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veinsfullofstars · 7 months

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⭐ Welcome! ⭐

Henlo. Hope you’re doing well. Thanks for poppin’ by. I’m Veins, an art goblin on the internet with abnormal levels of anxiety and chronic video game brainrot, and this is my introduction post. Any updates or news on my end will be added here as well. I hope you’ll be patient with me and enjoy your visit!

(Last updated 09/01/24)

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Who are you?

What an existentially upsetting question. Well, for the moment, I go by VeinsFullOfStars online, usually shortened to just Veins. I’m also toying around with Ivan or Yves, but Veins is the most preferable. Nice to meet you!

Wait, didn't you already have an account here? With the same username?

I did. I, uh, panic-deleted it in response to the data-scraping fiasco and regretted it almost immediately. As a result, you might see reblogs from the deactivated account still floating around. There is, unfortunately, nothing I can do about those unless the blogs that shared them take them down themselves (and, hey, if you happen to be one of those folks seeing this, I'd super appreciate it if you'd maybe remove the old reblog and replace it with the new one from here if you can). It's my mistake for overreacting, and now I just have to live with it. Sorry for any confusion.

What are your preferred pronouns/gender?

Thanks for asking! I’m non-binary, and I use they/them pronouns.

How old are you?

Ancient (in my 30s).

What is your avatar supposed to be?

A goblin. Very smol, very nervous, very puntable.

What are you using this blog for?

Art, mostly. I draw digitally and sometimes make stuff with yarn. I've also been writing since I could hold a pencil (though I don’t have much finished, so art will be the main focus for now). Also, expect a lot of reblogs, shitposts, and/or silence between posts - I am a simple hobbyist with a lot of brain nonsense and IRL hurdles. I’ll do my best to post with some regularity, but - again - I hope you’ll be patient with me if things go quiet from time to time.

What are your interests?

I love stories. I love characters. I love folks who can weave whole worlds with nothing but words on a page or color on a canvas. I grew up on fantasy novels, short horror stories, and late ‘90s/early ’00s animation. I learned to appreciate slice-of-life and slow-burn romance much later. Mythology and folklore also slaps, and I wonder sometimes if I should’ve majored in psychology instead of lib arts. My playlists are nothing but video game OSTs with a little heavy metal and j-rock sprinkled in for flavor. I sold my soul to Nintendo years ago, but sometimes I find indie darlings to fall in love with for a time. Dogs are adorable little menaces, and I love them all with my whole chest. Cats are okay, and I am allergic to them. (Does that answer the question? I think I lost track towards the end there…)

Any current hyperfixations?

Tons, but the biggest ones at the moment are Kirby, Hollow Knight, and Paper Mario. More nebulous interests include (in no particular order) Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Sky, Rain World, Stardew Valley, most Soulsborne titles, Hades, Darkest Dungeon, The Legend of Zelda, Undertale/Deltarune, OFF, The Binding of Isaac, Ace Attorney, Luigi's Mansion, Animal Crossing, The Magnus Archives, Sonic the Hedgehog, and countless more. When I say “multifandom,” I mean it, homie.

Do you have any other social media?

Just this and an AO3 account. So, if you see my name anywhere but these two places, it’s probably not me. For now, Tumblr will be the best place to keep up-to-date with my stuff. If anything changes, I’ll let y’all know here.

Do you have a list of tags you use on your posts?

I tag things obsessively, but I’ll try to sort out the most relevant/unique ones I use here:

#veins art - for any art I’ve made (chrono link)

#veins fanart - for art I’ve made featuring characters from other IPs

#veins ocs - for art I’ve made featuring my original characters/stories

#veins sketches - for any of my unrendered doodles/sketch dumps

#veins old art - for reposts of older art I made before moving to Tumblr (Note: these posts are here for archival purposes and may not reflect my current style/interests.)

#veins writes - for any written works I’ve made

#veins ships - for any posts (reblogs included) featuring romantic pairings; I will also try to include specific pairings as “#(blank) x (blank)” and/or any ship names

#veins rambles - for random thoughts/text posts

#veins answers - for any of my responses to asks sent in (chrono link)

#veins in dream land - for any rambles/headcanons about the Kirby series specifically

#veins reblogs - for anything I reblog, obviously

#kirbtober 2023 - for my Kirbtober 2023 art specifically (chrono link)

#childhood friends au - for art from my Kirby AU where Dedede and Meta Knight first met as kids (masterpost | chrono link)

#kintsugi au - for art from my Kirby AU centered around the Mirror World, the Wave 2 gang, and the Darkroach ship - warning: may contain angst and suggestive content (masterpost | chrono link)

I’ll update this with new tags if/when they pop up. Anything else will have generic tags to fit the context of the post. I also mark trigger warnings with tags like “#(blank) tw” if necessary.

What do you use to make your art?

For digital art, I use Clip Studio Paint and a Wacom Intuos Pro S drawing tablet (that I'm pretty sure I've had since high school). I don’t draw traditionally as much anymore, but, when I do, it’s usually just quick sketches with pencil and paper. For writing, I use TextEdit or whatever generic rich text editing software I can find. For crafting, I use yarn and plastic canvas.

What brushes do you use?

For sketching and linework, I use a slightly modified version of the Wick Pencil from the 8 Particle Pencil catalog made by saturns_day. For flats and rendering, I use the default CSP hard round brush, airbrush, and G-pen. For effects and extras (clouds, textures, sparkles, etc.), I use default effects brushes or whatever I can find from the CSP Asset Shop.

Can I share your work through reblogs? And are tags okay?

Of course! Reblogs are absolutely fine and always encouraged. I’m also fine with tags as well (though I ask that you not mark anything as a ship unless I’ve marked it as such on the original post - look for the tag #veins ships if you’re ever unsure).

Can I repost/use your work for my own personal/commercial use?

Absolutely not. While I am always in support of creators inspiring each other with our works and endeavors, that does not mean anyone should engage in art theft (intentional or otherwise). Under no circumstances may you repost, reupload, reproduce, copy, trace, modify, sell, use, tokenize, scrape/integrate into A*I, and/or otherwise claim as your own any of my art/written works. Never assume a piece of art shared online in yours for the taking - that is someone else’s hard work and passion, and you need to respect that.

Can I dub one of your comics?

As flattering as that would be, I worry about lack of credit or my work being stolen for others’ content, so I sadly have to say no.

Why is there a big watermark on your art?

The state of the internet today has made me extremely paranoid about things like art theft, bad-faith reposts, nonconsensual integration, etc., so I make sure to sign and WM anything original I post. I know it’s not exactly fun to look at (maybe even distracting or bad for engagement), but I’d rather be safe than sorry, so I guess I’ll just have to take that hit.

Do you have an askbox? Can we send in questions/comments/etc.?

Yes, the ask box is currently open, and I'm more than happy to receive any questions, comments, etc. you guys might have (even if it makes me a bit nervous, haha)! I just ask that you read the rules first before you submit anything.

Do you take requests/commissions/suggestions/collabs/etc.?

Sadly, I do not take art requests or suggestions unless I put out a specific call for them. I'm also not really in a position to take commissions either. Collabs I'm on the fence about - maybe with mutuals or folks I know personally.

Is this an inclusive space?

Of course! This queer little goblin accepts everyone under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella, along with folks of all shapes, sizes, backgrounds, disabilities, and colors. That said, there will be absolutely no tolerance for (inhale) racism, sexism, transphobia, queerphobia, xenophobia, misogyny/misandry, bigotry of any kind, ableism, p***philia, inc*st, selfc*st, z**philia, RPF, trolling behavior, self-promotion, the promotion of N*FTs or A*I art, or any otherwise harmful, toxic, or hurtful rhetoric. Anyone seen behaving as such will be blocked, reported, and forgotten. :)

Is this an all-ages space?

Hmm… I’m gonna have to say no. While I probably won’t be posting/sharing anything too lewd or graphic, I’m not opposed to things like swearing, angst, fluff bordering on suggestive, and discussions of mature subject matter (all of which I will make sure to tag with content warnings as necessary). Obviously, I can’t police everyone who wanders into this blog (especially since some people omit or lie about their ages online), so the best I can do is ask for good faith on your part. If you are under 18, interact at your own risk. The last thing I want is to make anyone - myself included - uncomfortable because there are kids in an adult-allocated space. Again, I hope you understand.

What is your stance on shipping?

The vernacular around pro- or anti-shipping confuses the hell out of me, so I’ll just try to explain my personal philosophy on it: I have ships I like, ones I’m indifferent to, and ones I won’t touch with a ten-foot pole. I only reblog (and tag) ship-related content I’m in support of, even if it’s not one of my personal favorites. Most importantly, I don’t bother others about their personal preferences. Anything I don’t like or don’t support, I simply do not engage with. Or, if it makes me too uncomfortable, I block outright. The same should apply to your experience as well - if you ever see ship stuff here that you don’t like, feel free to block the tags (look for specific pairings, ship names, and/or my personal tag #veins ships) or even the blog entirely. You are not obligated to like the things I like or engage with media you don’t enjoy. Respect for each other and curation of your personal online space is always key. Additionally, I 100% will not ship minors, blood relations (including adopted family), self x self, anything relating to b*stiality, or anything relating to RPF.

Are you okay?

No, not even a little bit... but fuck it, we keep going.

Why do you put a comma before the “and” in a sequence of three or more words?

You can take my Oxford comma away from me when I’m cold, dead, and rotting in the dirt.

Is there anything else?

Nah, I think we’re good for now. Thanks for taking the time to read all this. Hope it wasn’t too rambly or weird - just trying to cover all my bases. I hope you all have a lovely timezone out there, wherever you are. Be sure to wash your hands, wear your mask, and stay hydrated. Remember to be strong, be safe, and, for the love of dog, be kind. Peace!

-Veins (originally posted 08/07/23, reposted 02/29/24, updated as of 09/01/24)

#veins rambles #introduction post #FAQ #disclaimers #long post #check for updates #veinsfullofstars

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weirdmarioenemies · 3 years

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Name: F Boy (again)

Debut: Super Mario Land 2: Six Golden Coins

It feels so strange to look back on my very first post for this blog! It’s so... dry! Where’s the passion? Back then I really had no idea what I was doing and was just kind of imitating Mod Chikako hoping nobody would notice... but thanks to all the love this blog has received, I think I can write with a lot more confidence now! Not to get all sappy on the first paragraph, but I really appreciate everyone who reads this blog with all of my heart. And that includes You!

But if I’d known I’d spend several years using the moniker “Mod F Boy”, I probably would’ve put more thought into the name I picked, huh? I’m not even sure I’m a boy anymore! I just thought the name was funny and that was that! But given how indecisive I can be, maybe it’s a good thing it was so spontaneous... Like it or not though, I am more attached to the concept of “F Boy” then I was three and a half years ago, so it’s only fair I give F Boy the post he deserves and write a whole lot more about him!

Believe it or not, F Boy is a fire enemy! A single flame with dot eyes, the classic design they’ve been using since Fire! I’ve expressed love for them in the past, but this little dude is a little different... it isn’t found in a lava or castle stage like you might expect, but the spoooky scaaary stages, AKA Pumpkin Zone! Why’s that?

Enter the hitodama! Literally using the characters for “human soul”, these ghostly wisps of fire from Japanese folklore are probably something you’re familiar with even if you don’t know it! The Litwick Pokémon line, the flames on Jibanyan’s tail, the little flames around the boy from the toilet anime, or even the Embers from Paper Mario... that’s really just a couple of specific examples off the top of my head, but they are in basically anything associated with Japanese ghosts!

Though... all this time I’ve always called them hitodama, but I should probably specify they aren’t the only kind of ghostly fireballs! Onibi (demon fire) are often described similarly, and I’m not totally sure what the difference is! I suppose they would be more demonic hence the name, and probably less of a good idea to get close to. Also, if they're made by fox demons, they’re kitsunebi (fox fire)! Isn’t that neat! But there are no foxes to be found here, so F Boy definitely isn’t that (Unless it stands for Fox Boy...?).

However, you might be more familiar with the concept of will-o’-the-wisps, a similiar kind of legend from Europe- in fact, a whole number of cultures around the world have stories of ghostly lights and flames! There’s two explanations for this, either that it is a misunderstanding caused by some chemical reaction (boring, lame) or that hitodama are real and really exist for real (fun, exciting)! I encourage everyone to go outside with a net and catch as many as they can.

Even though hitodama can be red or orange in some traditional accounts, they’re mostly described as blue and most modern media sticks with that! Which makes it quite weird that F Boy... isn’t! He is a rather fetching orange of course, and without the added context of spooky old Pumpkin Land you wouldn’t be mistaken for thinking he is a lava enemy that just got lost or something!

Now, moving on to a completely different topic, something else that is great about F Boy is his little cheeks. Have you seen them? Here is the picture one more time in case you forgot after all that. He doesn’t have one in the sprite, so isn’t it quite weird to give a fireball enemy such distinct little cheeks? I want to squeeze them, even if they are probably intangible.

And finally, we come to the part we’ve all been waiting for- the name! You were thinking it, I was thinking it, it’s probably the only reason I chose to write about him in the first place! Because F Boy is a funny name for an enemy! I think it’s just quite silly to describe a fireball as a “boy” in the first place, as a term of endearment. It is just a boy! A little guy! He’s not hurting anyone!

But then they add to that name- one letter. That one letter, F. It changes everything. All of a sudden, there’s a question floating in the air- what, pray tell, does the F in F Boy stand for?

If you’ve been following our blog for a while, you might remember we added an addendum to the original F Boy post, saying the mystery had finally been solved- the English version of the Super Mario Bros. Encyclopedia lists his name as Fireball Boy, which is a pretty definitive answer right?

But since then, it’s been more or less exposed that this translation took a bunch of unsourced and conjectural names from the Mario Wiki, leading to something of a controversy and a Mario Wiki page that is essentially just roasting the whole thing! If even the Wiki doesn’t accept this book as an official source, I wonder if there’s any merit to the name Fireball Boy at all! Either way it’s odd how this is the ONLY name they changed... do they know something we don’t? I dunno!

My next evidence to present to the court is something that isn’t really related to F Boy at all! Rather, in Super Paper Mario, the Lava Bubble enemy has a tattle that reads the following:

It's a Lava Bubble. This fiery magma boy loves the heat... Max HP is 1 and Attack is 4. Obviously, it's quite immune to fire... It pops out from below when people approach, so take care when jumping over lava...

Fiery magma boy! The chances of this bit of text being intended as a reference are very very slim, but what if, you see? What if? It’s still a fun coincidence, but what if though??

But of course, my favourite possibility is that it isn’t a word related to fire at all and is actually something completely different! I looked up a list of adjectives beginning with F and I’d like to highlight ones I want F Boy to have. Fabulous! Friendly! Faithful. Fantastic. Fascinating! French? Fresh! Fun, and Funky! Faultless. Fetching. Feminist! Festive. Formidable. All these and more describe the complex soul that is F Boy.

After all is said and done, that is F Boy! Who would’ve thought that a little monochrome fireball enemy from a Game Boy game could have kicked off so many months of writing for this blog? I said in the first paragraph that I would not get too sappy, but now we are in the last one I can be as sappy as I dang well please! This blog has brought me such incredible joy and friendship that you can’t even imagine, and my only hope is that I can convey these feelings to even one person who reads these silly posts. If you are reading this? I hope you have a wonderful day! I hope you have a wonderful life! I hope you never forget to be passionate about the things that really don’t matter at all, because no one else can decide for you what is worth caring about! Mwah! A kiss goodbye. I’m not sure how to end this post.

#mario #mario enemies #f boy #weird mario all-stars #mod f boy

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boognish-worshipper · 3 years

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Midnight City AU

this is an au where the main characters are all young adults!! (or millennials ig? they’re in their 20s basically) i gave a rundown of what’s what on a diff post,, i’m also splitting it up into diff chapters,, so this is gonna take a looooong time to finish. i’m posting this before i nitpick my writing to the max

it’s basically a lot of references to that point in time, artists, pop culture etc. all the chapters are named after songs from that era (including the name of this au bc i love midnight city and what better way to describe LS ‼️), and the lyrics r usually connected to what the chapter’s about, or about a character dynamic :D i hope this isn’t too cheesy, or sounds off ig. any typos in this were probably over looked bc i constantly reread my writing and rearrange stuff and make sure it sounds good 🥳 hope y’all enjoy !!! i’m also including a tag to find the chapters under :)

//Chapter 1: Crimewave

Trevor would never, ever admit it, but he had fallen into the category known as “post-hipster”. This was a strange era that began culminating, taking LS by storm. Whether he liked it or not, he could never avoid it. Even if he swore up and down he wasn’t like them, it was practically a paradox. Saying he wasn’t like them just made him a branched off version of the thing he denounced. Each aesthetic that was churned out as the 2010s rolled in were tied to a style, a sound, and Trevor couldn’t care less. It’s not like people liked what he liked. He didn’t belong to anything in particular, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t like them. If anything, he just became another obscure genre in the mix.

One of his favorite music groups was a Canadian duo called Crystal Castles. He enjoyed a good number of their songs, developing an interest for electropunk and pop punk. There was something unique about the sound, and it made Trevor feel special, like he discovered some sort of hidden treasure. He was into pop punk groups like Paramore too, but it was something about them that was just different. People knew Paramore. He often lingered around Sterling Lake, where other post-irony hipsters and classic hipsters resided, careful not to fully associate with them. After all, he apparently despised them, even though he participated in their strange… “culture”. If you could even call it that. From time to time he would find himself discussing his favorite artists with whatever semi-normal person was there, making a couple friends himself who weren’t the snooty kind he’d grown used to.

They all loved talking about how exceptional their taste in music was, a wide variety of people hanging around with their own cliques. Some liked Fall Out Boy, while others liked Blink-182, and then there were the weirdos who liked groups like Radiohead. Most of those guys were whiny, proclaiming how misunderstood they were. He knew maybe one Radiohead song at most (he definitely, definitely never cried to “Creep” and even if he did, so what) but never found himself willingly getting into their music. Then you had the nosedivr crowd, which consisted of mostly girls, and the occasional hipster guy that defected. Their taste was.. alright. Consisted of artists like Lana Del Ray and Marina and the Diamonds, who were their idols. He found almost everyone there besides the few friends he made kind of edgy, and not in the cool way. But he figured all hipsters and guys like them were kind of uncool. Don’t even get him started on those other indie rock types. God. He still came back as often as he could though, establishing some kind of routine. Most people there avoided him anyway, which he preferred. He had enough troubles with them in the past. There was one day he grew tired of the people gawking at him, and he launched a hipster right into the lake. So yeah, nobody within their right mind so much as looked in his direction. That was just how he rolled.

Today, he sat on a nearby bench in Sterling Lake’s park, watching some ducks float on water. His usual friends had been there too, seeing his clowncore buddy Wade with his cousin Floyd. Wade was extremely different than the pretentious fucks around them. He had a shit ton of piercings, and ICP was his favorite music group. Floyd on the other hand, fit right in. Almost too much, like it was something he was forced to do. But he did genuinely enjoy Weezer, of all things you could enjoy. Wade started waving at Trevor, while Floyd hid behind him. All he did was awkwardly wave back, turning his attention back to the lake. He liked Wade, but the clown stuff he wore sometimes spooked him. He didn’t pay much mind to his relative. Looking back across the water, he saw someone new, observing the area. Some dude a little above the average height, hands in his pockets walking around. He seemed a bit lost, and Trevor figured he should help if he was. After all, what was this guy doing here? New people didn’t show up often.

“Hey bud, you lost or something?”

“Oh uh, nah not really. I’m just looking for this girl I met a while ago, said she hangs out around here?”

“What she look like? I’m here pretty often.”

“Uhh kinda short, dark brownish hair? Wears fishnet stockings, high waisted shorts or whatever those grunge people are into.”

“Let me guess, she into the Neighborhood?”

“How’d you know?”

“Yeah, that’s Amanda, she’s a bit of a regular. Not too fond of me I must say.”

“How come?”

“She’s just petty towards me.” He said with a shrug. He didn’t feel like relaying his encounters with her if the guy was dating her or something.

“Oh… well d’ya think you could help me find her? I don’t really know anybody else here. I could actually use the help, since you know her.”

“Eh sure, why not.”

It’s not like he had anything better to do. The two began to walk around the park, gravel and dirt crunching beneath their feet.

“So.. what’s this place about?” The strange guy asked.

“Hm? Oh, it’s just one of those places the hipster folks meet up I guess. Don’t understand it much myself, nor do I really like them.”

“Then why do you come here?”

“Dunno. It’s relatively peaceful, those freaks keep to themselves.”

The man, who was only a smidge shorter than Trevor, glared up at him.

“Hey man, don’t call my girl a freak.”

“Ehh I don’t really count her in with the generic skinny jean wearing hipsters. More of a.. what is it called.. nosedivr type. Whatever that stupid website’s called. Why do you think she dresses like that?”

“Huh.. Never really thought to ask her.”

As he thought about the stuff Amanda wore, he took note of how the man next to him was dressed. He sported an olive jacket with a black turtle neck, and a plain pair of jeans. He wore beat up black converse to top it off, and a pair of Rimmers sunglasses sat upon his head. He looked simple, yet distinguished with the way he presented himself, hair neatly combed back. He figured the two would look nice standing next to one another. They would’ve made an attractive couple, if they weren’t dating already, the kind that turns heads. Trevor wasn’t like them. He wore a black beanie over his mullet, and his favorite pair of red Dix sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose. The rest of his fit looked disheveled. He had thrown on a wrinkled top, solid black with little surf boards and cars along the bottom- he was a sucker for Hawaiian shirts. His pants were tan colored but had some bleach stains, with old combat boots on his feet.

“Yeah, we may not like each other but I don’t really consider her a freak like those guys.”

He jutted a thumb in the direction of a circle of guys huddled around a phone. The man holding the phone had strawberry blonde hair and a clean outfit on. An expensive looking outfit.

“Who are they?”

“The people here I absolutely cannot fucking stand. The genuine hipsters.”

“Oh.. and you’re..?”

“I’m my own kind. I’m not like these losers, all uppity and shit.”

“Right. Gotcha.”

They walked around a bit more before finding the group Amanda was with. She sat on a bench, chatting with a few girls who dressed similarly to her. All of them had black incorporated into their style. She herself had a black jumper on, tucked neatly into the front of her jean shorts. Just like the guy described, she had fishnets on under them, skater shoes to match. Loose braids fell on her shoulders, and a small black choker was wrapped around her neck.

“Oh, there he is now! Babe! Over here!”

She narrowed her eyes upon seeing Trevor standing next to him.

“Hello, Trevor.” She huffed.

“Relax, I was helping your boyfriend or whatever look for you.”

Her face softened slightly, but still kept a small glare in his direction. She pressed her lips together tight before replying.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Yup.”

The man turned to face Trevor, sticking out a hand.

“Hey, thanks for showing me around. Trevor, is it?”

“Don’t wear it out.”

He shook his hand, noticing how soft it was. It was in stark contrast to his own, which was rough and calloused.

“Name’s Michael. I’ll see you around most likely? Thanks again.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Amanda huffed again, nudging Michael’s shoulder.

“Let’s go hun, Bean Machine closes soon!”

“I’m comin’ I’m comin’!”

The two sauntered off, hand in hand. Trevor stood dumbly, watching them walk away. He was right. They did look good together. He wondered if he would actually see this Michael again, kicking a rock. He went back to the bench he originally sat at, putting his earbuds in, listening to some Crystal Castles again to pass the time. The beat thumped in his ears, and all he could think was how much better this shit was compared to that club music shit that played on every radio station in a 5 foot radius. He sat there, scrolling through his own secret nosedivr account, reblogging some photo of a lit cigarette. Right before a hand touched his shoulder causing him to jump.

“What the fuck- Oh. Ron.”

Ron was another friend of Trevor’s, a guy he had met outside one of the iFruit stores talking about how “they’re tapping the phones they sell in there!” and all that conspiracy nonsense. He was a paranoid guy, but Trevor kind of liked that about him. Those were the kind of freaks he liked. He was shorter than Trevor, sort of frail in stature. He wore a bright red windbreaker over a faded tourist tee that read “I went to Liberty City and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!”, along with khaki colored cargo shorts. It didn’t help that he wore some goofy looking bucket hat, and socks with sandals. He dressed like someone’s middle aged father.

“Trevor! Have you seen Wade around anywhere?”

“Last I checked, he was with Floyd.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Uh no, but my best bet is they went to that vinyl shop Floyd’s girlfriend works at.”

“Will ya come with me to find him?”

“Now why the fuck would I do that? What do you need him for?”

“Well I- I uh- um..”

“I uh! I uh! Spit it out Ron!”

“It’s about the Merryweather Night Club.”

Merryweather was a big organization that had a wide range of private clubs all over the country, and complimentary body guards to suit. They were all expensive as fuck, and anywhere they settled jacked up the prices of everything else. A lot of neighborhoods became gentrified as a result, and people actually considered it a good thing. What a fucking joke. Trevor of course couldn’t stand it. He hated bullies, and Merryweather was no exception. He’d been wanting to dismantle the club since they settled in LS, seeing as they only amplified the fake feel of the city. Let’s just say he’s gotten into more than a few scuffles with the club. And let’s just say it ended with someone getting stabbed as a result. The guy had it coming to him anyway. Between bouncers and the clubbers, they didn’t like Trevor or his kind loitering around the joint. It didn’t stop him from plotting some sort of revenge though. Ron per usual was on board, his reason being Merryweather’s violent history that had been swept under the rug. They were rather forceful relocating people who had lived in certain neighborhoods for years, Ron being one of their victims. Wade only decided to tag along because he wanted to be included.

“Ah fuck, what’d those bastards do now?”

“They’re throwing some big party!”

“…What fucking for?”

“All I know some guy’s coming to visit, somebody they labeled important and he’s-“

“Woah woah woah wait, Ron. Who?”

“Steve Haines.” He breathed out, careful not to be overheard.

Trevor’s eyes widened, his gaze shooting over to the posse he had poked fun of before. Steve was talking to the group, all of them doing that fake laugh they always did. God, even their humor was pretentious.

“Those fucking hipsters!” He hissed.

“I abhor them, you know that-“

“I know. I know. But, that Weston guy’s gonna be there with him-“

“Weston? Devin Weston?”

If Trevor hated hipsters, then he utterly loathed rich daddy’s money boys like Devin Weston. He had only gotten that stupid fucking night club because his father paid Don Percival enough money to let Devin do whatever he pleased with the Merryweather body guards. It was an elitist club, and they only allowed the best of the best in there.

“What the fuck’s going on there?”

“Something to do with those guys he hangs out with. I think they’re doing something major, expansion maybe-”

“And him and Devin are working together or..?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear much after that, that’s why I wanted to grab you and Wade and-”

“Then let’s fucking go get him, Ron!”

The two rushed out of there, heading for the vinyl store to look for Wade. Trevor knew a shit storm was coming, and he absolutely couldn’t wait.

//the next chapter’s gonna be longer i promise lolz

#gta v #grand theft auto v #michael de santa #trevor philips #young trikey #franklin clinton #lamar davis #lester crest #amanda de santa #steve haines #midnight city au

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m0r1bund · 4 years

Text

Happy Indigenous Peoples’ Day!

10/12/20:

So. If you’ve been here a year or more, you might know that I have this little journal from back in 2018 that I try to update every year with works from local indigenous artists / created in collaboration with indigenous folks.

It was once hosted on another site, but that one’s since gone to hell! So, I’m shuffling it over here and giving it a little TLC : -) Enjoy!

◆

10/8/18:

You can probably glean from my work that I owe intensely to the people of the Sonoran Desert and surrounding communities. Since it’s Indigenous Peoples’ Day, I’m going to share a few works from (mostly southwestern) native artists that have really impressed on me. If you enjoy anything that I do, I think you’ll enjoy their work even more!

Tyler Bighorse and Suite 104

I was introduced to the work of Tyler Bighorse in downtown Flagstaff, where he runs a gallery called Suite 104.

If you're ever in the area I really recommend dropping by! He sells prints and originals of his works there, as well as other local artists' work. (snagged this sick Legend of Zelda spread for my bro while I was up there.)

Mulaka, by Lienzo

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Synopsis, from their website:

Dive into northern Mexico’s breathtaking landscapes with Mulaka, a 3D action-adventure game based on the rich indigenous culture of the Tarahumara. Renowned for their impressive running abilities, embark on the journey of a Sukurúame - a Tarahumara shaman - as you fight back the foulness corrupting the land, while drawing upon the powers of demigods.

Mulaka was developed by the Chihuahua-based game company Lienzo in conjunction with Rarámuri leaders and anthropologists. Lienzo also aims to keep their game dev local to Chihuahua, which I think is extremely badass.

And the music just. rules. ( Town of Paquimé / Nini Areware Ne Chunume )

Quantum Tangle (Grey Gritt and Tiffany Ayalik)

Quantum Tangle is really really good. Like, really really good. Blurb from their old bandcamp:

Fusing of old-world sounds and new-world flair, the Juno Award-winning group Quantum Tangle is embracing their blended background. Combining their talents of throat singing, haunting melodies and traditional legends, Grey Gritt and Tiffany Ayalik are excited to present pieces that look back through history to challenge, educate and encourage the next generation to be socially aware.

The unfortunate news is that their website went down earlier in the year : -( But the good news is their work is still floating around the internet. I believe you can find them on Spotify and other streaming services as well. Here is a favorite, a love ode of sorts called Igluvut:

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My other favourites for first-time listeners are Love is Love pt. 2 and Tiny Hands : -)

Oral History of the Yavapai, by Mike Harrison and John Williams

Three tribes of Yavapai got together at Bloody Basin. Kewevkepaya, Wipukpa and Yavepe. Three of them. They get together and cook mescal, cook deer. Get together and eat, dance and have a good time. But the soldiers met them there and killed them. Then the White people called the place Bloody Basin. Called it after our blood.

- Oral History of the Yavapai I originally stumbled across this book (in reality a word-for-word chronicle of oral history told by Mike Harrison and John Williams, two Yavapai elders) through one of the sources cited in this blog post: The True Victims of “Bloody Basin” Were the Yavapai.

It really struck me, because to that point all major publications that I'd read had unquestioningly ran the old U.S. Army account of how Bloody Basin got its name (Check out the Verde Independent’s article here, and AZcentral’s take here.) It frames the massacre not only as a “punitive expedition,” but also incorrectly names the victims as Tonto-Apache-- The Dilzhe’e are a distinct people, though the Yavapai people were often conflated with them. It’s much harder to get folks into books, but if you have any interest in the history of the Salt River Valley or surrounding areas at all, this was an invaluable read to me. Be aware that it is vibrant and devastating in equal measures-- but if you can handle it, I highly recommend it.

◆

10/14/19 Additions

The writing of Darcie Little Badger

The Whalebone Parrot and Owl Vs. The Neighborhood Watch were my introductions to Darcie's work and they are so, so full of wit, character, and ghoulish suspense... the kind of stories you would read to family and friends as Halloween closes in, this time of year. I am only familiar with her mystery and horror-adjacent short stories at the moment, but I hope to become better acquainted with her body of work in the near future. You can find a list here, many of which you can read online for free!

Anyway. Let me leave you with the Inherent Horror of Birds (from The Whalebone Parrot,) which I don't think I've seen any other writer capture so artfully:

I wonder if all parrots have dancing eyes. The pupils are in a state of constant flux, contracting and expanding. Big, small, big, small.

“What song is that?” I asked. Her pupils danced: large, small, large. She possessed parrot eyes and parrot songs.

10/12/20 Update: Darcie Little Badger recently published her first book, Elatsoe! Check it here : -)

Imagine an America very similar to our own. It’s got homework, best friends, and pistachio ice cream. There are some differences. This America has been shaped dramatically by the magic, monsters, knowledge, and legends of its peoples, those Indigenous and those not. Some of these forces are charmingly everyday, like the ability to make an orb of light appear or travel across the world through rings of fungi. But other forces are less charming and should never see the light of day.

Seventeen-year-old Elatsoe (“Ellie” for short) lives in this slightly stranger America. She can raise the ghosts of dead animals, a skill passed down through generations of her Lipan Apache family. Her beloved cousin has just been murdered, in a town that wants no prying eyes. But she is going to do more than pry. The picture-perfect façade of Willowbee masks gruesome secrets, and she will rely on her wits, skills, and friends to tear off the mask and protect her family.

The pottery of Nathan Youngblood

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I learned of Nathan Youngblood's work scarcely a week ago, during a visit to the Heard Museum, and it very nearly made me start hooting and hollering in the middle of the museum. It is, without exaggeration, unlike any kind of craft I've ever seen before. His work is something of a marriage between the Santa Clara pottery tradition with Asian ceramics and other traditions world-wide, and it's a coupling that is at once startlingly familiar and yet completely unique.

The art, writing, and games of Elizabeth LaPensée

Elizabeth is perhaps best known for creating Thunderbird Strike!

vimeo

(synopsis from its website: )

In the 2D sidescroller Thunderbird Strike, fly from the Tar Sands to the Great Lakes as a thunderbird protecting Turtle Island with searing lightning against the snake that threatens to swallow the lands and waters whole.

But she has a very wide and rich body of work, and among my personal favourites are her visual art. She employs digital collage to create these sort of iconographic pieces, and to me there's a certain joy in the way her work employs silhouette and contour, tracing the shape of a body, the environment within that body, and its place in its environment. It's not something that I can really do justice by describing, so here's a favourite from her ("Thunderbird Circles") that I have on my wall:

#love this desert #long post -

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starffledust · 4 years

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What Is Advice to Fallen Stars? (Sandy & Emily Jane)

[originally posted on Ao3]

Original Summary: When she turned back to him, her gaze was stern as stone. “What happened this time that hung up so much of your mind?”

Sandy glanced away with a grimace.

“It's not him, is it?” she hissed. The identity of “him” went unspoken, but visions of Nightmare Horses—their golden eyes outlined with red—sprung to mind beside the other terrors of long ago.

A small smile touched Sandy’s expression, and he shook his head with a silent laugh.

Sandy stared at the picture, frowning.

It was simple, really: a book made of Dreamsand, floating before him innocently with the Guardian’s G on its cover.

Our experiences differ, but the common ground of our pasts becomes the same story.

Well, that’s what he had meant. What he had actually “said” or what Bunny had perceived was irrelevant. He seemed to understand well enough.

Oh, and that look. Just a touch of understanding and relief, then an invisible connection between Bunny and Earth that should be reserved solely for his own planet.

But it was too late for that now, wasn't it? For both of them.

If it was not attachment for a planet that Sandy felt, then it was attachment to journeys and people. He had always been flexible, but severing him from the stars only snapped the band which held together his heart. Despite Bunnymund’s attachments, he had still retained that certain level of familiarity with the ground and relics he stored away; Sandy had naught but a large island of sand which had once made up the fastest wishing star.

Dreams whispered around him, but Sandy paid them no mind as he sat contemplating on the floor of his room, near the large window. The beach did not glow like normal, and the mermaids were silent. His only company was the floating book of Dreamsand.

“You’re not still brooding, are you?”

The book fell away, but Sandy himself didn't startle. He turned a patient eye to the intruder. In the silent communication of sand and wishes, he spoke: Reviewing is not brooding, Emily.

Mother Nature dropped down beside him, sitting cross-legged atop the cushioned sand floor. How she had snuck past the seashells without alerting him, Sandy did not know. He didn't quite need to.

“You know how talkative the fish are,” she said with a voice deep and level like the largest valleys of Earth. “If you but step awkwardly, the tree roots will know and tell me in seconds. Especially after that whole recent charade with the Nightmares.”

The local dolphins are rather nosy, he commented with a nod. Her mention of Nightmares flooded his mind, turning the thoughts of home and companionship into battlefields of Nightmare Men and hosts of Fearlings. I know nothing for roots, though. Plants are your area.

“More than that,” Mother Nature muttered bitterly, looking away. When she turned back to him, her gaze was stern as stone. “What happened this time that hung up so much of your mind?”

Sandy glanced away with a grimace.

A small smile touched Sandy’s expression, and he shook his head with a silent laugh.

Emily Jane—not Mother Nature now, for that one would never allow such a display of vulnerability—exhaled loudly. “Thank the stars for that.” Her head dipped, dark curls shadowing her face. She looked back up with curious, pursed lips. “What was it then?” Her eyes flicked up to the full moon, then back to him. “One of the other ones?”

The other ones, Sandy repeated in the most obnoxious, undulating sensation that only silence could produce.

Emily scowled, but an amused smile pulled at her face. “Shut up!” She elbowed him in the side and pulled a lock of her long hair to hide herself. “You know who I mean.”

Sandy rolled his eyes with a fond shake of his head. For a spirit so old, she still retained enough childlikeness to be unchanged. Yes, Emily, it was one.

“Oh, stop it, you ass. I know your secrets.” She nudged him again, letting the veil of her hair fall away. “ Now, who was it?”

Bunnymund.

Emily blinked. “I half expected the new one. Or the younger one.”

A question mark formed unconsciously above Sandy’s head, despite his insistence to speak with her directly. Those are both Jack, he said.

“Isn’t that Saint Nikolaas young compared to most of them?”

St. North. First name Nicholas. He raised a brow. If you rely on the Dutch name, you may as well say Santa.

“Animals don't use such complicated names, don't look at me so.” She huffed.

There was silence for a moment, only broken by the distant sound of breaking waves. Her eyes traveled slowly across the shoreline, no doubt marking its dullness and empty spaces where usually creatures of both present and past would reside.

A golden fish hopped out of the water as Sandy subconsciously mourned their absence. Then it was gone.

“So, what did he do that made you so concerned?” Emily finally asked, tilting her head toward him with pure curiosity on her face.

Sandy took a breath and looked up, where the ceiling gave way to the darkened sky, marked with clusters of stars.

Emily followed the gaze with narrowed eyes. “What?” She glanced back at him.

Do you miss them? he whispered in the sand.

Emily’s normally pale countenance darkened burgundy and pink like a frail leaf in autumn. “I—Sandy, you know I—” Her mouth sputtered in silence for a few moments.

He turned to her slowly, holding her bewildered stare. I miss them, he said, resolute. I miss the speed, the wishes, even the army. I miss the simplicity, the freedom. I miss him, I miss you. And sometimes, when I feel incredibly lost, I wish for a world of contained fear.

Emily’s eyes glistened with liquid sorrow, no doubt remembering it herself. She swallowed. “Am I lost then?” she asked quietly.

I’m here.

“But you’re just as lost as I am.”

He looked away. What could he even say to such a truth? Sometimes I think I have finally found the way, he said instead. Earlier, I told Bunnymund I did not miss the company of Star Pilots.

“And?” she prompted, sensing he was not done.

I think I lied. Sandy turned back to her, head bowed to the ground as his hands rubbed together in his lap. I told him to find familiarity in the present, despite separate journeys; but here I am, more open with you—with whom I have shared centuries—than with even a Pooka.

“You wouldn’t lie to him.”

I didn’t at the time.

“What changed?”

Sandy deliberated his response for a few moments. This was the most he had “spoken” in decades, but the pain of silence was too much to bear right now. Dreams are inconsistent things, he said slowly. They have no age and no definition. I cannot tell you what did or did not influence me. I think only the stars know.

Emily stared down at him, hurt and rage painted clearly on her windblown face. “So…” she drew the word out, making him look up. “He asked you about then?” Her words were harder than her last few attempts.

Sandy nodded.

“And you indulged it?” Her face grew darker pink, nearly red, and her back straightened where she sat.

He’s hurt.

“He should know the sensitivity of such a thing!” Her hands flew to the ground, and thorny stems sprung through the sand.

Yes, but he’s HURT. Emily, Sandy pulled at her hands, bringing them closer and clasping them between his own, malice doesn’t make questions like his. It’s only desperation.

“Desperation for what? More pain?” Her hair moved on its own accord, like it was caught in a turbulent wind; Sandy could feel the sand of his island quiver with the mighty waves below.

Neither pulled away.

Emily, Sandy said again, softer, a small ripple in the sand which sent the thorns back underneath. Emily, we're all hurt. But denying one the comfort of another heals nothing.

For a moment, he believed she would argue, her chest heaving with the stifled rage of every volcano on the planet. But Emily stayed quiet, anger slowly crumbling to resignation.

She sighed and muttered, mostly to herself, “He’s still an idiot.”

So he is.

“They’re all idiots, but that one in particular—and he’s a Pooka from the Golden Age! He should know not to bring up such things.”

I don't see why not.

Her arms circled her legs, pulling them closer to her chest. “The past is full of pain and suffering. And you have even more time to account for than me. No wonder his reminder struck you to moping!”

The phrasing made Sandy shudder, images of flaming hulls and sails tipping in his mind’s eye. Just outside the window, stray Dreamsand moved to form a cascading trail of fire, quickly dissipating with a chiding thought from Sandy. My sorrow is not his doing, he said weakly.

“Of course it is!” She grasped back at his hands. “You said yourself you were fine before he made you doubt.”

If I doubted at all, then it was my own. Sandy inhaled deeply before continuing: Surely, you can understand his position. He is a lost Pooka with no family or friends. In regards to the Golden Age, I am his closest ally. But he can’t always understand me, and my presence cannot be enough.

Emily settled at this, but the tell-tale ripple of her dress told of hidden resentment. “Why not?” she spat. “It’s not like he’s going to get anything better.”

Sandy sighed to himself and let both of their hands drop. He had expended all of his explanations already, and now even the comfort of silent words would not yield to his command.

A long second passed where no one spoke or argued, and the tension surely withered away.

“I miss it, too,” Emily broke the silence first.

Though he said nothing, Sandy nodded for her to continue.

She coughed once. “I mostly miss the excitement. Like when I’d sneak out to play with the Star Fish or when we traveled together answering wishes.” Her frown fell away, her face relaxing with temporary contentment. “I miss my mother, and I miss our victories against Pirates. I miss Typhan.” Her eyes sobered as tears broke from them. “But I can’t miss my father. Not after everything. At least that stupid Pooka has a good family to remember; I only have a half-dead shadow and a blind Constellation to whom I am a bastard Sister of the Heavens.”

Still, Sandy said nothing, but he placed a hand back on hers.

She looked down at the gesture and smiled, wetness still running from her eyes. “But,” she began, reaching down with her other hand to cover the two, “I guess I can understand why the Pooka can’t adjust.”

A question mark appeared above Sandy’s head.

“Well,” her mouth twisted into a smirk, “I have one thing he doesn’t.” She brought his hand between them, clasping them together again. “I have a Captain Sandy.”

When the words finally registered, Sandy smiled widely with a silent laugh. And I have an Emily Jane, he said.

The sentiment went unspoken, but they both thought it the same: “A friend.”

#fanfiction #rotg #rotg fanfic #sanderson mansnoozie #rotg sandy #emily jane pitchiner #mother nature

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Had Me a Blast (Nicky Doll/Crystal Methyd) - Campvanjie

AN: I’m clearing old season 12 fics out of my drives and wanted this here on AQ since it was only on my old deleted AO3 account. It’s attributed as an orphan work on AO3 if you find it there, posted originally on May 10th, 2020. However, I’m the original author, and absolutely no plagiarism is taking place.

Summary: Nicky and Crystal have a hot moment in a hot tub. Written for the prompt "Did you just hiss at me?“ "Are you judging me?"

“I just want to know why you’re not friends with Taylor Swift. Pretty sure that’s her house over there.”, Crystal wonders aloud, splashing a stream of warm water against her girlfriend’s arm. Nicky’s parents, European conglomerate owners who Crystal had never even seen in real life, were in Florida, for the second time that month, leaving their estate and its staff of housekeepers, at their only daughter’s disposal.

Driving down from the New York City penthouse Nicky’s parents had for her to stay in while she went to school; where Crystal found herself sleeping over more nights than not- hadn’t even been a question.

Nicky’s pushed up on the faux marble tile lining the hot tub across from Crystal, facing away from her with her weight resting on her wrists, calves crossed on the bench, about to stand up. Wet white-blonde ringlets sticking to her thin, smooth shoulders, salty water dripping down her delicate collarbones.

Nicky’s fucking stunning, and Crystal takes a deep breath; the chill air of the early autumn night biting at her bare chest. She moves quickly, too; pulling down her navy and red striped bikini bottoms, treating Crystal to a full, close up view of her ass, giving her a little shimmy, like she’s just shaking out a cramp.

As if.

Nicky lowers herself back into the water, her glowing skin and sharp, cold, eyes radiating feigned innocence when she dips below the water, the tops of her breasts just visible below a line of foaming bubbles from the hot tub’s jets.

“Who are we talking about, cherie?”, she teases; as if Crystal remembers anything beyond wanting to squeeze Nicky’s perfect ass between her hands, kiss and bite at the pale skin of her inner thighs. “You’re looking a little flustered… is the water too hot?”

“N-no. The water’s fine-”

“Yeah?”, Nicky moves closer still, their knees brushing underwater. “Just right?”

“It’s good.”

Crystals eyebrows float up, and Nicky cant help but start to laugh; leaning forward to close the distance between them. Her lips taste like her favorite cheap apple cider; pale pink lips soft and warm as Crystal deepens their kiss, her tongue dipping deeper in Nicky’s mouth. She bobs in the water, winding her arm around Nicky and pulling herself against her chest, so she’s sitting in Nicky’s lap, jets firing on all cylinders around them.

Nicky’s hands are slick and slide easily down her waist in the water, tugging free the strings of Crystal’s bottoms, nails pressing into the soft skin of her back as they trail up her sides, fingers hooking underneath the string of her top. It falls away easily, floating between them while Nicky’s hands glide to her front, skin slippery around Crystal’s hardening nipples. Nicky rolls them between her thin fingers, and Crystal hisses into her mouth, the paper-thick space between them entirely too much.

“Did you just hiss at me?”, Nicky murmurs against her collarbones, her lips curling up in a wicked grin.

“Are you judging me?”

Nicky’s hands had found their way back down to Crystal’s bare ass, pressing them closer together, the water slick against their bodies. As romantic as it would be, they keep slipping, and Nicky slides off the bench almost entirely, her face wet with foam when she bobs back up, the realization that sex underwater is never really as sexy as it seems in reality.

“Crystal? I’m really fucking into this, but-”

Crystal nods almost immediately. “Want to get out?”

Her lips are lush and pink, wisps of deep, auburn hair broken free of her already messy bun to hang in loose, thick curls framing her face.

“Yes, let’s-”, says Nicky. It’s all she can do not to grab Crystal again, and kiss the words right out of her mouth.

#rpdr fanfiction #nicky doll #crystal methyd #crystal x nicky #lesbian au #fluff #pre smut #s12 #campvanjie #concrit welcome

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bubble-tae · 4 years

Text

Cult: Part 2

Genre: Thriller, Yandere Themes, Cult AU

Pairing: Jungkook x OC, BTS x OC (sorta?)

Warning: angst, cult themes, kidnapping, probably other sacrilegious stuff, Stockholm Syndrome

WordCount: 3.6k

preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | tbc...

Authors Note: thank you so much to @mikroparadise for beta-ing this part for me! you really helped me out so much! (literally helping me all the way up until posting!)

reposted from old account

It had been two weeks since he had last seen her in the basement, two weeks since he gave her the single lily from Taehyung’s garden. The flower had probably rotten by now and been swept away with the rest of the garbage. Jungkook had no idea that he would have to be away from her this long, each day an onslaught of housework while his one and only was under the same roof, locked away like a prisoner. He didn’t think of her that way. How could her, he had saved her. His hands felt the area next to him on the bed he lay on, wondering how many more nights would it be until she was ready to join him. Impure thoughts tingled in his mind, things only Hoseok as her nurse had seen. Jealousy burned in his throat before he swallowed it and let out a deep breath. They all had their jobs here, and besides, it was wrong to think of her that way. He hadn’t touched himself in days, afraid that impure thoughts of her would slip into his head. The idea of using her without permission made him feel dirty, but most importantly, he felt that if he did think of her like that, she would know.

Jungkook got up from his bed and made his way towards his window. He could see the backyard from up here in that attic bedroom; a small garden followed by fields of grass, a line of trees from the forest barely visible in the distance. When he was younger he would play in the fields almost everyday, venturing closer and closer to the woods, but never once setting foot in them. The woods itself didn’t scare him, it was the thought of getting lost in them forever that did. Namjoon told him they went on for miles, the town on the other side would take days to reach by foot. Not to mention the poisonous snakes that called those trees home. Jungkook thought of what it would feel like to have his blood turn to sludge and shuddered the thought away.

His hands methodically reached over into his night stand where he pulled out an old leather bound book. On the front printed in an old english style font were faded gold words that read “The Good Book”. Jungkook traced his finger over the cover and felt the grooves in between the letters before flipping through the pages. Though the book was old the pages were in great condition, the printed text only a little faded and the pencil markings of Jungkook’s father still legible. He flipped the pages until he came to the page marked with “Sola” at the top. A drawing of a woman with golden rays around her head like a crown was in the middle, her naked body wrapped in a thin sheet that barely clung to her body. Jungkook admired her beauty before dropping to his knees, looking out the window at the sun. His eyes burned but he did not look away as he repeated the same mantra he had said since he first saw Naomi. Jungkook felt the sun open up to him, light spreading over his kneeling figure, her electricity making the hair on his arms stand up.

“Mother Sola, I give my soul to her. She shall hold my life in both hands and do as she will with it, all I ask is that I am forever hers. Let her teach me the ways. Let her be the one. I have faith in her, Mother. I have faith.” He sat there for some time, letting the sunlight embrace the curves of his face until he felt that she was gone. He closed the book and returned it to its original place before making his way over to his wardrobe that was filled with plain clothes that more or less all looked the same. Jungkook didn’t go many places, and at home he tried to disappear into the background. He avoided trouble this way, and was ultimately seen as a good boy that did as he was told. He joked, only to himself, of course, that his job was to be invisible.

Once dressed Jungkook made his way to the door and grabbed the handle, surprised to find it locked upon turning it. He wringed it about to see if it was only stuck, but it didn’t budge. Namjoon always unlocked the bedroom doors at 7 am, and he never once had forgotten. Jungkook pressed his ear up to the door. There was a distant chatter coming from the kitchen that he couldn’t quite make out. Maybe all that time playing invisible had got him forgotten. When there was a lull in the conversation Jungkook knocked three times on the door, hard. The house had fallen silent and Jungkook knew he had been heard. He contemplated knocking again, harder this time, but was afraid to get punished further, if his locked door was Namjoon’s form of punishment for something. He plopped himself back down on his bed. There was nothing to do now but wait.

His room wasn’t particularly interesting, it was designed to be that way with nothing but the necessities. The only thing that made it identifiable were the carvings above his bed he had done one night after being punished for not sharing his dessert with Yoongi. He had felt sick with the chocolate cake in his belly, so he stood on his bed to carve a picture in hopes that it would distract him. The carving was of the solar system, planets surrounded by stars and swirls that not even Jungkook knew what they were supposed to be. When Namjoon saw it he was furious for a moment, but not even he could deny the beauty and wonder one has looking up at the sky, so he offered to buy him paint to bring color to his creation. Jungkook had joked that he could do it next time he got in trouble, but Namjoon didn’t laugh. He never did get him the paint like he said he would. Just as Jungkook’s eyes were beginning to drift closed, he heard footsteps coming up towards his room.

The pair of heavy boots made it to the upper landing of the attic and Jungkook could hear keys being rattled around, a gentle click as the deadbolt sprung back, then a smaller one as a second key was slipped into the door handle. Jungkook sat upright, finally fully conscious from his almost sleep, just as Namjoon pulled the door open. His face looked older than someone of 24, as if he hadn’t slept that night. It was the face of a troubled man, Jungkook knew that, but he also knew better than to ask. Yoongi stood behind him with an empty duffle bag, waiting for Namjoon to move out of the way, but his eyes were glazed over, as if he were still processing whatever was going on inside his head. Yoongi cleared his throat and Namjoon snapped back to himself, a more stern face taking place over his features.

“There’s been a hiccup in our plans,” Namjoon said as he made room for Yoongi to step through the doorway, throwing the bag on Jungkook’s bed as he did so. Jungkook looked at the bag, worried thoughts of Naomi running through his head, wondering if his prayers had not been enough. Namjoon stood silently, pretending not to notice the confusion and hurt on Jungkook’s face of being left in the dark once again.

“Cops. Pack for a week, be down in 5 minutes,” Namjoon offered before turning to leave, taking Yoongi by the shoulder and hurrying out the door, leaving the air silent save from a heavy sigh from Jungkook.

* * *

It was 4:27 earlier that same morning when Naomi found herself sitting somewhere with her eyes closed. She didn’t know where she was, but she felt no fear, just the undeniable stillness that surrounded her. Her age was undefinable, feelings of past selves and selves yet to come filling her up, which was how she at least knew she was herself. There were memories that she hadn’t made yet stuck in her mind that made her head hot when she tried to focus on them. Upon opening her eyes she found herself cross legged in a field of bright white lilies, so open and full as if they just bloomed. It was easy to breath here, so much so that she questioned if she had ever really breathed before in her life. Naomi got up and danced to the sound of nothing but the wind, letting the sun explore her body with hot fingers as she hummed a tune she didn’t recognize. That’s when she heard it: the sound of a gun going off.

Her eyes snapped open to see she was no longer surrounded by lilies, but by the charred branches of a burnt forest, embers still floating around while the heat from the dead trees continued to pulse. She looked down at her own hands, both gripped to a gun pointing out in front of her, still vibrating from the shot she must have took. She was scared, not of the burning mess around her, not of the smoke clawing into her mouth and lungs, but of the unknown thing she shot at. The only thing she saw, a curious thing at that, was a leftover lily from her previous surroundings. There was a compelling force that drove her to this lily, so much so that she didn’t feel the hot ground burn through her jeans as she knelt in front of this flower, this flower that somehow, despite the odds, was still alive. Naomi dropped the gun, reached one hand out to the flower, inches away from touching it before the shots rang out again, this time not from her.

Time slowed down so much so that Naomi could count each shot as they went off. She counted six, but only felt three. The last one, the lucky bullet to the hunter, tore into the back side of her neck. There was no time to question how she was still alive or who had shot her, in fact the only thing Naomi could focus on was the damned white flower, now covered in spatters of her own blood. A loud scream erupted from somewhere, and it was only after she was shaken awake she became aware that the scream was from her own throat, still in tact as she felt around for a bullet hole.

“Naomi” Hoseok finally shouted out, hands on either side of her body, his eyes full of terror. Her screams subsided as the real world began to swim around her: the dimness of the basement, her tattered pair of men’s pajamas, her ankle cuffed to the cot she had called her bed for the last few weeks. Her eyes focused back on Hoseok’s, still full of concern,

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” she muttered out, mostly to herself.

Yoongi cocked his head to the side before physically shaking it out of his mind. “Forget your dream,” he began, “we gotta go.” He pulled rope and a black rag out from his hip sack and made his way closer to the cot, Naomi recoiled in defense. She had been mostly free to roam the basement this last week, with someone on guard of course, and had gotten used to her hands not being tied around her back, and had not been blindfolded since her first night (only gagged once on one of her restless nights). The thought of going back, even though it was only for a scrap of freedom, could have made her cry if not for Hoseok’s hand on hers.

“It will only be for a little bit, I promise.” Hoseok tried to comfort her. She gripped his hand back, and though it was a silly thing to think of someone who was literally keeping you chained up in their basement, she trusted him. Hoseok was, in fact, the one she had gotten the closest with. Though she told herself it was just for means of survival and she’d slit his throat given the opportunity to escape, she couldn’t help but wonder if they would have been some sort of friends given any other circumstance. Was it weird to be thankful for having a captor that at least made being down there more bearable? Sure he recited strange scriptures and prayed to gods Naomi was unfamiliar with, but he also brought her cosmic brownies after dark and picked up random books for her at thrift stores. I mean, if she was going to be kidnapped at least she got some Hostess and Orwell out of it, not to mention someone she could get the daily news from.

Naomi let out a shaky breath before turning her back to both of the men. She didn’t really have any reason to trust them completely, they could be taking her to her grave for all she knew, but she was beginning to learn that some things were worse than death.

Hoseok tied the ropes around her wrists tightly, so much so that she knew she would lose circulation soon. She surveyed the room she had grown familiar with before Yoongi covered her eyes with the black cloth. Without word, Naomi was listed to her feet, both boys holding onto either side of her as they guided her towards the stairs, warning her before she tripped. The climb was slow as Noami fumbled her way up the steps, she would have fallen if not for either of the boys.

“Stand here” Yoongi said when they eventually made it to the top of the stairs, a part of the house Naomi wasn’t familiar with. Namjoon was there, angirly whispering to someone before he realized she was there. He informed her that they would be relocating her, but she was hardly paying attention. There was a smell of meat and vegetables, a home-like feeling, and when she slowly grazed her feet on the floor and felt the grooves in between the tiles, she realized that she was standing in their kitchen. Someone pushed her down onto a stool by her shoulders, causing her to almost falling over onto the floor.

“All the doors and windows are locked. Stay put, it’s for the better.” Hoseok whispered in her ear, the procession of feet leaving the room, their footsteps fading into a quiet cold. There was dripping from a faucet nearby, her breath and heart following it in its natural rhythm as she began to think. It wasn’t even moments after the men had left that Naomi started to feel around behind her, her fingertips grazing over the edges of a cabinet drawer. She twisted her fingers up in an unnatural way, desperate to get the drawer open. She didn’t know what she would find, but any weapon was better than none. She managed to open the drawer a few inches and sneak her fingers inside before a loud bump from the other room caused her to lean back and slam her fingers in the lip of the drawer. Naomi stifled her scream into a whimper, a cry threatening to break from her throat. When the house quieted again her fingers worked the drawer back open, feeling the top of its contents for something, anything. There were papers and pamphlets, cold bits of metal she presumed were screws, but nothing lethal, nothing that could injure any one of them. When footsteps began to draw closer she grasped at the first thing she could before shutting the drawer.

“Time to go.” This time it was Namjoon, his words cutting swiftly through the air.

Naomi’s heart leapt up in her chest, her skin prickling with anticipation. Maybe it was because of the way he spoke, maybe it was the fear of the unknown, or maybe it was because in her bruised fingers she held a small box. A small box full of matches.

* * *

Yoongi’s hands tapped the steering wheel in time with the music. The radio in the van was stuck on the oldies station, but he didn’t mind as much as the other boys did, it let him slip into a world of simple pleasures, one where he wasn’t driving around tied up girls in the backs of vans. Yoongi did his best to follow all the rules though he disagreed with almost all of them, like the one about stealing girls and making them some sort of weird prison wives. If he were to be honest, which he surely should always be according to The Good Book, Yoongi thought most of this was “a bunch of bullshit”. Of course there were no gods, no woman on the moon or sun that could possibly tell him what to do, but there was food, and a place to sleep, and he guess at one point it started feeling like family too. What was he to do? Leave his family when they started some sort of pagan ritual?

His eyes drifted to the rear view mirror where he could see a black outline slumped up on the side of the van. Naomi bound, gagged, and blinded, not to mention given a fun little blue pill that made her drool on the rag over her mouth as she dazed in and out of consciousness. Though it definitely was far from the worst thing Yoongi had done, taking girls always made him feel queasy. There was the chance of getting caught, sure, but every time he got away with it, he realized how much easier and easier it got. That’s what maybe scared him the most, the thought of doing this forever. Was this the price to get into heaven? Surely some of those amongst him thought that way. With every day that passed, Yoongi felt closer and closer to hell, unaware that hell, in fact, might be in the same van he was driving.

It was in fact that same tapping Yoongi had always done that rose Naomi into consciousness, before regaining some of her more important senses. It was no use trying to do anything this groggily so she waited, waiting still in the backseat for over an hour before opening the pack of matches behind her back. She took a match from the box and struck it against the box, lighting it quite easily. She held the flame up to part of the rope, but it wasn’t strong enough to light the ropes. Naomi’s heart began to beat faster, her plan crumbling in front of her. Yoongi turned a corner fast, causing Naomi and the van’s other contents to skid around. She skated against the rough metal bottom of the van, biting her gag to stop herself from yelling out in pain. Her fingers felt around for the box, but only felt a few loose matches that had been thrown around the cabin. She grabbed four of them and struck them against the side of the van, hoping to at least light one of them. One of them must have lit, because she felt the heat on one of her fingertips, causing her to drop the matches. She cursed herself in her head, feeling defeat wash over. Naomi was barely able to fight back the medicine anymore, sleep desperate to pull her back under. When she was sure she would pass out, she felt heat next to her. She stuck her hand out to see what it was, only to stick her hands directly into a fire that started in the back of the van. She pulled her hands back in a snap. There was no time for rational thinking anymore, Naomi shoved her hands back into the fire and bit back a scream. She held her hands inside the flame as Yoongi continued to drive.

Tears spilled from her eyes as she felt the flame against her fingers and wrist, a pain so hot it was cold, but still she held it. It took all she had left in her to pull her arms apart to break the burning ropes, her flesh flush up against it. They broke in a snap, causing Yoongi to turn around and witness Naomi’s hands free by her sides. He saw it now, the news reports if he got caught. He was alone. They’d call him a creep, that he liked to take girls. It couldn’t end for him like this, not if he could help it.

He slammed on the brakes, causing Naomi to slide forward as she started to untie the rest of herself. She saw now a stack of magazines in a small fire in the back of the van, and hurried to work on the ropes on her legs. Yoongi ran out of the driver’s seat and to the back of the van, flinging the doors open, but Naomi was already there. She kicked him in the face and he fell to the ground as she fell out of the van. Yoongi grabbed her leg as she scrambled over him and he pulled her down before throwing himself on top of her. They wrestled around on the side of the road for a few moments before Yoongi yelled out a barking “Wait!”

She hit her arms against his chest before he pinned them down.

“I said wait!” he yelled again.

“Why would I fucking wait?!” she said back, arms still straining against his.

“Let’s make a deal,” he offered.

“This isn’t a fucking game.”

“No, but I know a way you can make good from all this.”

Naomi stopped pushing against him and looked up at his twisted grin and pleading eyes.

“You just have to wait a little longer,” he continued.

“You want me to go back to being kidnapped?”

Yoongi let go of her arms and sat over her. “Yes,” he said unblinkingly.

Naomi squinted her eyes up at him before asking, “What’s in it for me?”.

130 notes · View notes

incarnateirony · 5 years

Note

i think there’s a distinction that needs to be made. i think those with power over dabb & co are the ones who are exuding more habits of queerbaiting, while dabb and co aren’t. and because those execs are more or less invisible, the blame/fault is put on dabb as he’s the perceived figurehead of everything in the show when he’s not. anything he may want to put in the show can be easily vetoed by a higher exec so

Okay so I said I wouldn’t touch related issues facing wanky-side, but while this runs the line this is such a genuine, and valid thought process it feels worth addressing.

So in short: Yes. But no. But yes. But no. But we’ll see.

What do I mean by that? I’m going to put this behind a cut. But first of all I want to thank this Nonnie for at least trying to critically think about where the problems lead to. This is FAR BETTER CRITICAL THINKING than I see in this discussion most of the time and this. More like this. Nuance, discussion, idea trade, history. Let’s do it.

Okay, so.

How can it be yes no yes no maybe eenie meenie miney mo?

Because it really depends on what part of this 15 year legacy show we’re talking about.

What I’m about to say isn’t going to be popular, but I’ve said it before, I just can’t find the ancient ass post discussing it.

We’re going to rewind. Like, a fucking lot. A lot, a lot. This is going to be a history ride, and you’re probably going to wonder how it connects to the conversation at first, but bear with me.

Ignoring any personal frustrations I have with the casting of season 4 – frankly a chapter of this FUCKING show that haunts me somewhere in the ballpark of, “If my friend wasn’t dismissed as not white enough and got the role, would we have Misha, Destiel, any of this, would the show be on, would she have been chased off as the other actresses?” – and frankly these are the things people don’t even fucking *think* about.

TLDR a bajillion years ago CW made a casting call and we got this super cute character named Anna that Dean was slated to bend over in two seconds flat, as old canon used to be before modernly growing. The actress expressed discomfort, and frankly went over with the audience about as well as wet cardboard. And like, while I agree that a lot of women were hated for misogynistic reasons in this show, she really was about as interesting as a plank of plywood to me once she got past her first performance or two.

At the same time, this handsome bastard named Misha Collins auditioned for a bit role originally intended for 3 episodes and quickly extended to 6. But, identified as lightning in a bottle and with on-fire chemistry, while Anna waffled for *several* reasons, summarily, their story ends swapped. That’s… not like *exactly* what happened but it’s *basically* what happened. Anna became the herald and contagonist instead of Cas, and Cas quite frankly took on the role of the goddess.

With Lisa already entered before Anna, there’s no evidence whatsoever she was intended as endgame. Story flip. Thank you for everything last night on earth fall by angel banishing almost like this was foreshadowed woohoo! But… don’t lend towards a relationship. No point. Given, they made a few jokes on set at that point, but it wasn’t really an idea *they thought anyone took seriously*.

Coming from a phase where most of the leads were introduced to “slash fandom” by Wincest, which they literally used to torture and prank each other, the idea of this being anything serious really wasn’t on their radar. The one I remember most was Misha choosing to sit on Dean’s side of the bed as Cas in the famous “What were you dreaming about?” and Sgriccia being like “that’s kinda gay” “nah keep it”

I mean, is that… queerbait at that point? I don’t think it’s fair to really call it that. They respectfully tried to scrub out the leading romantic edges from what would have been Anna’s story, but ultimately, the human psyche kind of recognizes 8000 years of storytelling history subconsciously when using the Hero’s Journey narrative, so it was resonant. Nobody was crazy for seeing it. That didn’t mean it was right, that didn’t mean it’s what they were consciously leading anyone for.

Hell, Jensen didn’t even know what the fuck Destiel WAS until season 7 (”Deathstiel?”) due to the way cons, circuits, and fansites kept the conversation force-muted at that point. Anything they had floated somewhere in the area of “hah that is kinda gay I guess”, and even that there’s no evidence of being frequent.

Kripke left, the show petered, social media was new, and summarily, Sera Gamble was a dumbass and listened to the wrong crowd that seemed super big back when big accounts were a whole 10K followers and you had 50 asshats screaming as a coordinated group about Ruining The Show™. Ratings tanked, somewhere between Misha being fired and the show turning into a parody of itself with dick jokes that made it seem like Gamble was trying to target 11 year old boys for her audience, and like, that’s it, that was the season.

Until that nosedive spiral essentially turned into a shorthand apology reversal, a panicked and roughly written script that was *SO GAY* that *EVEN MISHA FUCKING COLLINS* couldn’t seriously choke out the dialogue. It was cheap, it was out of character, and as Jensen put it, the dialogue might as well have had him petting and sobbing into Castiel’s coat while essentially being like I SLEEP WITH YOUR COAT EVERY NIGHT TO REMEMBER YOUR SCENT UWU and shit that just LITERALLY vaulted from alien fascinated staring into desperate teenage gay drama in the body of a 30 year old man.

So yeah. Did I consider it reasonable to change that? Fuck yes I did.

Was what Sera Gamble did queerbait? Yes, actually. And she did it again in the Magicians. You see, Gamble had fucked over an audience, and then tried to exploit that audience in reverse when she realized she fucked over the *wrong* audience, but had zero intent of fulfillment.

And then magically, Sera Gamble didn’t fucking work there anymore after a whole like, year and a half as showrunner.

Now, at the same time, Dawn Ostroff was leaving the CW. Jensen’s had some pretty fierce words about Dawn Ostroff not understanding the show and how to manage it, but whatever. Bye, Dawn. Hello… MARK FUCKING PEDOWITZ. But at the same time, WELCOME BACK CARVER and most of all HOWDY DO NETFLIX, so nice to make a guaranteed deal with you (that ended as of this year due to a CBS merchandising meltdown).

When Carver came back, he said a lot of things. He… very tactfully called Gamble’s era trash by phasing it like “:) Watching the show :) since I left :) I realized :) a lot of our mythology :) has been difficult to follow :) so I went :) back to basics :) please help”, and others, like mentioning he had a three year plan on his desk. So 3. Season 8, 9, 10. He had notes for his S10 finale in mind and everything! Great stuff.

Now the fandom, at this point, generally didn’t pay attention to the network or production. In fact, the actor worship around here is some other kind of wild and I don’t know how after 15 years people haven’t figured out that it isn’t how to go about paying attention. Either way – plot switches, showrunner switches, author switches, and NETWORK LEADERSHIP SWITCHES.

Now, this little part here is speculation – but I am 99% sure that when Carver was pulling SPN out of the cancellation toilet, he had bigger things to inform the new execs about than “btw I might make it gay.” Like “Hey, since CW just got its netflix deal, if you give us another year we can import fresh demographic while bringing back Collins’ old fanbase by setting him back as a regular.” SURE, SOUND GREAT, MAKE MONEY, THX.

Cool. Cool. Make sense so far, you still with me?

Because at this point, S8 into early S9, fandom had gotten itself into all kinds of a stir. It was about to go canon, rite nao, said a bunch of bloggers, who at that point WERE pretty much chasing wallpapers and Tshirts and making the most bizarre uncorroborated parallel interpretations like “IF U PARALLEL IT TO MOBY DICK-” WHAT WHY WHERE– ??? BUT cAS = fISH

Okay, my fucking annoyance at what counted as lit crit in those days aside, we’ll get back on track. Everybody started vibrating for this shit because, you know what, S8 did resonate pretty strong, almost like authors were toying with ideas. I’m not gonna get into stuff about Robbie, I THINK fandom knows the statements he’s made and I don’t just mean the whole Destiel being canon tweet both antis and bitters descended on him to eviscerate him about. About what? Calling it queerbait!

So here we go, the great advent. About a year after a dramatic network shift, a CW exec was like :))))))))) I’D LIKE TO LEARN ABOUT THIS FANDOM THAT IS SUDDENLY MAKING ME MONEY!! WHAT SHOULD I DO??? TO TWITTER! HASHTAG TALK TO THEM!

[logs in]

Beep boop. “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” “Destiel?” the FUCK is a Destiel? Wait what no I don’t know what you’re talking about representation isn’t our intention with these characters. “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT” “QUEERBAIT”

And then the network exec got so slammed he deleted twitter entirely and everybody popped confetti and felt accomplished and did NOT realize how fucking BAD that was. And frankly, anyone that did kinda didn’t want to admit it, because taking responsibility for that tire fire was… not… attractive. In fact, several folks are still around to this day, bitter blogging or making weirdass meta or accusing other people of wallpapers and Tshirts because that’s what they did so *YAY, PROJECTION!*

My own frustrated bitterness aside, I’m going to place some questions down, and not so much answer them as, now that the reader has really taken history in, let them decide:

At this point… is this queerbait?

Because this is when the queerbait yelling began. It’s when every fan with even a moderate platform or site blasted it out there.

It’s when the fandom made DeanCas a big problem.

And it’s also literally the same time Carver left his very first recorded, known direction with a romantic tilt, “The note I got from Jeremy Carver was to play it like a jilted lover, so that’s what we played there,” on LGBT author Bobo berens’ very first episode. Everyone runs circles around that modernly, or goes “SEE??? QUEERBAIT!” without realizing what the FUCK just happened here.

So, SPN went from cancel rating line to their most successful show between 7 and 9. Suddenly corporate sees their successful product *ON FUCKING FIRE* so do you know what happens?

Fuck it this IS one line I’ll break: Corporate panicked. They changed their press packets. If you noticed a bunch of media-adjacent people and their friends suddenly get bitter as FUCK in season 10 after still surviving the S9 mess, here’s fucking why. Because now that everybody spent the last YEAR trying to burn down the product yelling about shit that corporate had been literally blindsided by, they added temporarily a new section to the packet that included sexuality. They were, at that moment, suddenly listed collectively as heterosexual men. SEE, WE AREN’T QUEERBAITING IF WE TELL YOU THEY’RE STRAIGHT *will smith pose*

Congrats fandom, you have now officially made Destiel A Huge Problem™ to the corporate behemoth behind the shiny pictures. The iron curtain dropped. This is what you could call “Protect the Product Mode” if you will.

Now again, at this point: Is it queerbait?

Because at this point, S9-10 was rolling out. We all know it, Cain, Collette, *gestures off into infinity* But let’s fall back to Carver’s statement. 3 years. 8, 9, 10. You know what else happened season 10?

A bunch of shit, including shit Carver *wrote himself for the season 10 finale* got filmed, then cut. Coincidentally, it was all very gay shit. Things that pulled forward the Crowley/Abaddon Cas/Colette Sam/Abel parallels, arguing over who was who’s boyfriend, Rowena mentioning about them both being shattered at the Altar of Winchester (15.3 is calling), the secret admirer dream, I could go on. I mean, this shit literally would have shifted the entire storytelling arc to full-frontal taking that parallel and addressing it right up in your face. First you’ll kill your mistress but you’ll get it done, and then you’ll kill your wife. He’s your boyfriend no he’s YOUR boyfriend. You’ve BOTH been shattered at the Altar of Winchester. Really, this is what you dream about? Your secret admirer Cas?

K? K. K?

Is it queerbait for Carver to have entered with a plan? Is it queerbait for Carver to have been interrupted on that plan despite attempting to pursue it? And is it queerbait for the network to still lock down on that plan so close after the event?

You see why this conversation gets increasingly complex.

S11 rolled around, Carver was half in half out, Dabb was stepping in, big gay heart songs, take what you will out of that entire mess, and by S12 Dabb entirely took over and we started entering the era we are in today.

So let’s address where we’re at today.

Now :) I can’t say anything for sure :) because anybody that’s been to or worked on marketing stuff definitely has an NDA :) but let’s play for a minute. Let’s say with the stone wall up, a set of creators still wanted to actually *go somewhere* with this story.

“But!” remembered the network, “Remember the tire fire?! And all the people that hated the gay?! What about our profit?!”

“No,” a creator might say, “Tides have changed.”

“We’ll see,” a network might say, “Take it to market testing.” At which point, one would enter a few years of polling how the general audience reacts to this.

Now, if they were seeing promising numbers, they might be given a bit of rope. Why, let’s … just pretend. Totally. Totally pretending. That Dabb pitched this idea to take up Carver’s mantle. Let’s say that started S12ish when he took over. Let’s say they ran through hiatus. And then… authors might be given a little bit of a line. “Looks good, but we’re not sure,” said a network quite fond of its split conservative/liberal demographic, “Try it out a bit and see how it goes.”

And so an author room that would be full of LGBT creators fed out good faith groundwork. They might even be like YALL ITS NEVER TOO LAAAAAATE TO START ALL OVER AGAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN and just throw their whole boy howdy cowboy into that shit and get great ratings.

What if even if the results came back positive leaning, the network ho’ed and hummed and stayed noncommital? Might the creators scale it back while still writing it lowkey just in case they got flashed a greenlight? I know I sure would, woudn’t you?! Or I guess would you prefer we drop the whole thing cold and stop writing anything vaguely in the direction?

Difficult question, in reality, isn’t it?

So in this TOTALLY HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION, this leaves the authors holding the bag, waiting for a sign, and being held with limitations. And just in case anybody thinks “BUT AUTHORS CAN DO WHATEVER THEY WANT!! AND!! OTHER SHOWS!!!”

K have we come down to reality yet? So, sure kids, try the gay, we’re interested, but you can’t like, go Full Gay Frontal with it. You gotta imply the gay. Wouldn’t want to offend conservative america! Besides! We’re totally exploiting marketing making this LGBT content for you over here! *jingles a carrot on a stick* LOOK AT HOW MUCH WE’RE FLEECING ADVERTISING PROMOTING ALL THIS GAY STUFF FOR YOU AREN’T THE RAINBOWS GREAT?

Some creator of limited LGBT content: How’s the marketing looking?

Some network: EH! We’ll see!

Some creator of limited LGBT content: K guys we’ll scale it back to not upset them but don’t drop it.maybe we can have them hold hands at the end or if we’re lucky maybe they’ll say we can do the whole thing

Some LGBT creators: K

Making sense still? STILL WITH ME?

So at this point… is this queerbait, or is this business?

Put aside the emotional reaction. Realize this really only hit scale in S9, hit front line S10, and hit potential corporate discussion in this TOTALLY theoretic universe around S11-12. We’re talking 3-4 years. Not 10. And we’re talking only a few of it really being tested.

So again I ask, history minded: Is this queerbait, or is this business?

That’s where the nuance and complication comes in, and let it be said I am in no way defending the CW. I fucking hate the network. They have literally personally screwed over real friends of mine and I hope they choke on a whole bag of dicks with their bullshit, but honestly, the shit I have seen and heard would make people stick their heads in the sand like scared and ashamed ostriches for every time they trumpet “BUT OTHER SHOWS” – you don’t know what’s going on in those shows. You don’t know how they’re getting hardballed on budget decisions, you don’t know what that show’s marketed demographic is about, you don’t know what they demand cast how, you literally don’t have a fucking idea unless you’re up in that disaster zone.

And even IF you’re in that disaster zone, unless you’re truly in the upper echelon, you only know so much.

Now let’s pretend, again, totally metaphorically, and absolutely not inspired by a real person at all, that someone worked with the crew for a while and, because they saw support inside creeping upward siiiiince mmmm gosh we’ll say season 12 since that’s our advent and totally not when anybody specific started working there and telling fandom ladder fans what they thought they saw going on, only to get sad and bitter and angry and eventually leave, and all those friends, still abiding old bitterness from S9~, now get angrier because of somebody else’s burnout on their ITK level and perspective, even if that was *probably* aggravated by other work stress conditions as well, but hey! WHO KNOWS!?!?! :)))) What a weird hypothetical though and I’m getting weirdly super specific on it aren’t I so LET’S MOVE ON.

We’re in S12-13 discussion category now.

So my question is, from this perspective… when do you call queerbait? When not swept up in misguided hysteria… at what point do you say “Yeah, you know what, yup, that’s all queerbait”?

So we’re gonna take a bit of a break here for a second and really process all of that hypothetical world, where a creator pitched going for it, and got it put into market testing, and was given enough rope to hang themselves on if the network changed its mind.

After only a few years of conscious thought on it… do you even think the network is truly consciously misguiding specifically those fans, or do they see it as giving the fans something they want while testing the idea of possibly truly giving it to them?

Because here’s what fandom misses – the corporate perspective. And again, I’m utterly not fucking justifying the CW as a whole, but people look at this from the angle of fans, and then argue what they think is representative dialogue from the angle of fans, often while missing all of this history. All that history up till S9? That’s all very real. But looking at history in perspective… who are you going to blame for that? Is it fair to hold S4-9 to that five year stretch of queerbait when that was… pretty much fandom manufactured from blissful ignorance to begin with? I mean if you want to go yell at Sera Gamble Specifically okay (please don’t) but beyond that like– that shit? Is that anybody’s fault? Do you blame a company for actually shutting DOWN the talk of it on a press angle? Can we call that and S10 queerbait then? Was Carver’s attempt at writing through it queerbait? Was trying to continue the story in S11 after theoretic shutdown queerbait? These are all genuine questions that are not asked enough. Most people don’t even realize they need to be asked.

So back to Totally Theoretic Land, where S12ish market testing would have been going on to see if people really thought it was Gay N Shit. Like a lot of people in an overwhelming majority after the amount of apprehension the straight old dude running the network has ever since the goddamn tornado of horse shit that happened like a year after he took over. Probably not the fondest fucking memory for him either. Probably also why he dismissively called most of that demographic “casual fans”, because in Smug White Guy Brain, “tru” fans would have all known, I guess, exactly the shit I’m telling you in history backtrack so, look at the silly girls wanting the gay shit :) Ahhhh girlllllls

Okay so, my impression of douchebags aside, let’s give it 12-13 hiatus to give the first test rope lead and 13-14 hiatus for the next, only to have at best noncommital and uncertain numbers and authors, theoretically, cautiously pulling back while writing it as generally established and implicit, as if it might, I don’t know, go from BIG GAY DRAMA to DEADASS DOMESTIC all of a sudden despite ITS NEVER TOO LATE TO START ALL OVER AGAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN cuz get it, they started over, after he came in his room and played him. *elbows* You all get it right?

K. So maybe numbers changed. Maybe they don’t. Maybe I’m not comfortable talking in this hypothetical, maybe I don’t have access to this hypothetical AU’s current marketing data as of this year, I just don’t know! We don’t know where those cards fell.

But if, at this point, after 2-3 years of market testing, and leading authors on, and giving them enough rope to hang themselves with to get themselves accused of queerbait just for trying to lay good faith groundwork for a cohesive narrative, because fans don’t care that 2 open closet LGBT authors are on deck or that there’s totally theoretically probably and in no way fingering anyone at least one closeted author on deck, or at least publicly so, their coworkers would probably know. But I mean. That’s just. :) statistics. Right?

K whatever moving on. If at this point they’ve been boggley bounced around… you know, I gotta say. At this point… I might actually call queerbait if the network stonewalls it. At this point, they’ve had a few years to really get their shit together, and if they’ve just used it to play yo yo with LGBT creators trying to make content then yeah, go suck a whole bag of dicks.

The problem being with the lack of nuance in this conversation, you’re right, Dabb and co would catch it rather than the guilty party, which is why I HATE faux activism culture. If you’re going to be an activist pay the fuck attention to what you’re being an activist in, don’t bite the hand that’s feeding you just because it was a PBJ and not filet mignon, go after the bastard 1%’er that’s eating all the goddamn filet mignon. But nobody will. It never works like that. And then everybody wonders why this continues – be it in this show, or on other networks.

But hey. Maybe this theoretic network got enough material to change their mind. Maybe another executive got promoted that might help one of the other creators argue it to corporate with their new shiny title. Maybe they can convince someone. Convince them of what and to what level, who knows. Maybe just continue telling the established story, give them a divorce, mention marriage, divorce, dead wives, breakups every 0.2 seconds while they go through a classically framed dark point in the romance everybody with brains and eyes understands because, again, historic storytelling we literally all recognize, but pretend we don’t when stomping about personal representation lines? Or hey! Maybe it’ll go further. (Don’t hold your breath.) Throw in some other shit that even a straight guy would look at and be like “two dicks one chick that shit’s gay bro” because WE LITERALLY ALL FUCKING KNOW WHAT IT MEANS EVEN IF IT’S IMPLIED BECAUSE THE NETWORK IS A BUNCH OF PUSSIES.

…*stops, breathes*

If you can’t tell this is a very long term topic of frustration to me, because nobody, absolutely nobody, wants to introspect and think, you know, maybe it wasn’t queerbait back then, maybe we SHOULDN’T have set a corporate exec on fire about it, that might have been fucking bad.

There are other ways to be an activist than to scream queerbait into the void at whoever is unfortunate enough to cross your paths. One of the best examples I can remember is Exorcising Emily collecting demographics on fandom, and testimonials from LGBT fans about resonating with the content – no fanfic, no fanart, no attacks – and sent copies of this to several powerful creative names.

Now… if with this history… if, from season 9 to 12… one of those names became a creator. If, by some FLUKE of imagination… he still had that book around… and even gave it to his freshly joined new employees like 2 weeks after they started working there–

oh wait and i oop

The mentions would be much as you expect, antis screaming and demanding her job (QUICK, somebody tell Andrew Dabb that she’s READING ANDREW DABB’S OWN BOOKS THAT HE CHOSE TO KEEP AROUND FOR THREE YEARS).

Has Dabb’s era seemed… more plugged in? More resonant? Better and stronger in its storytelling? More hooked into fandom?

See, that’s what well thought activism can do. Well thought activism can structure an entire movement. Poorly thought rioting thinking itself as activism can cause the literal opposite effect of what it wanted. That is how these things contrast each other. And that is something fandom needs to DEEPLY consider.

…but is it queerbait for him to try to continue the story? Even if, say, we drop the marketing talk, because TOTALLY nobody can ACTUALLY know because AGAIN anyone that DOES would have an NDA so we DEFINITELY can’t say anybody knows anything for sure, because anyone that said jack shit would probably get sued so hard their descendents down in whatever homo superior evolution 1000 years into the future would feel it, so you know. We’ll put aside this totes theoretical shit and ask

…If he just was told no– would you prefer to just drop the storyline entirely at this point?

Again. Genuine question. And difficult. And something poorly thought queerbait screaming can actually cause, too.

So here we are in the land of the final season. Whether you consider it network queerbait or not – again, they can choke on the whole bag of dicks at a network level for all I care for ANY number of reasons, even well beyond the domain of Supernatural, and may all their bacon burn from here into the next life – it’s a lot more complicated than fandom has ever let it on to be, because letting it on to be what it really is, in full perspective, also demands a lot of introspection and acceptance, and we all know nobody in this fandom can ever make a mistake ever and they’re all fucking perfect darlings.

It’s a complicated answer to a simple idea… and unfortunately I don’t think this fandom will ever really sit here. They’ll yell “VICTIM BLAMING” because it’s buzzy, they’ll yell “HIDING YOUR GAYS” which I mean, yeah, but let’s talk about what led us here. They’ll yell a lot of things. But they will rarely quietly think, and study, and hone down to what’s going on in the world out there beyond what they have, at this point, become obsessively hotlocked on.

Supernatural, as of 15.7, has already taken several steps further than it ever is before. No, that’s not a signal of me saying [Your Personal Goalpost] is going to happen. But it’s a sign that if they have a line, they’re testing it with every strength they have.

Going back onto the Fateful Advent: Cain. The mentor– who was never going to stop; I can’t stop samuel; he was never going to stop; I will never stop; Rowena, the mentor, never going to stop, shattered, at the altar of Winchester. Long ago, when Cas was human, Dean sealed him away, and now, he’s doing the same to him. So Shirt Of Bad Decisions Deanmon basically karaokes with his friend like the Crowley days, REPEATING the Crowley dialogue but infinitely harder to dodge, as if some sort of calculated method of cat’s cradle of How To Write The Gay was discussed. Man, whoever wrote that kind of shit would probably even publicly thank whatever big gay mastermind helped them map out THAT level of stuff. Wouldn’t it be funny if most of that shit had been written by a gay dude that’s still around and it’s still popping back up in the show louder and harder to dodge than before? That’d be fuckin’ wild, man. Oh, fucking WAIT.

And this is why I hate the way shipping culture thinks it’s doing activism. Most of the time it’s cosplaying as an activist and at this point it’s become more of a furry convention than it has any kind of organized rights movement. Nobody’s out here fighting for the rights of these LGBT authors this year, nobody’s helping them get a voice, and in fact, often scream at them or bury what voice they’ve had as not enough.

And I want to fix it.

Desperately.

And frankly, I don’t know how anymore.

But what we’re not talking about is some 3-5 year show that came in early and started intentionally fucking at you. We’re looking at happy coincidences, so let’s check with our gay king, the father of Wayward that everybody coincidentally accepted as canon with far less because of a (meaningful) third party line DeanCas had elsewhere but hey it didn’t have antis so suddenly it counts; let’s check with him about that.

That’s my king. That’s my king that wrote the first recorded episode to be intentionally directed as jilted lovers. My king that gav eus Colette. My king that gave us the mixtape. My king that gave us the PR framed breakup. My king that gave us Cas leaving Dean. That’s my King. That’s my gay king who has been fighting his ass off, only to be hung out to dry by a fandom that doesn’t even care to look where or how to scream, or maybe consider that perhaps screaming isn’t the option.

Is he yours yet? Have I broken through to a single soul on this?

That’s my king who wrote about the necessary evils in 2003, before the youngest in this fandom were born and while many were still in diapers or kindergarten; about the unfortunate necessary evils that he loathes and acknowledges about moderate queer content gaining exponential amounts of platform compared to whatever is considered hardline aggressive at the time, about how that incrementalization is what helped our media landscape evolve to this day.

And he isn’t wrong.

And he’s getting roasted for doing just that.

And I really wish I could just psychically make everyone fucking stop.

But I will say one thing.

“It’s network queerbait!” I mean

Yeah

That

Because… realistically? like 99% of modern queer content is queerbait, even stuff with canon queer content.

ESPECIALLY on the CW.

If you’ve noticed CW panicking the last year and trying to slap rainbows and DARE TO DEFY on everything, it’s because their entire fucking ecosystem just got fucked over by CBS wanting 100% merchandising profit like it already took 100% digital profit and Netflix was basically like “miss us with your bullshit” and broke the CW contract which was *HOW PEDOWITZ BANKROLLED MOST OF HIS NETWORK*. Now? Now CW has to carve a niche. So LOOK AT ALL THE FUCKING PRIDE COLORS ON– OUR– STRAIGHT–CHARACTERS??? BUT WE HAVE GAY ONES LIKE LEGENDS OF TOMORROW AND *flips notes* THAT SIDE CHARACTER LESBIAN ON SPN.

*gets a whisper* What they killed her? Shit. Maybe bring her back. AND THERE’S THIS PERSON OVER ON JANE THE VIRGIN oh that just got cancelled uhhh VAMPIRE DI-wait fuck. Well we’ll just make one of the chicks in this shitty charmed reboot CBS just forced down our throat and killed Wayward over, that’ll fix it *jazz hands*

TV is a business. Businesses make money. The entire LGBT battle is basically us industriously proving we can make money. It’s about rights and visibility on our end, but on their end it is *always* about money and I really don’t think anybody really groks what that really means.

So “it’s the network! Queerbait!”

…yeahhhhh.

…welcome to working in television. Now you just have to sit and think about how many other times this has completely missed your radar.

The network will never get a shit about you, they give a shit about your money, and that’s just the reality of capitalist america whether we like it or not. When it’s 2143 and bernie sanders’ floating head in a jar is president and andrew yang’s base income shit is in effect and we’re all a socialist country and the world has figured out how to run high cost businesses like TV on the power of unicorn farts, they might actually give a shit. But they don’t. There may be a few advocates WITHIN the company that do, but as a whole body, the network will never give a shit. They don’t care if you’re black, white, straight, gay, disabled, male, female, beyond what, explicitly, that totals to in dollar signs depending how they feed you, when and where.

So it’s not like... *just* a queer rights issue, it’s an “Anything Trump’s America may consider offensive on their television” issue. It’s businesses weighing who they think pays their bills while making it and beyond that who they think is the safest investment to make the most money.

As a side note: Personally, I’d consider it dumb as fuck to not do it. SPN will taper within a few years down to just trekkie-esque addicts unless they find a way to get a new burst of viewership and boy howdie do I hope so, but how much Pedowitz overvalues the conservative US demographic, or certain international markets, I don’t know. I’m not in his head and I don’t have this year’s marketing numbers beyond basic live, +3 and +7 ratings, and digital calls. And just general nielsen released demo. But how he’s added that all up? Can’t say. And I sure ain’t gonna bank on him not being a dumbass, when he’s famous for it, so don’t go get your hopes up either.

#supernatural #representation #queerbait #intersectionality #business #corporate #marketing

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the-goddamn-queen · 5 years

Text

The Girl I Thought You Were

Bucky Barnes x Readers

Warnings: swearing, brief death/torture mention, zero knowledge of the legal system

Word Count: 2058

Summary: Scoring a position working for the Avengers reveals a lot more about your past than you anticipated.

A/N: For @sunmoonandbucky‘s 1.5k Constellations Challenge! My prompt was the Legally Blonde line “if you’re going to let one stupid prick ruin your life, you’re not the girl I thought you were.” Post-Endgame, but no one died.

You were lucky, you suppose, with the job you’d managed to find. The snap yanked you out of your senior year of college, and when it spit you back out, you didn’t have a degree or the money to finish it.

A non-descript assistant position wasn’t exactly ideal, but it was something, plus they were offering housing for people who’d been ‘blipped.’

You walk up to the shoddy office building, second guessing yourself at every step, but what other choice did you have? You reach the door and give it a firm tug, stumbling backwards when it doesn’t open as you expect it to. You try a few more times with the same result. Had you gotten the time wrong? The address? What this a set up? Your anxiety spikes, and you begin to back away when an Irish woman’s voice prompts you for your name and appointment time.

You manage your name through chattering teeth. “I-I’m just here for the assistant interview.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Stark’s 3:00.”

Mr. Stark? As in Tony? It couldn’t be.

The door swings open of its own accord to reveal a completely normal office space.

Completely normal, that is, until you step through the hologram straight into a very high-tech elevator.

You barely have time to register the change before the door slams behind you and the elevator starts to drop.

A few moments later, you’re spit out the other side of the elevator into a surprisingly plush conference room.

“Six months away from graduating top honors in political science and intelligence from Columbia University. What happened?”

You snap from your daze to focus on the voice in front of you. The man who spoke was still covering his face with your file, but you’d recognize his voice anywhere. “You’re Ironman.”

“And you were on course to be recruited by the CIA. What. Happened?”

You cleared your throat in attempt to rid your voice of any nervousness. “The university wouldn’t reinstate my scholarship when I, uh, came back, and I didn’t exactly have the money to finish paying since my accounts had been closed for…five years.” It felt weird saying it out loud.

Tony dropped the file to look you over. “Well that’s shitty.” His blunt choice of words shocks you a bit. “I’ll have to have a word with board about that one.” Tony stands and flicks his wrist, opening up a holographic screen that he starts tapping on. “Don’t worry, kid, you’ll get your degree.”

“Mr. Stark, I don’t understand. Is this part of the interview?”

“Interview?” He shakes his head. “No interview. You have the job,” he says as he rounds the table, “this is more of an…” he gestures vaguely to the room, “orientation.”

“So, am I to be your assistant, Mr. Stark?” you question. You’re still pretty confused considering the situation.

Tony gives you a strange look. “Assistant? Is that what FRIDAY posted?” He huffed a laugh and went back to punching at the hologram. “And you can do away with the formalities, kid, ‘Tony’s fine.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

Tony waved away the floating screen and faced you. “I had FRIDAY mockup an ad to attract you specifically,” he said pointing at you, “which is funny to me ‘cause your resume’s too damn good for an assistant.”

You stiffen. He was right, of course, but your field wanted a degree. “Who’s Friday?”

“My assistant.” He takes a step forward and claps a hand on your shoulder making you jump. “And you’re our new government liaison. Welcome to the Avengers.” He pulls away. “Let me show you to your room.”

The fake office/bunker, it turned out, was temporary while the compound was rebuilt, and being the government liaison basically meant you were the face of the Avengers during negotiations. And no matter what you said, Tony insisted that you were the only person for the job.

You were pretty sure, though, that he was just desperate because the first assignment he gives you is the renegotiation of the Sokovia Accords.

You spend the next month pouring over the original documents and interviewing various Avengers for affidavits.

Steve and Natasha help you outline the full events of the Battle of New York, Wanda gives her own account of the battle with Ultron, and Bucky, poor Bucky, gives you every single detail of how Hydra tortured and brainwashed him.

Clearly, he liked talking to you, though, because after that, he started stopping in pretty regularly, bringing you food, coffee. One time he actually brought a pillow to your office because he caught you asleep on your desk.

A few days later, he brought a blanket.

The day before the hearing, he brings you two takeout boxes and two forks.

“Am I supposed to double fist this orange chicken?” You’re surprised manage humor through your focus.

“Of course not.” He drags a chair from the corner and plops down across from you.

You glace up, brows furrowed. “I’m done with interviews, you know. You don’t have to hang out with me.” You weren’t trying to kick him out or anything, you just didn’t want him to feel obligated.

“Yeah, I know,” he replies with a mouth full of food.

You stab your fork into the chicken. “Why do you keep doing all this?”

“Why do you keep doing all this?” Bucky counters, gesturing to the plethora of notes you have laid out for tomorrow. You’d been studying them since daybreak to make sure it was perfect.

“It’s my job,” you say defensively, shuffling some of the papers out of his reach.

“A job that you’ve repeatedly claimed you’re not qualified for,” he points out.

“I’m just anxious, okay?” You sigh. “I’ve been going over old videos, and there’s this one fucking senator—”

“Who’s not there anymore.” You both know why. He was Hydra.

“Sure, but there’s always going to be more like him.”

“Look, if you’re going to let one stupid prick ruin your life, you’re not the girl I thought you were.”

You look up at him, shocked by his choice of words. “And who, exactly, do you think I am?��

“Why’d you take the job?” It wasn’t a question, really. He believed in you, they all did, he just wanted you to admit it.

“Well,” you have to word it right, “my parents were SHIELD—”

“You’re lying.”

Your eyes pop. He knows. Of course, he knows. Who else does? Tony, probably. Nat, definitely. Columbia, for sure. It was the real reason they took your scholarship, well before Thanos got to you. The history wipe, the name change. None of it could’ve lasted, anyway.

You take a deep breath, eyes down. You’re not sure you can look at him now.

“My parents were Hydra.” You steal a glance. Bucky’s eyes are sympathetic. You wonder if he knew them. “Hardly knew them, though.”

“You grew up in the Red Room.”

You nod. “I escaped when Hydra fell. I wanted to be better. I had to be better.” A tear drips onto the corner of one of your pages, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “But I’m a fucking pariah.”

You feel Bucky slide one of his hands into yours, and you squeeze down, using it as an anchor as you sob. “Me too.”

You stutter and look up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” He shakes his head to cut you off. “I just tried to hide it but I couldn’t keep it up I got found out and kicked out –”

As you ramble, you don’t notice Bucky rounding the desk until he wraps his arms around you, effectively shutting you up.

You instinctively reach your arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder as you cling to him. “I just wanted to start over.” He lowers the two of you down until you’re practically sitting in his lap, your face still buried in his neck. Bucky smooths his hand over your back as the tears die down.

“You’re gonna get your second chance, doll,” he whispers into your hair, “that’s why you’re here.” Then he adds quietly, “that’s why we’re all here.”

You could almost feel Secretary Ross’s eyes burning a hole into your head, but he’s not your problem at the moment. The panel of senators sitting in front of you were much more important. You’d given them everything, you just hope you can handle whatever they throw back at you.

A few of the committee members that had been convening finally pulled their heads away from each other. One of the women leaned into her mic.

“Miss, is it true you were once part of the Soviet training program ‘The Red Room?’”

Your heart clenched. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And how did you find yourself in this program?” she pressed.

“I don’t see how this is relevant—”

“Just answer the question.”

You take a deep breath and glace over to Bucky. He offers a warm smile, nodding at you to continue. He has faith in you, it’s all you need.

“My parents were members of the shadow organization, Hydra—”

“The Nazi organization—”

“If you would allow me to answer your question, senator,” you fire back, “and if I remember correctly, a number of your colleagues were involved in Hydra as well.”

“They are answering for their crimes—”

“And my parents died for theirs.” A stunned silence fell over the courtroom. “They threw me into the Red Room when I was three years old. Hell bent on turning their own daughter into a weapon.” You were half standing now, but still leaned in on your mic. “They ruined my life. I carry no allegiance to them or the organization that tried to brainwash me and countless others. I was lucky. I escaped and got to go after my second chance. Thanks to the Avengers, we all got a second chance.”

It starts with one person, but it doesn’t take for the entire gallery to erupt into applause. The committee head practically has to yell into his mic about reconvening the next morning. It wasn’t over, but you sure as hell made an impression.

“Don’t you think this celebration is a little pre-mature?” you ask as Tony hands you the glass bottle.

“No way, kid,” he insists, “you earned that beer. You did us proud today.”

You smile and start to turn from the bar but stumble back when you smack straight into a pillar.

“Shit, sorry, you alright?” Oh, okay. Not a pillar. You look up.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, not realizing you still had a hand on Bucky’s chest.

He smiles down at you. “Walk with me?” He offers an elbow.

“Sure.”

The two of you wander the hallways for a while before you stop him. “You knew me didn’t you? In Hydra?”

Bucky parts hips lips for a moment and then nods, and you see his eyes get glassy.

“Bucky, what is it?”

“Nothing, really,” he shakes his head and you can tell he’s fighting tears. “Yeah, I knew you.”

“I didn’t know you though. Bucky why are you crying?”

A tear escapes and he chokes on a sob. “Because I watched you die.”

You feel it then. The echo of the electricity weaving its way into your head, latching onto bits and pieces of memories and frying them into obscurity. The realization hits you, and you grasp at Bucky’s face, forcing him to look you in the eyes. You let the blue run over you until your own tears start to fall. “I didn’t die,” you reassure him, smoothing with wet cheeks with your thumbs.

“They let me think it killed you.”

You choke out a laugh. “You know it takes a hell of a lot more than that to kill me.”

He smiles at that and pulls you a little closer. “You really are the girl I thought you were.”

You take a deep breath and lean in just enough to press you lips to his. Bucky sighs into you and returns the kiss. The two of you stay that way for as long as possible, letting the connection work a balm over the charred parts of your brain until all that was left was the memories of him.

“They made you forget me,” he murmurs against your lips.

“I could never forget you.”

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier imagine #the winter soldier fanfic #avengers #avengers fanfic #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #1.5kconstellationswritingchallenge

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satanschild01 · 4 years

Text

No All Might? That’s Alright Prt3

Izuku Midoriya Fanfiction

A/N: In all honesty this took me way too long just to finish writing this chapter, but I pushed through so I guess it’s fine. I’ve created a AO3 account recently and I’ve posted all of my previous fanfictions there so if you want to check me out, you can find me as SatansChild

Hope you all stay safe and wear a mask if you can't physically distance.Hope to update soon!

Catch you on the flip side ~ Em

Photo used in this fic was referenced from original picture from anime, I did draw this photo jtlyk

Tags:

@random-fandom-girl-24

Tags for some wonderful feedback😘: @trashys-things @pink-imagines @marvelmymarvel @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @spaced-out-imagines @marvelmymarvelmain @writingfreakk

Trigger warning: Talk about death

Word Count: 2633

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

After making sure all of the blood was no longer on his uniform, Closing his eyes, Izuku steeled himself to walk into the All Might shrine that was his room. Sure, he still wanted to be a hero, and he admired All Might’s strength, but he couldn’t stand to be surrounded by posters and figurines of a man who couldn’t offer any sort of encouragement to a child who clearly needed it. Izuku pulled some cardboard boxes out from his closet and started filling them with everything All Might. Oboro didn’t make a sound during the time he cleaned out his room, which he was grateful for. Even though he could just feel Oboro wanting to ask questions.

“So what are you going to do about all this stuff?” Oboro asked as Izuku changed his All Might sheets with regular black ones “You seem like such a big fan...it just seems like a waste just to keep it all in boxes.”

Izuku shrugged his shoulders.”I’m not much of a fan anymore.” he lied to mostly himself rather than to Oboro, “I guess I’ll just donate the stuff later.” Once his walls were finally bare, Izuku stuffed the now full boxes to the back of his closet and flopped onto his bed. The room stayed silent for a moment until Izuku broke the ice, “I don’t want to intrude on your personal life…but can you tell me about yourself?” he asked

“Well for the fact that I witnessed and helped you with some pretty deep stuff, it sorta would be rude if I didn’t tell you something about my previous life,” Oboro said cheekily

“H-how long have you been...you know…” Izuku paused not really wanting to complete the question.

“...dead?” Izuku nodded “I was in my second year of high school when I died and I would be 29 by now so...close to 12 years I think?” Izuku sat there on his bed frozen

‘12 years is a long time to be a ghost or spirit to not have passed on, that is if people actually pass onto another place once they die’ Izuku thought to himself

“I was patrolling around Tasomiya Ward with one of my best friends when there was a villain attack...I was working on saving some kids when debris fell on top of me...when I woke up I was like how I am now, I couldn’t find my body anywhere so I just...travelled around…” Oboro seemed to quiet down at mentioning that he never found his body to move onto another life, so Izuku thought of ways to change the current mood of the room.

“So you were a hero in training or something?” he asked, face full of wonder, Oboro hummed in affirmation “What school did you go to?”

“I went to U.A”

“Wait really?!” Izuku exclaimed excitedly, “that's so cool!”

They continued talking and asking questions back and forth, before falling into a comfortable silence. A few minutes past before Izuku took a deep breath

“I...I’m sorry,” Izuku said quietly, slowly curling into himself

"Why would you be sorry kid?" Oboro’s voice was full of confusion. But Izuku only curled in on himself further.

"If it wasn't for me you wouldn't be stuck here." As if anyone wanted to be bound to some stupid Deku...like him. And here he thought it was a whole coincidence that Oboro was with him. But instead, he just took whatever type of freedom he had to begin with.

"Hey, no! Stop that. Izuku that's not true! I'm here because I want to be!" The warmth spread all over him and he couldn't help but lean into it. “I said I'd make a hero out of you and I still plan on it."

Izuku looked up only to see the ceiling of his room, lifting his arm up to the sky and let it just float there (like what every kid does while laying on there bed contemplating on what to do next). "I wish I could see you again."

Oboro hummed. Seeming to think something through. "I don’t think there’s much out there since I was only a second-year when I died, but there could be some photos of me with friends or an article"

Izuku seemed to take that as a challenge as he went to his computer. "What did you choose to be your hero name?"

"Loud Cloud."

After scouring the web for a couple of minutes nothing showed up except for an old article from the Nikkei Shimbun newspaper, reporting the death of hero-in-training Loud Cloud. Izuku quickly exited that site choosing to search for something different. “What’s your full name Oboro?”

“Oh that’s right I didn’t tell you my full name, it is Oboro Shirakumo” Oboro replied

“Oboroshirikumo...oboroshirikumooo….here!” Izuku exclaimed pointing at the monitor’s screen. “This photo was tagged saying ‘Curry eating competition at U.A’s School Festival. Winner Hizashi Yamada from class 2-A!’ it also says the names of the people in the photo are; Shota Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, and Oboro Shirakumo.”

“Oh, I remember that!” Oboro cried out laughing “The curry was soo spicy I was freaking out because I couldn’t find anything to soothe my burning throat!”

“So that’s you in the back then?” Izuku asked pointing towards a teenager who seems to be freaking out.

Oboro chuckles “Yep, the other two were my best friends!”

“Yamada looks sorta familiar what’s his hero name?” Izukku asked, curious on why the 16-year-old looked so familiar to him

“Unless he changed it before becoming a pro, which he probably would not, his hero name is Present Mic.”

Izuku sputtered “W-wait you were close friends with THE Present Mic?!” Oboro hummed in agreement while Izuku had his miny freak out “

“Oh my god that is socool!Ilistentohisradioshoweveryday,andhe’ssuchanamazinghero,likeevenifheisdeafduetohisquirkhedoesn’tletitbotherhiman-” He stopped hearing the sound of laughter coming around his room and his lamp flickering

"Aw jeez, that’s amazing Hizashi got to get that radio show he wanted." There was a quick blast of warmth flooding around his back and chest resembling a hug. "Well anyway, you should probably head to bed. You have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow and a long way to go before you can have a chance at being accepted into UA!"

"What are you going to do while I sleep?" Izuku asked, eyes slowly drooping.

"I'm going to see how far I can go without being next to you, and have a look around and exploring a bit. No need to worry. I'll make sure to be careful and be here in the morning." He seemed to pick up on his anxieties. Izuku felt warmth as Oboro slowly pet his hair back. "Goodnight, Izuku."

The next morning Izuku woke up to warmth pulsing on his right cheek. "Hey kid it’s time to get up! You have training to do! Up and at ‘em!" Oboro’s voice was overly joyful and Izuku felt very unwilling to get out of bed.

"Mm...just a bit longeeeer." He groaned turning himself over facing away from where he guesses Oboro is standing (floating?).

"Fair warning Izuku my jokes are terrible, everyone at school would always runaway once I started and I haven’t been able to talk to actual people in so long! If spaghetti were to have it’s own action movie, what would it be called?.... Mission im-pasta-ble. What did the pot eat on it’s birthday?....pancakes. What do you call a camel in a drought?....A dry hu- "

Finally, Izuku jerked up, covering his ears. “Okay. Okay, I’m up! No need to finish that.” His face started to burn a light pink across his face, (knowing what the end of the joke was) as he started to kick the blankets off only to turn towards the window and see barely any light outside. "Wha- Oboro!! The sun isn’t even out yet!"

He turned glaring into thin air hoping to make contact with him.

"Yes, it is, Izu. It's just reeeally early in the morning. There is plenty of time for you to get ready and eat before we go out for a morning run!" He was being weirdly energetic about the whole ordeal, but Izuku knew he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Heading to the bathroom, Izuku ran a brush through his wild curly hair and brushed his teeth. Going back to his room, Obroro pipped up. "It's a bit cool outside so I suggest you wear some long sleeves."

The entire way to his closet Izuku muttered incoherent things. In the end, he opted to wear a plain black shorts and a long-sleeved shirt with written kanji saying 'tank-top' with his old dusty sneakers because his red sneakers were still on top of the roof.

Before heading out Izuku ate some toast and an orange. If he got hungry later on their run he could always eat more when they got back. As Izulu started to leave the apartment Izuku tripped over an unmarked box that was just left in front of the door.

"Ooo I wonder what it is!” Oboro seemed quite enthusiastic as Izuku went to open the box revealing his faded red shoes and yellow backpack.

"Wai-how-who found my stuff?" Izuku asked immediately putting the bag by the door and quickly changing between uncomfortable and comfortable shoes.

"I don’t know, when I got back from wandering around the package was just...there."

"Maybe someone found it and found out where I live from my contact info and address was written inside…?” Izuku wondered out loud.

“I guess so,” Oboro said looking to the bright sight of things.

‘But what if it was...All Might. Yeah, I’m glad that I don’t have to go back up there to collect my things but...I don’t want to have to depend on All Might to help me with my own problems.’

“Hey don’t think like that Izu! I know you’re not a huge fan of the guy, but you don’t have to beat yourself down like that. I know you’re better than that” Oboro spoke sternly trying to make a point, but that soon backfired as warmth spread through his body.

“Hold up- could you always hear my thoughts?” Izuku questioned as he started to jog away from the apartment.

“So far I can heat some things. Like your thoughts that way heavily on you emotionally. But it could possibly work to talk to me through your mind. So you don’t look like a freak talking to themselves.” Oboro quickly informs Izuku as to not worry him.

Sighed Izuku. That was true. Though he kept thinking about it as he jogged. As they passed Dagobah Municipal Beach, the sun had started to rise. Taking in a deep breath was the wrong reason as Izuku cringed from the awful smell of garbage. Despite the smell, Izuku took a break, taking a seat at the entrance.

"Oh gross. What is this place?" Oboro asked with a clear sound of disgust in his voice.

"Well," Izuku started."This is Dagobah Municipal Beach Park. It has accumulated trash coming from the sea for years, turning it from a beautiful beach spot into a trash heap for everyone's unwanted or broken belongings." It was really a shame. As a kid, Izuku recalled going to the beach. Lie under a beach umbrella, making sandcastles. But by the time he was tall enough into the water, it was already flooded with trash by then.

"That's terrible." Oboro seemed deeply upset about this actually. It made Izuku want to do something about it. But before Izuku could voice his thoughts Oboro spoke up.

“Hey Izu, could we make a quick visit to a convenience store?”

“Sure...what exactly do you want me to get?” Izuku asked, despite having an idea what Oboro was thinking.

“Well...you’re going to need to get some garbage bags and some gloves.”

Izuku then dashed towards the nearest convenience store with determination in his eyes. A frail-looking lady turned the key to open the doors as he walked by. Causing her to recoil in slight shock, Izuku realized that with his rapid approach he had frightened her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'd just come to purchase some garbage bags and some gloves.

The older woman seemed to soften something about his face as she smiled and opened his door. "Sure thing, they’re both in the last aisle on your right."

Before she went inside, Izuku thanked her and smiled back. He quickly found what he was looking for and brought a box of trash bags and a pair of workers gloves onto the counter.

"What's the hurry, son? Why do you need trash bags this early in the morning? You aren't trying to cause trouble are you?" the old woman pointed to Izuku with an accusing finger, and he shook his head quickly.

"Oh no, ma'am! I thought that I could just try and clean the beach up! I passed it while I was on my morning run!" Izuku assured, voicing Oboro’s plan

At this, the elder woman gently smiles while scanning the items. “Wow, is that right?” she said astonished, “ You know how long that place has been a mess? What makes you believe you can do it all by yourself?"

Her words weren't really painful, she was just being realistic. He knew she was right. He certainly had no obligation to clean up the beach. He could have just ignored it and easily went about his day. But he knew if he wanted to be a hero then he would need to start off the roots of how heroes came to be. How they used to work. Heroes in the beginning didn’t do what they did for fame. No. They didn’t care for the recognition they would get. They did it because they just wanted to help.

“That’s the thing, ma’am. I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s also a great way to work out, instead of having to buy workout equipment or get a gym membership!” Izuku brightly smiles towards the lady as he handed her the money to buy his items.

“Well, I wish you luck, kid. I’m guessing that you’ll need a place to put the trash you collect.” She stated, Izuku smiling sheepishly at her rubbing the back of his head she continued, “There are two dumpsters in the alley behind the store, they get taken every Monday.”

"Thank you, ma'am!" Izuku said genuinely as he headed for the door. He didn't think too much about how he would dispose of the garbage, so it was good to have one offered.

Oboro began to laugh as Izuku jogged back towards the beach. "Cheaper than having to buy workout equipment or get a gym membership! Man, how true that is nowadays!”

The first garbage bags were packed very quickly. broken bottles, cans of beer, old and rotting newspaper, all of it was poured into the trash bag. Plastic, paper, glass, etc. Izuku could take them to a recycling center! He was already pumped about this new project when Oboro spoke up.

“Hey, Izu, before you toss that into the bag” placing his hand on Izuku’s making him feel warmth blossom closest to the soda, can packaging he was holding in that hand. “make sure you cut each circle so if they end up in wildlife again then animals won’t get their heads stuck inside.”

Izuku's eyes lit up as he started to tear apart each loop before placing it in one of the bags used for recycling. Soon Izuku had used up a quarter of the box of trash bags gone and only had 6x5 feet rectangle cleared of the beach.

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william-blackwell · 6 years

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The Hat Man: Guardian Angel or Devil?

Who is the Hat Man? A guardian angel or the devil in disguise?

According to numerous reports, he’s a mysterious spirit entity who often visits people in their bedrooms at night. Sometimes he terrifies them. Other times he leaves them with a sense of peace and calm.

What does he look like? He’s a black, shadowy apparition, darkly cloaked, wearing a wide-rimmed black hat resembling a fedora.

What does the Hat Man want? To some he’s the devil in disguise, a grim reaper of sorts, and a harvester of souls.

Some believe he preys on fear, striking you when your defenses are low and you’re down and out.

Many people report seeing him in their waking lives. Some even claim he’s trashed their houses and tried to strangle them to death in the middle of the night.

According to Heidi Hollis, author of The Hat Man, The True Story of Evil Encounters, he’s not only real, but he is the devil. She writes, “Victims worldwide have reported seeing this man peering into their homes, their bedrooms, their baby cribs, their cars and even—their souls.”

Some have been able to defeat him by calling out the name of Jesus, or having their homes blessed, while others, according to reports, just beat the crap out of him. Some simply order him out of their homes.

But others claim the Hat Man is a guardian angel, whose purpose is to protect them from harm.

The Hat Man is often seen with his band of followers, the Shadow People.

Where did the Hat Man come from? Where did the Shadow People come from?

According to Wikipedia, shadowy entities are “the perception of a patch of shadow as a living, humanoid figure, particularly as interpreted by believers in the paranormal or supernatural as the presence of a spirit of other entity.”

Some researchers claim shadowy entities date as far back as 300 AD. Wikipedia says, “A number of religions, legends, and belief systems describe shadowy spiritual beings or supernatural entities such as shades of the underworld, and various shadowy creatures have long been a staple of folklore and ghost stories.”

There are other theories about the origins of the Hat Man and the Shadow People.

A neurological theory: Shadow People and Hat Man images occur during sleep paralysis, a mysterious sleeping disorder occurring in that transitional stage between waking and falling asleep during which a person becomes completely immobilized and often sees frightening images. According to the neurological theory, these shadowy entities are merely the manifestation of a sleeping disorder and by extension nothing more than a product of the subconscious mind.

A religious theory: Shadow People are the evil minions of the devil, sent to snatch our souls and drag us down into the bowels of hell.

Another religious theory: Shadow People are guardian angels, sent from heaven to protect our souls and shield us from evil.

The scientific theory: Some physicists believe that unexplained forces are causing other dimensions to merge with ours. This merging of different dimensions would explain why we can only see the Shadow People and the Hat Man as shadowy figures who have the ability to transcend our laws of gravity, float through walls, fly, and change shapes at random.

According to this theory, the Hat Man and the Shadow People are the extra-dimensional inhabitants of another universe or another dimension. That’s why they can disappear and reappear in the drop of a hat. Or maybe in the drop of the Hat Man.

Regardless of what theory you subscribe to, one thing is certain. The Hat Man and the Shadow people drive terror and fear into the hearts of some, and peace and joy into the hearts of others.

Doing research recently on my soon-to-be-released supernatural thriller, The Dark Menace, I posted a blog asking people to tell me their experiences with the Hat Man and the Shadow People.

Needless to say, I received a lot of responses—some terrifying, others heartwarming. Here are some excerpts:

1.) Rather frightening:

When I was around four, I think at the time my parents were going through a divorce. I was sleeping on my mom’s bed one night and had to go to the bathroom, so I got up and went to use the bathroom and she was still sleeping. I came back and fell back to sleep. I woke up to a pitch black shadow of a man staring at me at the edge of the bed. It felt like an eternity, he was staring. My whole body was frozen with fear. He started growing in height, almost reaching the ceiling. At this point I turned my body and fell back to sleep. The next night I woke up and felt the urge to walk to the living room. I walked to the living room to see a shadow man at my front door. My dad was sleeping on the couch. I tried waking him up. I tried pushing at him, and to no avail. He wasn’t waking up. I walked back to my mom’s room to sleep, hoping it would go away. I looked back to see the shadow person staring at my dad.

2.) On a more positive note:

The Hat Man visits me nearly every week in lucid dreaming. And I have only good experiences with him. We just talk normally and I often ask him questions. For example, I ask how he comes to my dreams, who he is, and so on. Once he showed me his tarot cards. That was funny. I always try to look in his face, and he looks like an Arabian type of man. But I want to mention, that he’s not the only Hat Man. He has a brother, too. They are very different.

3.) Somewhere in that mysterious twilight zone between black and white:

Hey, I have seen the Hat Man. He was on the left side of my bed but when I awoke and saw him. I did feel an intense sense of fear. I began to think that fear was created by myself over time. I was sleeping next to my partner and we were going through a troubling time, when I saw the Hat Man I saw it wasn’t me he had interest in but my partner. It’s very strange because I couldn’t see his eyes but I knew he was looking at him. He was there until I managed to panic and turned on the light. I have never seen him again but on occasion I think about him and wonder if he will reappear and why he did. I was scared at first but now I feel he is of some good. I am unsure. This was in maybe 2011. I was sexually attacked by a man that year. I put him behind bars for seven years but I felt strong, like I knew I could do it, but then suffered a year with anxiety and depression. Did he cause this? Or was it a warning? I am unsure. I am mentioning this due to other related aftermaths.

4.) Now that’s downright chilling:

He’s from the Void/VALE of DARKNESS. I saw the hooded man/grim reaper. I saw two of them when I was 6 years old and I was shaking and heard whispers and voices and I had a severe high fever. I was hallucinating with nightmares and night terrors. This happened back in 2004 and after that the next day I was blacking out in the morning. I had to go to the doctor. I almost died in that experience.

5.) And on the flipside:

I’ve seen the Hat Man four times in my life. The first time I was about 6 years old, and the sighting snapped me awake from a dead sleep. The next two visits followed that night closely (maybe within 4-7 days apart from the first visit). Seeing him the first time, the tall, dark shadow figure, wearing a fancy top hat, absolutely petrified me. The next two times he woke me from a dead sleep, dressed the same (trench coat, top hat, beard, kind features) and wasn’t in shadow form. I wasn’t afraid of him at all, and actually rather drawn to him. I felt like he was an old friend in this form. I won’t go into much detail but these two accounts are drilled into my memory as something spiritual and friendly. Now, the fourth time I saw him was a few days ago (some 30 years later), back in shadow form, just watching me sleep. I wasn’t afraid and felt oddly comforted. My research the past few days has been really surprising because I’m not finding any other stories of people with good experiences with the Hat Man. Surely, I can’t be the only one?

No, you’re not. Researching the strange Hat Man phenomenon for The Dark Menace, two things became abundantly clear. Some view him as evil, others as good.

I certainly don’t have all the answers, but have you ever thought about this: Maybe it depends on your perspective. Are you glass half full? Or glass half empty?

In The Dark Menace, I take a deep dive into these questions and many more. The culmination of over six months of research, this supernatural thriller endeavors to find answers to a strange and mysterious real-life phenomenon that has haunted and terrorized thousands of people around the world for centuries.

The Dark Menace short synopsis:

Mysterious and terrifying attacks by the Shadow People and the Hat Man lead a nightmare-plagued man to suspect an enigmatic doctor has accidentally opened a portal to Hell.

#hatman

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andrewmoocow · 6 years

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Gravity Soul chapter 10: Weirdmageddon Take Two, Gravity Falls No Longer Safe? (originally posted on September 28, 2018)

AN: And so begins Weirdmageddon once more. Greetings loyal readers to the final arc of Gravity Soul. With Gravity Falls now no longer safe from the madness of Kishin Cipher, the Mystery Meisters now fresh off of rescuing Pacifica must find another place to hide from him and pull off one last plan to stop him. Also in this arc will feature the usage of the Vigenere cipher which means whatever word that is highlighted in bold in the author's notes will be the key needed to decipher it. But enough for now, let's all return to the BUNKER. TIZOXZNYF DLV EUEUIJU MRMVVUM JOVV UBBEKYU NB LI CPMG LYK GCANMEH NUOQ TPGRC EK B WBCX KIY XOIGFL AOZVS CADIEEYQ DLVN NB LI WPOAN FLU HBG MK'T NUO SKIYE GEP BLBERU

They thought it was impossible. They thought they would come out of that mansion with at least a few physical scars. But no. They received mental scars instead from what the fusion of the dream demon and the Kishin inflicted on them. The rescue party looked upward at Kishin Cipher cackling maniacally with his head tossed back and hands in the air. He had won and Weirdmageddon began anew. "W-we lost." Kid stuttered in sheer disbelief, at both the monster's victory and his previously unknown connection to Asura. "And did he just sing a big musical number about how everything has gone to hell now?" Black Star wondered. "I mean, it honestly was a catchy tune, but was it necessary?" Stanford and Maka on the other hand had their backs turned away from the others and mourned the sacrifices of the people they cared for the most. Ford had lost his brother, his best friend, the very person who had spent thirty years trying to rescue him and now in a cruel twist of irony, he was the one that needed saving now. Maka had lost her weapon, her partner, the boy who had put his life on the line for her own safety, and now he was gone. "Soul..." "Stanley..." It wasn't long before the two of them embraced while breaking down into tears as the others looked on. Dipper tipped his hat in silence & Mabel cried as well and Crona & Spirit, the only family Maka had left now, tried to comfort the girl. "So where do we go from here?" Wendy asked. "FOOLS!" Excalibur cried breaking the silence. "There's no use in staying here now that Kishin Cipher's reigning supreme, so I suggest we find somewhere to hide." he declared. "But where? Pretty sure we can't go back to the Mystery Shack right now." Soos answered before the Holy Sword cut him off. "FOOL! Isn't there some kind of secret hiding place in these woods?" "Oh that's right, there's Ford's secret bunker!" Wendy suddenly realized. "We just gotta find it, rest up in there for a while and then form a plan!" she stated. "Good plan there Wendy, but where is it?" Tsubaki wondered. "The entrance's disguised as a tree, so we just gotta keep knocking on wood until we hit metal." "Yeah, Wendy's right." Dipper agreed wiping the tears from his eyes. "If only we still had Journal 3 with us, then we'd navigate it easily." he added glumly. Suddenly they all heard a rumbling noise that quietly erupted through the forest before an entire stampede of cryptids from across Gravity Falls charged right through them. "Hey pigtails, move it!" one of the gnomes shouted. "We're fleeing here!" a unicorn snidely added. "Whoa, what are they all running for?" Patty wondered. "And was that a unicorn?!" "You should get going too little one, Weirdmageddon is back!" a large bear with multiple heads stated before staring off into the distance with fear. "My lord, they're coming!" Just then, a group of demonic looking bears bounced across the trees with their teeth bared and eyes full of primal hunger. "Oh no, they're bouncing here and there and everywhere!" Soos cried. "Mass chaos that's beyond compare!" "Well what're we waiting for, to the bunker!" Dipper exclaimed preparing to lead everyone out of the forest before turning back to find Melody, Ghost-Eyes and Pacifica's mother still standing there. "Wait, aren't you coming?" "Sorry Dipper, but I think this might be too dangerous for all of us." Melody said. "We'll all still be here when you get back, hopefully." "Be safe out there Gideon." Ghost-Eyes said to his fellow ex-inmate. "You too old friend." Gideon replied and they fistbumped. "Pacifica, I want you to know that no matter how you feel about your father and I, we'll be there cheering you on against that monster." Priscilla said hugging her daughter. "And remember to thank your friends for saving us as well." "I will mother." Pacifica replied before they broke. "I promise I'll come back for you." Soos promised Melody. "I know you will dude." his fiancee replied and then they kissed. "All right, let's get moving everyone." Maka commanded and thus the remaining Mystery Meisters set off for the bunker.

"Anything yet guys?" Mabel asked as Black Star kept knocking on the trees hoping that one would lead them to the bunker. "Seems like we've been walking and hiding forever." "Nothing Mabel, we're getting in a rut." the ninja replied before they hid behind one of the trees away from the gaze of an Eyebat. "We need to be very very quiet everyone. Kishin Cipher's forces could strike at any minute." Ford stated quietly and they continued on their way. As the party snuck around the forest, they found numerous monsters unknowingly on their tail, such as a large humanoid vulture creature that made a strange whimpering sound, a strange dark blue android with a green symbol on its chest & red fins sticking out the back of its head, a bipedal jackal wearing a silver mask, a muscular humanoid beast with flaming facial hair & a burn scar over his left eye and many more, all looking to kill on sight. "Yeesh, these are nothing like what we've faced before." Dipper commented examining all the new beasts that had been unleashed when suddenly, he laid eyes upon a strange being whose body seemed to be made of various pipes. "And what even is that thing?" The boy felt himself edging into insanity little by little before he quickly covered his eyes in fright. "Hey guys, I think we found it!" Liz called pounding on a strangely metallic tree. "This seems like a good place to hide." "This is the exact place where I found Journal 3." Dipper stated. "I was only told to put up signs for Stan one day and then there it was. Where it all began." he explained. "We can recap last summer later, let's open this baby and get inside!" Wendy exclaimed preparing to scale it with her axe. "Wait, you're going to do it like that?" Black Star wondered. "Of course dude, it's how we opened it in the first place." the cashier said. "There's this little branch that's hiding a lever all the way up there." "Well there's no need for climbing, let a ninja handle this!" Black Star boasted using his ninjitsu skills to race up the tree and jump, grabbing onto the aforementioned branch and pulling it, causing the grass surrounding it to collapse into a spiral staircase leading to the entrance. "Boo-yah!" "Well hornswaggle mah goat-knees, just like old times!" Fiddleford exclaimed doing a quick victory jig. "Now come on sprouts, I can show y'all around!" With that, the hillbilly forgone taking the stairs and jumped down the entrance to the door. "Now come by, it brings back memories!" "Just as long as there's no dust to make me asymmetrical." Kid flatly stated walking down the stairs with the Thompsons behind him and soon, everyone else all except for Ford who was looking off into the distance with a solemn frown. "C'mon Mr. Pines, Kishin Cipher's minions could be coming any minute!" Eruka called for him. "Oh, terribly sorry everyone!" Ford stuttered trying to hide his emotional pain as booming footsteps sounded from afar. Luckily they were all able to get in and close the entrance behind him before one of Bill's henchmaniacs did indeed come across the bunker. "Uh boss, those mortals are gone!" the beast announced scratching his head with one of his eight-ball eyes becoming crooked. "Oh hush up 8-Ball, we can find them later!" Kishin Cipher said floating down to meet his minion's gaze as the other monsters roaming the forest gathered around their new master. "We'll focus on terrorizing all those stupid humans for now, but the reason why I broke you all out of the Nightmare Realm," the fusion stated before he stabbed a finger into his temple and rapidly drilled into it. "IS REVENGE!" The abominations cheered and chanted Kishin Cipher's name as one of the new monsters stepped forth. "Oh yes master, we are forever at your command!" the female beast cried bowing before him. "My pelt is now your pelt!" "Aw shucks Kaguya, you're just too kind!" Kishin Cipher complimented stroking her head and making her purr. "But my lord, what about those children?" a sharply-dressed humanoid being with a deformed face wondered. "Oh don't worry White Rabbit, I already got a few guys after them." Cipher answered before he projected an image of a snake, a spider and a scorpion crawling around.

Stepping further into the bunker, the Mystery Meisters finally came across the shelter which contained various weapons, food supplies and a small bed. "Wow, did you build this for some kinda apocalypse? If so, then I should've really brought a fire-shooting guitar along!" Patty exclaimed amazed at the room but Kid on the other hand wasn't as happy. "Did you even take symmetry into account Stanford?! Everything here is horribly unorganized!" he screamed trying to clean everything up. "Just messy, messy, messy!" "Looks like we're gonna be here a while. Who's up for some High-Flying Beans?!" McGucket asked rifling through their rations before he came across a familiar candy. "Hey waitaminute, is this my Smez dispenser? So that's where it went!" "Fiddleford's right, we might be in here for quite a long time, which is why I've gathered rations to last us until 2070." Ford explained. "In case any of us go hungry after like twenty years tops, we might have to resort to cannibalism." he remarked. "Wait, so we're gonna stay down here while all those monsters run amok?" Dipper asked. "We haven't lost yet Ford, we just need to think of a-" "WE HAVE LOST, WE LOST EVERYTHING!" the surviving great uncle suddenly exploded spooking his young partner and realized just what he had done. "Oh my goodness, I am terribly sorry Dipper! I didn't mean to blow up in your face!" "It's okay Ford, I know where you're coming from. It's horrible we lost Stan, but that's not important right now." Dipper reassured the older man. "Right now, we just gotta find a way to stop Kishin Cipher." "Thank you for that kid, but I think I should just sit down for a while." Ford stated taking a seat on the bed. "I still can't believe it, Bill took my brother after he spent years trying to bring me back." he mumbled. "Somehow I feel that is just cruelly ironic." "You talking about your brother?" Maka asked sitting down next to him. "I feel you Mr. Pines. In fact, I lost my weapon & best friend at the same time yet I'm not randomly screaming in everyone's face." she said. "I know Maka, but I've known Bill far longer than any of you." Ford said starting to choke up before crying. "In fact, I thought he was my friend." "Wait, what?!" Black Star shouted dropping a crate he was moving onto Spirit's foot. "You and Bill were actually bros once?!" he asked. "How long ago was it? Please elaborate." Stein said taking a puff of his cigarette. "It was when I was much younger, around Spirit's age, when I first met Bill." Ford stated beginning to reminisce on less traumatizing times.

"It was when I hit a roadblock in my research of Gravity Falls, and I thought there was nothing else left to discover until I met him in my dreams." Ford narrated picturing his younger self resting under a tree in the forest before the greenery turned into something bizarre. Examining his new surroundings, Ford then came face to face with a peculiar triangular creature who greeted him in a polite yet screechy tone. "Hiya smart guy!" the shape said, his voice echoing throughout the strange realm. "Whoa, don't have a heart attack! You're not 92 yet!" "Who are you?" the young scientist asked. "Name's Bill, and you're Stanford Pines, the man who changed the world! But I'm getting ahead of myself, let's relax." the creature, now named Bill, stated making a teapot and a chessboard appear out of thin air. "Have a cup of tea!" "He claimed to be a muse that chose one brilliant mind once a century to inspire. But of course it was all a lie." Ford continued in the present day. "I allowed him to take control of my body whenever he pleased. I trusted him like a research partner until I got a glimpse of Bill's true plans." Much later on, Ford and Fiddleford stood in front of the universe portal that they unknowingly helped Bill Cipher construct with a crash dummy for testing. "Are we clear Fidds?" the younger Pines asked his lab partner, who was unaware his foot got tangled with the rope tying the dummy down. "I'll take that as a yes! Ready and..." Suddenly Fiddleford felt himself sucked in along with the dummy when they released it, only saved by Ford at the last moment before the portal would swallow him whole. "I got ya buddy!" Ford shouted tugging the rope and pulling his partner back to the ground. "What is it? Is it working, what did you see?!" The only words that came out McGucket's mouth was complete gibberish before he rose from the ground, his eyes widened in horror. "When gravity falls and earth become sky, fear the beast with just one eye!" he chanted to Ford's confusion. "Fiddleford, get a hold of yourself! You're not making any sense!" Stanford cried trying to put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder before he jerked away. "This machine is dangerous! You'll bring about the end of the world with this!" a now paranoid Fiddleford screamed. "Destroy it before it destroys us all!" "I can't destroy this, it's my life's work!" Ford tried to argue but his words fell on deaf ears as his partner stormed away. "I fear we've unleashed a great danger on the world, one that I'd just as soon forget. I quit!"

"I never learned just what he saw on the other side, but speaking in present tense I can only assume it was one of Bill's hangouts." Ford concluded his story. "Well is there anything in this bunker that can help us?" Tsubaki wondered. "Maybe if we can go deeper we'll get some answers!" Free replied tearing off a porthole that led to another room, this one consisting of various metal cubes lining every last corner. Going through the porthole, the room seemed almost normal except for a particular design on one of the tiles. "This security room is designed to crush intruders who don't have a code to reverse it. Now be sure to not step on that tile." Ford explained before he pointed to that specific tile. "That is the tile that could seal your dooms if someone presses it. Got it memorized?" "You got it." Free stated before he tried to step on the tile. "Ooh, what's this button do?" he asked and Soos grabbed him by the arm, keeping him away from the tile. "Sorry dude, you don't wanna press that. Might kill us all." Progressing further, they discovered a surveillance room connected to what seemed to be a laboratory given the presence of various cryogenic tubes, one of which was heavily damaged. "Seriously, how the hell did you build all of this without anyone noticing? And where did you get all the supplies too?" Black Star wondered before noticing something odd on one of the screens. "Hey, get outta there spider!" he said trying to squish it and realizing that it wasn't resting on the screen, but inside the lab itself. "Uh, Ford!" "Something the matter Black Star?" Ford asked the ninja. "You ever got any giant spiders in here? Cause I've already found one." he pointed out, much to the scientist's shock. "My word, how did that thing follow us in here?!" Ford cried racing to grab a rifle. "That thing could be one of Kishin Cipher's monsters, so I'm gonna need some help!" "You can count on me Sixer! Like I said before, just like old times!" McGucket declared arming himself with his sonic banjo. "We're with you as well Stanford." Stein added already commanding Spirit to transform into his scythe mode. "Okay then, let's move out!" Ford declared before Crona stopped him. "Wait, what about us Grunkle Ford?" "The rest of you stay in here and keep watch while we're gone! If anything happens, be on your guard." Ford stated before he, McGucket, Spirit and Stein departed the observation room to hunt down the spider, leaving the kids, Soos, Wendy, Blair, Excalibur, Free, Eruka and the Mizunes behind. "So what do we do now? The grownups all leave to kill spiders and we're stuck here doing nothing." Patty wondered unknowingly leaning on a red button on the console, causing one of the tubes to deactivate. This tube in particular contained what looked like a frozen Dipper screaming in terror that was ready to melt. The real Dipper gasped in horror, realizing just what this other him was. "Patty, what did you do?!" "What did I do?!" the Thompson asked. "You just released an evil experiment that tried to kill us when we first came here dude!" Wendy answered. "You sure about that guys? Looks like a frozen Dipper to me." Liz commented. "Exactly, that thing's a dangerous shapeshifter!" "Well what are we waiting for, let's go kill it!" Black Star shouted picking up Tsubaki and charging through the door that led to the lab, pretty much knocking it down. The rest of the party followed him behind ready to take on the beast.

Meanwhile with Ford's group, he, Fiddleford, Spirit and Stein crept through a long & winding tunnel system in search of the spider. "I don't think I remember ever digging such an elaborate passageway in here." Ford commented. "Did you Fidds?" "Nope, not the slightest clue!" McGucket replied before he dropped down and sniffed the ground to track its scent. "Think it went thataway!" he shouted pointing in the next direction like a dog. "Good work McGucket, though I'm not sure if that was really necessary." Stein stated and they moved onward. Going deeper through the caves, the four finally found the spider in a large open space that made it ripe for the squishing. "Okay everyone, be silent. I've only got one shot at this." Ford whispered aiming his rifle at the giant spider. "Ready, aim..." Just then, a snake loudly hissed breaking his concentration and firing, sending the bullet flying across the area. "What was that?!" "I think that was a snake!" Stein exclaimed. "Wait a minute. Spider, snake." he muttered then coming to a startling conclusion. "Oh no!" "Something the matter Frank?" Fiddleford asked before his mouth was hastily shut by the Meister. "Don't make a sound, they might hear us!" he cautioned them. "And yet you're making a sound right now!" Ford replied. "Kinda hypocritical much?" "Touche." Stein responded and just then, they heard a woman say "Vector Plate.", spawning an arrow under them & sending them flying toward the snake & spider. "Is this the scientist you told me about dear sister? I never seen someone with six fingers before." the gargantuan arachnid remarked before it transformed into a beautiful pale-skinned woman wearing a long black sleeveless dress. Spirit & Stein knew exactly who this was. "Arachne?!" "That's Arachne? And they're sisters apparently." Ford commented getting up and dusting himself off. "I don't see that much of a family resemblance." "Hello again Meister scum. And I see you've brought some new blood for us." Arachne greeted Stein. "It certainly has been a while Stein, pity that you abandoned me when you fell to madness." Medusa added. "Listen to me Stein, don't fall for her games!" Ford cautioned the Meister. "From the looks of it, she could trick anyone and then backstab-" It was then Ford came to a startling realization. A genius scientist that became close with a manipulative creature colored in black & yellow that was slowly toying with him. Why did that seem so familiar? It was almost like reliving the time he spent working with Bill, believing him to be a kindred spirit. "Weren't you all supposed to be dead?" Spirit asked. "I was until my sister requested that our new master bring us back to life." the elder Gorgon sibling answered. "Wait, what do you mean 'us'?" Ford wondered fearing if she was talking about someone else. His suspicions were confirmed to be true as another witch, this one looking much younger than the other two with a bizarre covering on her head that resembled a scorpion's tail at the end. "Meet our youngest sister, Shaula." "Wait, there's three of them?!" Ford exclaimed turning to Stein and pointing an accusing finger at him. "You only ever mentioned the two!" he shouted. "Well to be fair, how she was defeated was pretty embarrassing." Stein tried to defend himself. "I mean, she was killed by students of the NOT class!" "Silence!" Shaula boomed glaring at the pair of geniuses. "Kishin Cipher has resurrected all three of us to be his loyal servants and our mission right now is to kill all of you & those brats as well." she declared. "And as for my humiliation, he made sure it won't happen again and made me stronger." "Heads up y'all, looks like we're in for a rumble!" Fiddleford exclaimed picking up his sonic banjo as the others took up arms against the Gorgon sisters.

Back in the lab, the remaining Mystery Meisters were now face to face with a currently defrosted cryogenic tube and out of it, came an exact double of Dipper looking furious. "You!" it shouted in a deep voice pointing at Dipper, Mabel, Wendy & Soos. "You forced me into that contraption and left me to perish!" As it spoke, the Dipper clone transformed into a white-skinned insectlike creature with misshapen arms, one more slender with three fingers & the other swollen with a claw. "And I see you brought some fresh new faces for me as well." "That's what that shapeshifter looks like? I would comment on how horribly asymmetrical it is, but I'm too horrified beyond words!" Kid squeaked fearfully as the Shapeshifter took on the form of Maka. "Now then, which one shall it be?" it wondered emphasizing each word by transforming into Crona, Black Star, Tsubaki, Kid, Liz & Patty in that order. "Why not everyone?" it emphasized some more by turning into Eruka, Free and Mizune before its form changed into a terrifying amalgam of everybody he previously transformed into making them scream loudly in terror. "KILL IT WITH FIRE!" Pacifica hollered grabbing Liz, turning her into her weapon form and fired repeatedly, but the creature dodged the bullets by zooming off. "Where'd it go?" the formerly rich girl panted dropping Liz to the ground. "More importantly, where did you learn to fire like that?" the cowgirl weapon asked. "Got it from all my experience playing Bloodcraft: Overdeath." Pacifica answered boastfully. "PLATINUMPAZ level 100 to be precise." "You're PLATINUMPAZ? That's why I always get creamed whenever I face you!" Black Star exclaimed. "We can talk about video games later dudes, anyone know where that shifter guy went?" Soos inquired. "And more importantly, did I always have two big sisters?" Patty added remarking upon the sudden appearance of another Liz. "That is utterly preposterous Patty, our Liz isn't nearly as busty!" Kid stated clutching both of their assets. "As we should know, you aren't very symmetrical! Especially your chests!" This observation earned him a good smack on the head from Liz. "Well this is something only the real Liz would do!" "Wait, if that's the real Liz, then who's-" Tsubaki asked before she came to a shocking conclusion. "Oh no." she muttered frighteningly as the second Liz laughed before it transformed back into the Shapeshifter. "You discovered me far too easily!" it said. "But enough about you, I think it's about time I get revenge on you Dipper!" "Get back everyone, I'm going in alone!" Dipper ordered bravely picking up Excalibur. "Are you crazy Dipper?! Let me come too!" Wendy exclaimed pulling out her axe. "And us too, since we're going for a whole sharp weapons thing here!" Ragnarok added forming into Crona's sword. "Ah, we engage in a swords and sorcery type battle, I see. In that case!" The shapeshifter then formed a pair of its own swords out of its arms. "So be it!" "Okay change of plans. Me, Wendy and Crona will take on the shapeshifter while the rest of you take cover!" Dipper explained. "You got it broseph!" The others raced back into the adjacent room as Dipper made the first move, clashing Excalibur with the Shapeshifter's makeshift sword while Wendy scarred its other arm and Crona stabbing it in the back.

"I'm like really sorry for letting this happen guys." Patty hurriedly apologized dropping to her knees. "If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, just say the word!" "Hey chill out sis, it was just a button." Liz assured her younger sister. "And besides, it's not like you gave away something that could end the universe as we know it." Her comment accidentally sent shivers down Mabel's spine as she turned away nervously stroking her hair. She knew she couldn't keep mum about a certain event last summer no longer, but feared that if she spoke up about it right now it would result in being ostracized from her family. "Uh, are you okay Mabel?" Maka asked her. "What, no! I'm fine, perfectly fine!" Mabel exclaimed shyly, still not wanting to give away that secret she was keeping for months. "You know what would be great dudes? If we had some popcorn with us, cause this fight is heating up!" Soos exclaimed bringing attention to the fight going on next door. "Kinda like a fighting game!" "Yeah, get 'em Crona!" Black Star cheered the son of Medusa on. "Yeah, give that thing what for DP!" Pacifica added. "You can do it Wendy!" Soos exclaimed waving his arms around. "C'mon guys, do the wave with me!" Everybody complied doing the wave, all except for Mabel who remained silent in the corner and Eruka, Free & the Mizunes who had transformed into their animal forms and snuck away.

The four-way battle raged on with Dipper now getting a better grip on the sheer awesome power of Excalibur as he clashed with the Shapeshifter. "Look man, we don't want any more trouble then we've already caused, we just want to find shelter in here away from the flipping apocalypse!" "You have denied my freedom to roam the outside world and seek revenge, and now I shall deny you and your comrades the freedom of life!" the Shapeshifter roared before it suddenly heard a croak coming from the dark corner. It then immediately snatched Eruka from her hiding place and held her hostage. "Surrender now or this little toad gets it!" "Hey, let my little buddy go ya stupid Xenomorph!" Free shouted tackling the experiment from behind. "Think you can copy a werewolf like me big boy?! I'd like to see you try!" he challenged only to be smacked aside. "You are insignificant to me now. Leave or face death." "Well we're outta here! Dipper, we're gonna go look for Mr. Ford." Eruka explained hopping away to find the author. "And if you don't make it out, we'll tell him you're sorry." With the traitorous minions of Medusa now gone, the battle restarted with the Shapeshifter now preparing to attack Crona, but Wendy was quick to put herself in its path and slash the monster's mouth off, causing green blood to spew everywhere. "Always wanted to do that." "All right, go Wendy!" Ragnarok exclaimed. "Makes me wonder how that old man is doing."

Speaking of Ford, he was currently backed into a corner by Arachne, his rifle now out of ammo. "Seriously, what even kills you?!" he screamed deciding to just beat her over the head with the empty weapon itself. "I would say, but it would be foolish of me to do so." the spider witch snidely answered slashing him across the face with her fan. "AGH!" "Stanford!" Stein cried out temporarily distracted from Medusa, which led her to stab him from behind with an arrow. "Why continue to show concern for these fools when you can return to my side Stein?" she asked the bleeding genius picking him up by the shirt collar with a seductive, manipulative smirk on her face. "You are the most powerful Meister there ever was, and yet you continue to serve as Death's flunky." "Well at least I actually care for people. The only person you ever show concern for is yourself, everybody else you just lie to and use for your own gain." Stein wheezily remarked with a bold expression. "I know someone who has been through almost the exact same situation and I refuse to go through this again! Let's go Spirit!" "Right old chum!" Spirit replied being picked up by his Meister and activated their Soul Resonance. This caused stitches to appear at the three sisters' feet and tying them down to the ground. "Whoa nelly, they're knitted at the soles!" McGucket shouted enamored at the duo's techniques, using it as an opportunity to smack Shaula in the face with his banjo. "Quit hitting me you oafish hillbilly!" "Get down Fiddleford, I'm coming in for the kill!" Stein exclaimed preparing to land the final blow on the sisters before he felt something soft and squishy be stabbed on his scythe. "Uh oh." The object exploded revealing it to be one of Eruka's tadpole bombs and blowing him back, much to the frog witch's embarrassment. "Oh my God, I'm terribly sorry sir! I didn't notice you were already attacking, I just believed you needed help! Oh please forgive me!" "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with the kids?" Stein asked them. "We thought you needed help against that giant spider but it turned out she's the sister of our ex-boss!" Free stated laughing nervously. "And speaking of the kids, your great-nephew is kicking the ass of some weird alien thing alongside the redhead and Crona." "Weird alien thing?" McGucket wondered. "Hey, I think he's talkin' 'bout Shifty!" he realized with a snap of his fingers before becoming scared. "Oh no, I think he's talkin' 'bout Shifty!" "Wait, that's what you called that monster? It transformed into all of us when we accidentally unfroze it and is now after Dipper, Crona & Wendy!" Eruka exclaimed. "I can explain later. Now let's move!" Ford commanded preparing to race back to the lab before he felt his feet slip off the ground. "Oh right, almost forgot about her." "We don't have time for you anymore Pines, but we'll keep on watching." Medusa threatened and the trio faded into the shadows cackling, their eyes being the only thing visible before finally vanished. "Well that was...ominous." Spirit remarked. "Now then, you were saying?" "Right, let's get outta here!" Ford stated racing out of the cave and the others followed.

"Any final requests brat?" the Shapeshifter snarled despite it having lost its mouth, now pinning Dipper against the wall as the boy tried to attack with Excalibur. "You can't stop me! I have the single most powerful weapon in the world!" Dipper declared holding the sword in the air before it was snatched out of its hands. "No!" "The most powerful weapon in the world? Doesn't seem to look like much." the experiment commented examining Excalibur before the Holy Sword spoke up. "FOOL! I'd think twice before insulting the legendary weapon of King Arthur himself!" he declared to the monster's shock. "It can talk?!" "Yes indeed. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Holy Sword known as Excalibur, sought after by Meisters far and wide to gain my ultimate power." Excalibur rambled. During his long-winded speech, not even the Shapeshifter was safe from making the Excalibur face, despite again losing its mouth. "Is he seriously this obnoxious?" "You have no idea." Dipper replied. "Now's our chance!" he exclaimed, giving Wendy & Crona an opening to strike the beast down, making him drop the young detective and the sword. "Are you ready Excalibur?!" he asked. "As a matter of fact, allow me to take this one boy." Excalibur said turning into his weapon form and hovering high in the air. "Holy Explosion!" he shouted zooming towards the Shapeshifter and stabbing him in the remains of its head and emitted a powerful explosion, finally killing it for good. When the dust cleared, all the three of them could see was Excalibur silently dusting himself off next to the green blood-covered remains of the Shapeshifter. "Where did that explosion come from?!" the voice of Free exclaimed running closer to the lab. "It came from here! Hopefully the kids are okay!" Ford replied finally entering the battle-damaged laboratory where they found Dipper panting and the Shapeshifter's corpse rotting. "Shifty..." "I am so sorry I had to do this Ford. But he tried to kill us once and we couldn't let him do it again." Dipper apologized putting a comforting hand on his great uncle, now mourning the death of the creature. "I accept your apology Dipper, but I feel like this is partially my fault as well." Ford stated remorsefully. "When Fiddleford and I raised it, it slowly became dangerous for some reason which led me to try and imprison it." "And we all know how badly that failed!" McGucket exclaimed killing the dour mood. "Oop, sorry. Carry on y'all." he then quickly apologized. "Now where the others at?" "That was totally wicked!" Black Star screamed in excitement as the aforementioned rest of the party burst out from the security room to congratulate Dipper, Crona & Wendy. "I mean, the way you weaponized Excalibur's annoyingness to kill him off was alphanumeric!" he shouted. "Try and guess which word I made up?" "We can all talk later. What happened to Mabel?" Dipper asked. "She's still with us, but she's been rather quiet for some reason lately." Kid stated. "No matter, now we have to contact my father! Maka?" "Right Kid." Maka obeyed stepping up to the cryogenic tube, fogging up the glass and writing the number needed to contact Death. "42-42-564, whenever you want to knock on Death's door." the girl Meister chanted causing the glass to turn into an image of Lord Death. "Oh hello there everyone! I see you've got Pacifica back, good show!" the Shinigami applauded the Mystery Meisters before he realized something was wrong. "Hey, what smells like dead alien body? And where are Soul & Stanley?" The party was silent for a few moments before Dipper put his hat over his chest. "They're gone." he revealed. "They gave themselves up to Kishin Cipher to save us and got turned into monsters like what happened with Pacifica's dad." "And then the guy unleashed all sorts of fresh hell all across Gravity Falls, complete with his own big showtune!" Patty shouted, much to Death's horror. "No, it can't be!" he gasped. "In Layman's terms Mr. Death, we're gonna need somewhere to hide until we're ready cause Gravity Falls is definitely no longer safe!" Soos said. "You got any place for us to stay sir?" "Oh yes, you can room with my students in Death City and train to stop Kishin Cipher." Lord Death suggested. "Thank you old friend, but first I would like to have a word with my new Meister." Excalibur said. "Mason Pines, please step forward." "Wait-what-how did you know my real name?!" Dipper exclaimed in confusion before the sword cut him off. "FOOL! I shall answer later, now take a knee my boy." he commanded, making the young man think he was being knighted. "His real name is Mason?" Pacifica tittered, causing Excalibur to silence them as well. "And you shall stay quiet as well!" "Yes sir." the rest of the Mystery Meisters complied bowing before the boy and the sword. "Mason Pines, for your sudden expertise in mastering the art of the sword, learning how to properly resonate with me and using my abilities to stop a great evil. I hereby anoint you as my newest Meister." he announced knighting Dipper with his cane. "May I wish good fortune upon you my friend." "Aw look, you made a new friend Excalibur!" Death exclaimed cheerfully before he began musing on how to move everyone to the Academy. "Now how can I create a way outta there?" he pondered before Eruka spoke up. "I believe Free and I can help out." "Oh, a witch helping us out? The last time that ever happened, we were quickly betrayed." Stein commented as the witch and the wolfman began combining their magic to create a gateway to Death City. With various mathematics symbols beginning to circle around a green entryway, the entrance began giving off a heavenly glow that left the duo exhausted. "Now before anyone says we pulled it out our butts, it's partially true." Free panted giving a thumbs up. "Spatial Magic and Magic Calculation, an unstoppable team." Eruka wheezed in reply. "Excellent, thank you for your assistance. Now come along, to Death City we go!" Ford exclaimed charging into the portal before Stein, McGucket, Spirit, Gideon, Black Star, Tsubaki, Blair, Waddles and Pacifica ran in after him. When almost everyone had exited the bunker into the portal, Dipper, Mabel, Maka and Crona were the only ones left to find that the witch's former cronies were being put back up on their feet by the Mizunes. "Aren't you coming with us too?" Mabel asked Eruka. "I would like to Mabel, anything to get away from this hellhole, but your town is in trouble and without you around, we might as well stay behind." Eruka answered reassuringly hugging the human girl. "And I just want to say, thank you both for helping us." "Yeah, we're gonna miss you little rascals!" Free exclaimed nearly crushing Dipper in a bear hug. "Gonna miss you guys too, now please stop crushing me!" Dipper groaned before being dropped to the ground. "And thank you for helping us get home." Maka stated gratefully. "Now good luck on protecting Gravity Falls while we're gone." "Uh guys, I think the portal might close any minute now!" Crona warned his friends as the gateway to Death City began to slightly fizzle out. "Oh right! Thanks for reminding us Crona." Dipper exclaimed before he ran into the light followed by his sister and Maka. "We'll see you guys later!" The last one to step into the portal was Crona, but only after he gave Free & Eruka one last hug. "I hope you'll all be okay when we get back." the Demon Swordsman whimpered. "Don't sweat it squirt, we got the skills to survive." Free assured Crona pushing him into the light. "Now go on, be with your friends." Crona put on a final smile before he faded into the light and the portal finally gave out, leaving the room almost deserted. "Well then, let's get crackin'!" the wolfman declared preparing to move out. "C'mon you three-eyed bastard, Papa Free's ready to get the belt out!" The Mizunes chittered in agreement scurrying behind and Eruka, turning back to examine the room hoping that her new friends safely escaped to Death City, being the last to leave, the only current occupant of the room being the decomposing corpse of the Shapeshifter.

Mere hours after the bunker was left completely empty, Kishin Cipher suddenly appeared and forced the Gorgons to kneel before him. "So, let's set a few things straight." he said in a polite yet livid tone. "I assigned you all to follow the Pines and those moronic Meisters into the bunker to kill them all." As Kishin Cipher continued, his voice grew deeper and his body turned a haunting crimson signaling that he was furious. "AND YET YOU ALL FAILED TO DO THAT TO EITHER OF THEM! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN YOU IDIOTS?!" "Please forgive us master, Screw was about to kill us when one of my former minions intervened and still they won over us!" Medusa begged for mercy. "Which one, the brain-dead mutt, the whiny frog or those pesky little mice?" Kishin Cipher sarcastically asked returning to normal. "And speaking of which, you might as well found me a new one!" Kishin Cipher then hovered over to the remains of the Shapeshifter and brought him back to life, albeit still with his mouth & an arm missing and various scars. "Good old Shifty! I've read a lot about you in Fordsy's journals, but I never thought we'd meet in person one day!" "Bill Cipher I presume?" the newly revived experiment asked. "Close but no cigar Stitch! Call me Kishin Cipher, the God of Weirdness & Madness and new master of these lands!" the Dream Kishin declared causing reality to spin around like a carousal and then stopping. "So, how'd you end up like this?" "There was this boy with an annoying sword who had put an end to me." the Shapeshifter answered to the horror of Kishin Cipher. "Wait, Pine Tree has Excalibur now?!" he exclaimed in shock. "I may be an utter pain in the ass to every one of my victims, but even I know where to draw the line!" "I need revenge! Make me your slave and I promise I shall be your greatest ally!" the creature begged him. Kishin Cipher contemplated for a few moments before finally accepting. "Okay then buddy, you're now mine!" he exclaimed. "But first you're gonna need some new threads." With a snap of his fingers, the Shapeshifter felt itself transform from a bizarre alien creature to a black chameleon-like beast with white markings lining its body, blood red eyes and a large heart-shaped hole in its chest. "So how's the new look dahling?" Kishin Cipher inquired with a proud look on his face admiring his work. "I feel so reinvigorated master! Please tell me when we can kill the Pines?!" "Up bup bup, don't get excited so soon! We still got other things to do." Kishin Cipher declared before he created a portal that he, the Shapeshifter and the witch sisters stepped into, no doubt to somewhere to plot their next scheme.

And so Weirdmageddon commences. With out heroes now being forced to retreat and the villains gathering forces, me the author and you the readers are left on the edge of our seats to learn what happens next. Will Ford make peace with his inner demons? What will happen when Mabel's secret gets out? Is there any way of stopping Kishin Cipher now?! Tune in next chapter, same Soul time, same Falls channel!

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proudpukwudgie · 7 years

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The Scarf - Newt x Reader - Part 2

Holy shit. here it is, yall. part two. finally. the original was posted almost a FULL YEAR AGO and oh man i cannot believe that. i cant believe my account is over a year old. what in the Heck. I love you guys all so much and consider this fic an apology for the unannounced hiatus I took.

Without further ado!!!!! Here is the much-awaited part two!! A lot of people asked me to tag them, so I made a separate post where I tagged them and linked here. I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: adult themes but nothing explicit. angst, followed by so much fluff you might suffocate! Part one can be found here.

You had never laid eyes on an article of clothing so beautiful before in your life. It wasn’t glitzy or overly extravagant, but it was beautiful in its purity and simplicity. The fabric fell like waves, a soft eggshell color. The plain base part of the dress was made of satin that gleamed in the thin light filtering in through the curtains that obscured the window, and the delicate overlay of Georgette fabric complimented it perfectly. It was simply incredible and incredibly simple at the same time.

You were dreading having to don the gorgeous thing, and your throat tightened at the very thought of it. Your hair was done, your makeup had been painted, your neck perfumed and your hands manicured all in preparation for the dreaded marriage, but finally slipping the dress on was the last thing you had left to do. It felt as though it the one thing that stood between you and the sealing of your fate, so final, your last admittance to yourself that yes, you were going through with this after all; it would make the whole situation seem real to you, once you physically felt that fabric in your hands and secured the suffocating corset to your body. It would solidify it all, shifting everything into place (your poor, unsuspecting organs included, if you knew anything about the nature of corsets), and you were planning to delay the finality of that as long as you possibly could. You had done so many things in preparation, but that all might as well have been a long, bizarre nightmare that you had been floating through with no real attachment. Seeing yourself in the dress would make it real, and you were in no way prepared for that.

You had been gifted with rose petals the night before by your aunt, who was now your step-mother-in-law-to-be (what a mouthful), so you smelled very faintly of rose water from your bath the night before. The wedding was to be indoors, in the ballroom of Duncan’s expansive family home, and you could hear the muffled sounds of violinists rehearsing from where you sat on the bed of the guest bedroom. Your favorite flowers were everywhere, and the air smelled vaguely of your favorite desert, which had been mass-prepared for the afterparty. Everything about the setting was lovely and perfect in the most traditional of ways, and that was precisely what twisted the whole thing into your own personal hell. Each lovely thing seemed to mock you, and you could almost hear irony’s delighted and sinister whispering of isn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it perfect?

It was. It was beautiful. It should have been a dream, like what you had oft imagined as a small girl, but it now served as the setting for a hellish nightmare. It was like one big, cruel plot to ruin every last bit of your comfort and happiness. You felt sure that after this day, you would never be able to eat your favorite dessert again without getting physically sick. It would all be ruined for you. Even the nature of the situation was dreamlike, and you floated through it as if in a stupor, a serene sense of denial enveloping you and keeping you calm. The way time was seeming to slow down, to creep on, the smiling faces you couldn’t really bring into focus or recognize, the garbled way all the voices fell on your ears, the way each movement you made seemed to require conscious effort. Your heart was thundering in your ears and every part of your speech seemed automatic and unconscious. It was like you were asleep.

You got slowly to your feet and made your way over to your suitcases. They held all of the things you would need for your honeymoon in France, but there was only one thing in there that really mattered to you, and you kneeled to open your suitcase and find it.

There it lay, among a pile of your socks, pajamas, and underwear, folded and placed with such care. Your shaky hands gripped it, pulling it to your face. It was slightly scratchy and pilled, but it still brought you comfort and soft happiness. It grounded you, and made the events seem somehow both more real and less overwhelming. It still smelled like him. Like leather and earth and pine trees, like sawdust and dew, and like that one specific scent you couldn’t quite identify that was unique to him. It made you sad, but at the same time it gave you comfort by association. You got to your feet, still grasping the scarf in your hands, and went back to the bed. You laid it carefully on the soft and pricey sheets, smoothing over it with your fingers and taking a deep breath. The contrast of the cheap, slightly scratchy material of the scarf and the expensive and smooth liquid silk of the sheets against your fingers was amusing to you in some strange way; the former was your final haven and the latter, though it logically should have been more pleasant, made you feel almost physically ill. “I need you with me for this, Newt,” you murmured. “and this is the closest thing to you I’m going to have,”

You turned slowly to the dress, dread almost rooting you to the spot, but in a suddenly forceful and swift movement you pulled it off the hanger and let it pool at your feet. You stepped carefully into it and pulled it up over your slip, tugging the fabric over your hips. You felt the soft brush of the silk against the bare skin of your legs, and the Georgette fabric was almost ticklish on your shoulders. You tied the corset loosely at your back with a slight struggle, resolving to have someone else fix it later, and drew a shaky breath before turning to look in the full length mirror, but before you got a chance to look, there was a small rapping at the door. “Come in,” you called, the sickly sweet tone of your voice foreign to you. Your father swung the door open, a gentle smile on his face. He held a small box in his hands and his expression imitated happiness, but his eyes betrayed the fact that he was sad.

“You look lovely,” he said.

You smiled faintly, walking over to him. “Thank you, papa,”

You stood in silence for a moment, both unsure what to say next, shuffling uncomfortably. At last, he looked up at you and held the box out with trembling hands. His eyes were glassy, filled with affection and melancholy. “Your mother... this is one of the only things I have left from her. She purchased it for your sister’s first birthday, saying that it was for her to wear to her wedding someday, but that day hasn’t come for her yet,” he said.

You took the box, lifting the lid off carefully, and your eyes grew wide. It was pure silver, and absolutely breathtaking. The design was ornate, vinelike with leaf patterns and twists and turns, and diamonds were sprinkled strategically across it. It had a high choker collar, and the front expanded down to your chest and collarbones when you slipped it on and snapped it closed in the back. It made it somewhat hard to move your neck, but it was nothing short of stunning. You turned to look in the mirror at last, tears of both intense sadness and awe in your eyes as you regarded yourself properly for the first time.

“She would have been proud of you,” he said softly, placing his hand on your arm lightly. “For being so brave through all of this. This necklace was for your sister, but she would have wanted you to have it,”

“It’s beautiful,” you managed to croak out at last, emotion heavy in your voice. “Are these... are they real?” you murmured, brushing your fingers against the diamonds that now dotted your throat and chest.

He chuckled slightly. “Of course they are,” he said, looking somewhat nostalgic for a moment. “Your mother had...expensive tastes. She always wanted the best and most beautiful, no matter how much money she spent to get that,” he said fondly, shaking his head fondly at your mother’s habits as though spending ludicrous amounts of money had been just another endearing quirk of hers.

You tapped your fingernail against the silver, heart racing with sudden anticipation. Your mind whirled to keep up with the information he was presenting to you, and for the first time in four months you felt the genuine warmth of hope blooming in your chest. “Expensive...expensive tastes?” you spluttered out, eyes wide in something like disbelief. As though you had to see as much of this as you could to properly believe what was unfolding before you. “How expensive?”

He clearly wasn’t catching on to your implications, as he looked thoughtful for a moment. “She purchased it at an auction, I believe, for around, nine, ten thousand? It seems like so much now, but back then, it wasn’t quite so-”

You whirled around to grip his shoulders, digging your fingers in unintentionally in your excitement. “Papa. How much would this necklace sell for?” you asked wildly, startling him. He blinked at you quizzically.

“Probably about the same,”

You dropped your hands to your side, eyes glowing. “Thank you, Papa! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you cried, throwing your arms around his shoulders for a moment. Tears prickled in your eyes and your lip trembled, relief coursing through you in waves. You pulled away to look at his bewildered face for a moment. “This is just... the best gift I’ve ever received,”

He smiled a little bit, overwhelmed and confused. “Your mother did have wonderful taste,” he replied. “you apparently take after her more than I had thought,” he said with a thoughtful quirk of his mouth, clearly under the impression that your excitement was due to the fine quality of the necklace. It was due to the fine quality of the necklace, but not for the reason that he seemed to think.

You ushered him out the door swiftly. “Listen, Papa, I really need to finish getting ready, so please come get me again when it’s time for you to escort me down the aisle!” you chirped, moving to swing the door closed behind him, but pausing to look at him for a moment. “I love you, Papa. Thank you for everything you have done to support me through this,” you murmured, fondness and guilt filling you at the idea of leaving your father behind to face the wrath of his ex-future-inlaws-who-are-still-technically-his-inlaws-just-not-through-his-daughter (another mouthful, my goodness).

You whirled around. The wedding was soon, and you had no time to change into proper clothes, so you slid across the floor and grabbed one of your suitcases, flinging it open and pulling everything out with little care for tidiness. You followed suit with each of your other suitcases, sorting through the pile of your belongings to grab only the essentials and shove them into one case. You snapped that closed and threw the curtains open, undoing the latch to your window and letting the warm summer breeze in. Freedom. The wind smelled of grass, flowers and freedom.

You didn’t need to marry Duncan to get all that money. You could just sell your mother’s necklace.

You were on the first floor, and you dropped your suitcase out the window and made a move to follow it, but hesitated for a moment. You turned back quickly, snatching your wand from the dresser and waving it hastily to summon a bit of parchment and a quill. You scrawled a half-hearted explanation note with haste, the ink blotchy and smudged, and laid it on the bed before turning back to the window. You hesitated again, wand in your teeth, before slipping back to your bed to grab the scarf and toss the gawdy and awful engagement ring beside the note for good measure. You could have sold it as well, but you were much more keen on the idea of owing Duncan absolutely nothing. Without so much as a glance over your shoulder, you hastily tied the scarf around your waist and leapt back toward the window.

You swung your leg over the windowsill, not caring whether you ripped the dress, and the instant your feet were planted in the grass, you took off running as fast as you possibly could. Your feet protested due to your fancy wedding shoes that had most certainly not been designed for such exercise, but you paid it no mind. The pain was nothing bothersome, simply a complimenting factor to the exhilaration of your sudden liberation and the heartbeat thundering in your ears. The necklace was safe in its box your suitcase, and you wasted no time high-tailing it toward the woods. You couldn’t take the main road for fear of running into a bewildered guest who was still arriving (what a story they would have had to tell) and you couldn’t leave the property through the front gate, so you figured that taking a long hike through the forest was your best bet to get out of there as fast as you possibly could. Running through the forest in your fancy clothing and painful shoes was evoking some serious nostalgia, and you felt your heart tugging painfully at the thought of your best friend.

You would not go to Newt for assistance, no matter how much you longed to. Some deep romantic part of you wanted desperately to run right out of the arms of one man and into the arms of another, which your logical side told you was absolutely ridiculous. This was not for him. This was for you and for your sister. Part of you was afraid to ask anything of Newt ever again, fearing that you had caused him an irreparable amount of pain, and you figured with a pang of sadness that you would have to learn to live with that. You had never expected him to do anything about your situation because he owed you absolutely nothing in exchange for loving him. What a ridiculous notion that was. You had known him and loved him and hurt him and thoughts of him were only a very small part of your motivation for running as far from Duncan as you possibly could.

Once you were past the tree line and the house was out of sight, you slowed down some. The most dangerous part was over. You were so close to freedom. You knew for a fact that walking about two miles in these woods would lead you to a road, and you could either hitchhike with some muggle or follow the road to the town where the train station lay. You had to go. You had to get out of there, and it didn’t matter where you went to, but you had to get out and there were too many muggles around to apparate safely. Besides, you would not risk splinching or accidentally leaving your suitcase behind near that house. You didn’t want to have to set foot in Duncan’s wretched mansion ever again.

An idea sprang into your head, and you grinned as you gripped the dress in your fists and lifted it up a little so you wouldn’t trip on it as you stepped over a log. Your sister was hospitalized, which meant that her home was empty. She had been sick for a while, but only very recently had she been admitted to full-time care at a magical medical facility, so her teeny house was still just as she’d left it. The key was under the doormat! You could go there to get yourself together and change into proper clothes before finding a jeweler or someone to sell the necklace to, and you were suddenly ecstatic. Your hair caught briefly in a branch, and you untangled yourself impatiently, your carefully pinned hairdo falling out bit by bit. It was lopsided now, and you cast a bobby pin distastefully aside. You would sell the necklace, have your father collect your things from Duncan’s home, and be freed of the responsibility of marrying him. Your sister would get the treatment she needed, and you would have a shot at being happy again.

A shot at being free.

You emerged from the woods about an hour and a half later, your feet aching and your beautiful wedding dress torn and smudged with mud from dragging along the earth behind you. Twigs were caught in your hair and your makeup was smeared in a clownlike fashion as a result of your hands wiping away at the sheen of sweat that covered your face. You had never been happier in your whole life, and you found yourself giggling reflexively as you started along the road.

It wasn’t a long walk to town, and you beamed the whole way there, taking no notice to the bewildered looks you were getting from passerby. You must have been quite the spectacle, especially to muggles, with your wand clenched in one carefully manicured hand and a suitcase in the other. You were a grinning mess, dirt and sweat and makeup smudged on your cheeks and once-pristine dress, your bare arms crisscrossed with scrapes from trees and brambles and twigs and a well-loved Hufflepuff scarf tied securely around your waist. You walked into town with a slight limp, your feet still aching terribly even with your shoes off and dangling from your hand, and smiled politely at anyone you walked past. You disregarded at all looks because frankly, you didn’t give a shit what they thought of you right now. You were where you needed to be and you had done what you needed to do to get there.

The train station was nearer than you had been expecting, and you marched up to the small stand where a man was selling tickets. “Where to...” he looked up from whatever he was writing, and looked bewildered for a moment. “...Miss? Mrs?”

You replied with the name of your sister’s town, and he looked surprised. “That’s a few hours away, ma’am,” he said as he got you a ticket. “Why are you headed there, and in such a hurry?” he inquired, gaze lingering pointedly on your wedding dress.

“Cold feet,” you said with a cheeky grin, and he raised his eyebrows but didn’t question you any further. He opened his mouth to give you the price, but you were suddenly completely disinterested in anything he had to say. You gripped your wand tight and turned away, wide eyed, to look at the thin stream of people trickling out of the train station doors with disbelief written all over your features.

“Miss...us? Missus?” he called after you, but you had swept up your suitcase and were off, pain disregarded as your bare feet flew against the rough pavement. A familiar figure had caught your eye, and you broke immediately into a sprint. He was walking rapidly, anxiously, with purpose, his signature case in hand.

“Newt!” you cried, surprised and delighted as you realized that the artificial honey that had been dripping from your words for the last few months had dissolved into raw and real joy; you found yourself wondering for a fleeting moment if you were having some bizarre dream and you were about to wake up and put on your incredibly simple dress and marry Duncan for the money, but all notions of that dissolved as he turned and his eyes met yours and his face lit up in a way that you had never seen before. You were crashing into his arms in an instant, and he was real, this was real and not a dream and he didn’t smell anything like that horrid house, of rosewater or your favorite dessert or like sickly sweet and perfect flowers, he smelled like train smoke and pine and sawdust and earth and sweat and you were crying, voice raw, all of a sudden, tears coursing down your cheeks and dripping onto his coat as he gripped you, lifting you into his arms for a moment as though he, too, needed reassurance that you were real.

You said nothing for a moment, just holding each other as tight as you could, until you pulled away and gripped his face in your hands. His familiar stubble scratched against your fingers and you grinned. “Merlin’s Beard, Newt, what on Earth are you doing here?” you cried, and he grinned back at you.

“Nice scarf,” he commented, eyes flicking to your waist, where the Hufflepuff scarf he had given you only weeks before was tied securely. “and I could ask you the same question,” he teased. “Don’t you have somewhere you’re supposed to be? A wedding, perhaps?” he chuckled a little, his eyes bright and his lips fixed in an instinctive grin.

You smoothed your thumb over his cheek, laughing breathlessly. “I don’t have to marry him. I have an old necklace of my mother’s that I can sell and I’ll still have money to spare but I didn’t know until today so I had to sneak out the window of the guest bedroom in my wedding dress and hike here through the woods,” you spoke rapidly, barely pausing to breathe, let alone articulate properly.

He started laughing even harder, eyes aglow as he gripped your hips and pulled you in to steal a swift kiss. “The Occamies hatched. They finally hatched a few days ago and I sold the shells,” he said in between little fits of laughter. “I sold the silver so that maybe I could... ah,” he paused for a moment, looking exhausted and infatuated and ecstatic all at once as he studied your face.

You looked at him with unrestrained adoration in your tearful eyes. “Why?” you found yourself murmuring in awestruck disbelief.

“Perhaps so that I could take Duncan’s place as the rich suitor who would fund your sister’s treatment,” he said, chuckling some more with both relief and amusement. “Or perhaps just as an old friend who would sacrifice anything necessary to see that you are happy,” He smiled in the way that he always did, a sort of sober honesty in his eyes as he finished his statements. “Either way...I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I could have done something but chose not to,”

At this, you pulled him in hastily for another kiss. This time, it was sloppy and desperate and your teeth clacked clumsily and you smiled into it as he leaned forward. It was, without a doubt, the best kiss you had ever had. His lips were chapped and his face was unshaven. It scratched against your skin and you grinned, tugging at his hair with a giggle as he pulled away to look at you.

You gripped Newt’s hands in yours, looking at him with happiness written plainly all over your features, and tugged him up and toward the ticket man. You hadn’t noticed, but he had been watching this emotional exchange incredulously and he eyed the pair of you with a judgmental but amused expression as you approached him.

“So I assume that will be two tickets, then,”

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omg it’s done??? im so ????? it’s been almost a year since I posted the first one and here we are!! the scarf: part 2!!! holy heck i hope u guys like it i had so much fun with it

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