet and a low groan make their way towards the door. A shadow crowds in front of the window- it looks like just one. One rotter in this entire place…?

What a damn score.

The rotter starts to push up against the door. It creaks open and the rotter stumbles in front of me. It looks at me, teeth bared and arms starting to outstretch.

It doesn’t get to fully extend its arms before my knife is plunged into its skull. Yanking my knife back, I pull the blade from its skull. The body slumps lifelessly against the wall, bleeding from the hole in its head.

I peek around the corner of the doorway, knife held tight. It’s a long-but-small room with a couple of mostly-empty shelves sitting beside a computer desk. An old bedspread lay beside the shelves- splattered with brown-red blood. Nothing else.

My eyes turn to the rotter that’s still slumped against the wall.

Two large bites- one on its neck and one on its arm- are visible. He must’ve decided to stay in bed while he…

His skin is grey and loose on his bones, eyes yellowed and gaunt. He’s been dead for a long time.

…

I’ll end up the same way if I don’t bring this stuff back home.

A couple of lightweight plastic planters- one stuffed full of previously-packaged soil, a handful of seed packets, and a few different tools- in my arms, I shift my backpack as it sits on my shoulders. The weight of the fruit I managed to cram in there is awkward and the bumps dig into my back.

It’s food. And I’m almost back.

The weight is almost completely nonexistent in my arms- today was a good day. Food for the next couple weeks in fruit alone, if I can get it dried out on the roof properly. And a supply for even longer should I still know how to take care of plants like I did before my life ended.

Let’s hope those gardening videos I used to watch stuck.

Today was a good day.

My feet crunch in the leaves beneath my feet- autumn is coming, the trees starting to grow barren above me. The weather’s getting colder. I’m hoping whoever lived in this house I’m in right now paid good money for their insulation. I’ll have to keep an eye out for more blankets and mattresses- maybe I can barricade the doors and windows with them to keep out the cold. And the plants can be moved inside if it starts to get ready to snow.

Whatever happens will happen.

I’ll figure it out- just like always.

The house starts to form in front of me, the image of it broken by the thin dark streaks of trees. I drop the plastic planters at the base of the small stairs leading up to the doorway. A step up is a thin piece of fishing line.

Just another precaution.

Learned it from when I went on a run and came back to a house full of rotters. They had come and managed to get into the back door, swarming the inside.

Lost a good amount of supplies that day.

But you live and you learn, I guess.

The line runs the length of the stairway unbroken.

Good. No unexpected guests.

I go back, lugging the planters up the stairs and into the house. A quick look around and I can see nothing’s disturbed.

Even as I yank the plank up from the floorboards, my supplies are tucked neatly and snugly inside. Putting the plank back down, I smile to myself and settle into the corner of the living room with the fruit piled at my feet and my knife ready to cut into them.

A good day.

I’m jerked awake by the sound of…

Of something.

My eyes, still heavy and lined with sleep, start to sweep around my surroundings. It’s dark out now- I can’t tell if it’s nearing dawn or just past dusk. The trees surrounding the house are dark, the sky purple and clouded.

Crawling to the window facing the street, I sit with my back to the wall. Pulling out my knife, I peek over the edge of the windowsill into the street.

…there’s a car now. Across the street, a new car. Two barren trails in the fallen leaves lead right to it- tire tracks from its journey.

Jesus, fuck.

My mind is an explosion of swear words, of damnations, and of curses as I watch the car. There’s supplies crowded into the backseat- I can’t see any movement or anything.

Fuck.

Wait-

…wait, wait, wait.

…what is that?

Something’s in the bushes…

I lean forward, breath slightly fogging up the glass as my eyes lock onto the rustling bushes across the way.

A flash of fabric against the darkened leaves- but only for a moment.

Maybe if I just-

A creaking floorboard echoes out from behind me.

I spin around, gun now un-holstered and drawn.

Two inches from the bridge of my nose is a…

Crossbow.

If I get taken out by some Robin Hood-ass wannabe, I’ll never forgive myself.

“Who the hell are you?”

My eyes focus on the man standing in front of me- tall, broad-shouldered, blanketed in dirt, darkish hair. His teeth are gritted, eyes staring down at me.

“Who the hell are you?” I snip back, eyes narrowing up at him.

He gestures to the gun in my hand with a curt nod. “Put it down.”

I shake my head, “Not ‘til you get the fuck out of here.”

“Put the gun down!” he snaps, crossbow now almost pressing against my forehead.

My stomach twists as I shake my head again.

Is this it…?

Shot dead by Robin Hood just when life was starting on the upswing.

“What is it?” Another voice hisses from down the hall- Friar Tuck or Little John, I assume.

“Glenn!” The man in front of me hisses back, “Get in here!”

A thin, dark-eyed man with black hair stumbles into the living room, a pistol in his hand. We make eye contact and he visibly cringes. “...dammit,” he mumbles, hurrying back out of the room.

The man’s focus is back on me, staring me down the sight of his crossbow. “Got more people than you,” he mutters, “Best put that gun down.”

“So you can rob me easier? Kill me easier? Which is it?”

“Depends on if you’re stupid ‘r not.”

His voice is firm- not threatening, not perverse, firm. His eyes are even more so. A tense warning glimmers behind his eyes. He’ll shoot to kill, I know from the finger grazing the trigger of his crossbow.

I just don’t know if he wants to or not.

“Daryl, what’s goin’ on?”

Yet another voice from the hall.

“We ain’t alone,” ‘Daryl’ calls back.

Glenn appears in the doorway, worry etched on his face as his eyes flick from me to Daryl. “...they’re in here.”

Someone new steps into the shadow of the doorway. Daryl’s grip tightens on his crossbow as he presses it up against my temple. “Drop the gun,” he hisses again.

My eyes flutter closed.

A deep breath fills my lungs.

I shake my head, “No.”

I’ve spent far too much of my time on the road imagining what death would be like. A cold snap that echoes throughout your body before you’re enveloped in pure, white light. Maybe a burn that eats away at your skin in mere moments before you’re waking up like from a nightmare- greeted by the faces of those gone before you.

Mom, Dad, Carl.

Their faces engulfed in light, bodies enwrapped in clean, willowy linens.

“Y/N?”

I can hear Dad’s voice already.

It’s time.

“Y/N?”

There’s a clatter before someone takes me by the shoulders.

My eyes shoot open, arms coming up to defend myself as the grip on my shoulders tightens slightly. “Get the fu-” my words drop like lifeless flies from my mouth as I realise who it is that’s holding me.

“...Y/N…”

“...Dad…?”

Taglist:

@thefemininemystiquee

@feral-ratatattat-king

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lilyofthestyx · 3 years ago

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Can't wait to read more of your twd story!

AHH thank you anon!!!

im so happy its getting such a positive response :)))

currently around 4k words into the first chapter so it should be out soon!!

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lilyofthestyx · 3 years ago

Text

Prologue: The Last Grimes

I was twenty-three years old when my life ended.

When the world ended, really.

But really, that was when my life ended.

I had everything- everything- going for me.

I moved out of my small town, out of my parents’ house. Moved cross country to a cute little beach town in Southern California. Started going to college- I was going to be a veterinarian. A zoo vet, specifically. Work with big cats- maybe switch it up and work with marine animals. I had an internship at a beautiful zoo just a little ways down the street from my house. The doctors said Dad’s charts were on the upswing, that we had a chance again. I had a great group of friends- sisters, more like. Three of us all living in this adorable beach house just a walk away from the shore.

I had everything going for me.

And then the news stories started circulating.

At first, it was some random, crazy, tabloid-esque articles I would read to my housemates as we drank cabernet on the porch overlooking the beach. Just… crazy stuff. Stuff you could only dream of. Stuff that you didn’t- you couldn’t- believe. And it was always ‘it’s only in Europe’, ‘only in Asia’. It was always far enough away that it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t happening.

Until it wasn’t.

The school closed. My job shut down. The country was on the brink of losing their collective minds.

The girls were scared- they took off to be with their families. Begged me to go with them, to go to the valley. It was quieter, safer than the coast. They had people there, ones we could trust. Ones that would help keep us all safe.

But I had to go home.

So I got the last of my emergency funds together, bought the last ticket to Georgia, packed up what I could and I told my family I would be coming home.

I didn’t make it in time.

The airport security forced us to stay in the terminals. We weren’t allowed to leave. Claimed they ‘needed additional time’ to set up a more rigorous health screening area before we could leave. But they never got it set up.

It was on the fourth day when the dead broke through.

Chaos.

That was the only word I could use to describe what happened next.

Chaos. It was just… it was just pure chaos.

I only barely escaped. Bleeding, tired, unarmed- I managed to claw my way out of the airport. Out one of those big glass windows that overlook the tarmac, actually. Took a chair and broke it open, risked the jump and ran.

I can still hear the screams of the people that didn’t land the jump.

And the ones being ripped open by those…

Those things.

The news outlets had different names for them. ‘The infected’, ‘the reanimated’, ‘the dead’- everyone had their own names for them. There were two things they seemed to agree on- the things are dangerous and they are so vile they didn’t have a word to accurately describe them.

I call them rotters. Or zombies. …but does it really matter?

They’re dead. They kill you if they bite you. They’re dangerous in groups. They’re attracted to sound. They’re only killed by a headshot. That’s all that matters. Call them whatever you want. It doesn’t matter anymore.

What matters is keeping away from them, keeping away from any unfriendly types you encounter on the roads, keeping yourself fed and sheltered. Keep moving. Always keep moving.

I’ve been moving from place to place for a year now- I think. It feels like a year. Pretty sure it’s been a year.

The first place I went to after the airport was my parents’ house. Stole one of cars parked in the airport lot and took off. When I got there, the street was lined with rotters. Fifteen or sixteen, I think. I went a little ways back down the street, set off a car alarm. They shuffled towards the noise and the way was cleared.

But when I got inside, everything was cleared out. Photos, food, water, clothes- everything except mine and Dad’s stuff was taken. My room was virtually untouched- save a few photos off the walls. If it wasn’t for how many rotters kept passing through, I would’ve stayed.

I don’t know where I went next, I just went. Followed road signs, whispers by the campfire of the newest ‘safe place’, my stomach. The wind took me wherever it wanted and for the most part, it did alright by me. I would join a few people every now and then. Most of them were good folks- only to be taken by the rotters. The others…

The others I watched turn.

Not into rotters, no.

They turned callous and cruel. Just as bad as the people I would hide from when we were on the road.

I would always slip out before they had the chance to stop me. Just me, no one with me. It’s always easier to run alone. One mouth to feed, one person to arm, one person to worry about.

If you die alone, no one mourns you.

You just… become one with the earth- like nature intended. No one needed to write your epitaph, line your headstone with flowers.

Like they would even know what to put.

‘Here lies Y/N Grimes, unknown year-unknown year; she was fast but the rotters were faster’?

Things like mourning don’t exist anymore. Things like the ‘before’ don’t exist anymore.

There’s just the dead and surviving.

Those are the only two things that exist anymore.

That’s why I’m holed up in this old house. A stockpile of supplies- canned food, some water bottles, a couple cases of ammo- in the corner. A dusty blanket on an old mattress under the window. Boards on the windows, the doors except the front door and the back. The car parked out beside the porch awning, the window overlooking the awning always open in case I need to make a run for it.

Because surviving is the only thing I care about anymore.

Because hoping for or caring about anything else is stupid. A waste of time, of effort and resources. Because it either breaks your heart or gets you killed.

Because my dad, my mom, my little brother- they’re dead. Looking for them like I did was a waste of time. It almost got me killed- more times than I can count.

I’ve made my peace with it.

I’m the last of my family. I’m alone. And that’s okay. I won’t have to watch them be ripped apart in front of me. That’s a win in my book. I’ve seen enough people I care about die like that. I don’t think I could bear watching my family die like that.

So I keep fighting, keep moving. Keep scavenging, hoping for something better with every new settlement I come across. Keep staying alive because they couldn’t.

I’m a Grimes. The last of my kind. And I won’t let us go extinct.

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