#it was easier for him to reach out to stan. whos location he had to actively track down and who he thought didnt respect his career ambition

[235uranium]

not to be back on my bullshit already but like. ford talking about how he doesn't understand romance in journal 3 quite literally does not prove he's ace in any sense of the definition unless you assume only ace people struggle with traditional relationship models (literally not fucking true??) or that aro people are always/usually ace (I am beating you with a broom). it's evidence towards him being aro if anything!

but even then I think that's an accidental meaning in the writing. the passage exists to show how detached ford is from the sheer idea of family and how he doesn't understand fiddleford's attachment to his wife and son! it's also a subtle reason to show why the pines family might not notice anything after the portal incident (i.e- ford didn't talk to his parents or sister much, if at all, after moving to gravity falls.)

it's even more frustrating when ppl mention that line... and then make him alloace?????

[starchildren220]

Phoenix Chapter Two

♡

Phoenix Masterlist

♡

Homelander x OC

Black Noir x OC

Soldier Boy x OC

♡

It had barely been a day and the video someone posted of you taking down the robbers had gone viral. People were stopping you on the streets for photos. You were the sole talk all over, including the Vought higher up.

“We should get her to take Lamplighter place.” One suggested. “She’s already popular just imagine the sales.”

“She hasn’t even done an interview.” Madelyn Stillwell, Vice President of Hero Management, argued.

“Then let’s interview her.” Stan Edgar, CEO of Vought, announced. “Madelyn,” She turned to him. “get someone to find her and bring her here for a proper interview.”

“Yes sir.” She smiled before leaving.

Reaching her office she sent someone for Black Noir. It wasn’t long before he came knocking.

“Come in!” He opened the door and stood opposite of her. She clicked a button on the TV remote and a photo of you flashed onto the screen.“I need you to find this girl and convince her to have an interview with us.” She gave a smile and leaned on her intertwined fingers.

Black Noir nodded, before leaving the room and heading down to the surveillance department. Annika had already been sent the picture of you, she had the cameras following you.

Black Noir walked over with a sticky note reading ‘girl location’. Annika smiled nervously and she sent the locations. As soon as he received the locations he left.

♡

All the people got quite overwhelming at times but it was just a fraction of the human interaction she missed out on during her lonely childhood.

It didn’t take you long to notice the figure following you. Deciding to hide in the closest store, you push open the doors of an electronics store.

“Hey welcome in! Are you looking for anything in particular?” A man asked, he was tall and lanky with brown curls. He had a lopsided boyish smile.

“Oh, uh… I just need a place to hide out, it’s fine if I stay here for a little while?” You gave a sheepish smile. He nodded.

“Yeah that’s cool.” He shrugged. You decided it would be easier to spend your time there talking to someone rather than being bored out of your mind. You walk over to the front desk. Leaning on the corner you tell him your name.

“Oh um, I’m Hughie.” He kept the same boyish smile. “Who’re you hiding from?” He questioned.

“I don’t know, I felt them though.” He furrowed his brows. “I have powers.” You elaborated, he nodded in what seemed to be an understanding.

“That’s cool, I-I mean if it doesn’t hurt anybody.” You smiled.

“It doesn’t hurt anybody I don’t want to be hurt.” He saw the saw the sadness behind your eyes when you said it.

♡

It had been hours, you and Hughie talked about everything under the sun, he had even told you about his girlfriend’s recent death. It was dark outside and his manger left telling Hughie to lock up after him.

The door opened with a ring. But nobody had walked in. The door closed behind nothing. You felt someone there. Your eyes hardened and you focus on feeling the air around you. Seeing him you looked straight at him. Hughie noticed this and called out.

“Hello?” Hughie asked. There were footstep being heard.

“Who are you?” Hughie jumped up from his seat.

“The fuck?”

“Right in front of you, prick. You think I wouldn’t find this thing?” A plastic circle thing floated in the air. You grabbed the man’s wrist

“The hell, let go of me.” He dropped the thing on the glass showcase in front of him. He ripped his arm from your grip and grabbed Hughie’s lanyard.

“Hughie.” Pulling on the lanyard he slamming Hughie’s head into the glass cracking it and causing a cut on his forehead to appear.

You quickly sprang into action using your powers to stop his movement. You turn to Hughie eyes glowing, cracks framing your face, and your hair floating.

Walking over to the frozen man you place your hand on his arm making his pass out. He fell limp and became visible again. You looked away noticing his nakedness.

Suddenly a car rammed into the store and a man with black hair and beard and dressed in a black trench coat pushed the car door open.

“I see ya already handled it.” His accent was from New Zealand.

“Butcher?!” Hughie seemed to know the man.

“Come on Hughie, help me get him in the boot.” Hughie started to spiral and was arguing with Butcher, you took thins opportunity to leave out the back door sensing the second man hostile nature.

In the back alley a figure dropped down from the rooftop. You forgot about the guy following you. He didn’t say anything but he held a yellow sticky note.

The note read, ‘come with me, Vought wants to interview you to become one of their supes’ This excited you, finally you could do what you dreamed of doing, and you knew he was telling the truth, his thought were a little hard to understand but you knew he wasn’t lying.

You nodded. “Lead the way.” He nodded before turning around and climbing up the wall to the rooftops. You watch him until he reached the top, he looked back down at the ground to where you still were.

Using your powers you float up to meet him at the rooftop. He seemed to just look at you, you tried to get a read on his thoughts but they were way too jumbled and you were tired.

He started to walk jumping over the gaps between buildings, climbing the difference with taller building. You floated when these obstacles present themselves but overall you walked.

♡

Soon enough the two of you were at the very tall, very intimidating Vought Tower. Noir jumped down from the rooftop landing hard on the concrete. You float yourself down and he leads you inside the tower.

No body asked questions when he entered, passing security easily. Everyone moved out of his way and avoiding even looking in his direction.

“You must be a fan favorite.” You quipped to no response. Shrugging it off the both of you reached the elevator, the people who needed to use it either left or waited outside of it so they don’t ride with him.

He pressed the button for floor 99. ‘this is gonna be a long ride’ you thought to your self.

It was a long ride, or at least for you. You had no idea of what Noir is thinking, you kind of just stopped trying to unscramble his thoughts.

He eventually led you to a big room with a ‘V’ shaped table. You looked around the room, TV’s and monitors decking the walls on either side and in front was a wall of windows.

At the table sat a man with short greying black hair and glasses, he had a calm and collected demeanor, unlike the man standing next to him. It was the man she met before at the diner; Homelander, if she remembered correctly.

“Welcome, I’m Stan Edgar.” The corners of his mouth tilted up slightly giving a small business approached smile. You introduced yourself to him and he gestured you to sit at the spot next to him on the ‘V’ table.

“I’m here to give you the big interview, to become part of the Seven, now normally I don’t give the interviews but on special cases like yours I just can’t help my curiosity. So, what can you do?” He seemed genuinely intrigued.

“Uh, a lot I guess.” You didn’t know why but his presence was very overwhelmingly powerful, it made you nervous.

“Show me.” He commanded you, he then commanded the man. “Homelander.”

You stood from your seat as Homelander approached you. “Do you want quick or showy?” You ask Edgar.

“Quick.” He answered your question. Nodding your eyes started to glow, your hair floated, and the glowing cracks formed. Then it took a little bit more struggle to knock him out without physical contact, which you believed was not possible at the moment. Soon enough he got close but when he did he passed out.

He fell at your feet, lying in a close version of the fetal position. Edgar clapped. “Well done, you’re on the team.” He slid forwards some paper work for you to sign. After reading it you signed it, you could always just erase your signature later if necessary.

“Welcome to the Seven.” He held out a hand for you to shake.

“Thank you sir.” You shook his hand back. “Do you want me to wake him?” He got up from the seat and started to walk out.

“I don’t care.” The he left, closing the doors behind him. You walked over to Homelander’s body. He had a peaceful look on his face. Placing your mr hand on his cheek you woke him.

He sprang up grabbing you by the neck and using his flight and speed to quickly slam you into the wall across the room. You weren’t being choked, though he was very much trying you held a small forcefield between your neck and his hand.

“How dare you!” He seethed, his eyes glowing red like when you first met.

“I just did what I was asked.” You expanded the forcefield pushing his hand off your neck. This action seemed to make him angrier.

“I’m the leader of this team you’ll listen to me, ‘ya hear.” He pointed his index finger at you.

“You’re not my employer, I’ll listen to whoever that is before I listen to you.” Two lasers were quickly deflected off of the forcefield you had to make from his anger. Deciding you had enough of this you washed a wave of calm over him.

He seemed to physically relax; his hands unclenched, his shoulders lowered, his face unscrunched, and his breathing slowed.

“What did you do?” The forced feeling chase a whisper to escape him.

“I calmed you down. I didn’t want to fight you, but trust me I will if need be.” You explained with a subtle threat at the end. The force field dissipated and you lowered yourself to the floor. He followed you to the floor.

“Look I did what I needed to do to get this job, nothing against you. I don’t like fighting.” You held your hands up in an explaining manor.

“Fine.” He gritted out. “I’m suppose to show you to your new room anyway.” He walked past you and towards the door. You followed behind him.

♡

[ak8shi]

FWB HQ Boys: In which you beat the player at his own game!

warnings: Time skip spoilers, mentions of sex(all characters are 18+), alcohol, stupid people in love

a/n: ahh I’m sorry I’ve been a little MIA!!! But I’m back with this pls enjoy ! I think the fandom really make germaphobia his only personality trait sometimes which makes me sad because I think he’s actually a quirky/classy dude and very functional in social situations,, I hate to say it but ya’ll would get played by him… sorry.

━Sakusa Kiyoomi

Some of you may be like ???? Omi fucks around ?? how ?? BUT he definitely does in his own way

He probably doesn’t do much in high school to be honest, he’s mostly focused on improving as a volleyball player and achieving his goals

Once he reaches pro level though,,, it’s a different story lmfao

I can see him being picky as hell about his hookups, but just because he’s a bit of a germaphobe doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel attraction or doesn’t have needs…

….He’s so hot too… girl

His hook-ups are always taken seriously though… like he’s the type that feels like he has a professional image to upkeep, so he always arranges things beforehand; he’s definitely not messy about it and sets clear boundaries

I think what makes him kind of a player is how standoffish he can be…and he doesn’t really give anyone a chance because he doesn’t think they what it takes to deal with his lifestyle lmao

He’s just like, its easier to call the uber right after, get into the shower, and wait until he can hear the front door of his apartment shut I’m screamingg

Sakusa also isn’t one to kiss and tell, even with the boys… he doesn’t think its tasteful and would rather not have Atsumu up his ass about his flings

ANYWAYS,, let’s get into this, so you know Atsumu through mutual friends and met during college, and the two of you just instantly clicked since you also were a part of the same sports medicine program as him

Atsumu signed with MSBY and you were so happy for him, but you were bummed because you were busy with PT graduate school and couldn’t really attend any of his games

A year passed and you found yourself texting Tsumu to see if he could meet up and grab coffee since you were on winter break!!

You: hey I’m back in town wanna grab coffee sometime?

Him: who is this

You: I see you haven’t changed ❤️

LMFAO, so you catch up with Atsumu and he talks about his new career and his teammates, he seems so happy :(( we love to see that!!

He invites you to MSBY’s game the following weekend, and you’re pumped to go!! Tsumu got you great seats, and he meets you before warmups to make sure you’re okay finding your way around

Atsumu: don’t take yer eyes off me <3

You:

He’s so…

You’re enjoying the match and you even go to grab Onigiri from Osamu’s stand, but you can’t seem to look away from number 15 on Atsumu’s team

He’s .., scrumptious to say the least 🥴

Like he’s so composed and calculated on the court, and you find it so funny how he rolls his eyes whenever Tsumu says something to him and how Tsumu gets so heated about it 💀

The match ends and you go down to meet Atsumu near the lockers, showing the security your family/friend pass 😌

You walk through the halls trying to locate the setter, but you can’t seem to figure out where he is

The only person in the hall is the tall, dark haired man that caught your eye earlier; he is already walking towards the exit with a mask covering his face, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, sweats embroidered with “Sakusa” adorning his body we’re all looking..... respectfully

He’s truly so intimidating but you’re like….highkey lost… so you don’t really have another option

You catch up with him, poking his shoulder gently; he turns around and his attention on you is almost STARTLING.. like his eyes are SO dark

Him: can I help you

You: sir… if you don’t rail me, I’m gonna have to intervene‼️😈😹

After getting over your initial shock, you hear multiple footsteps rumbling down the hallway towards the both of you

Sakusa lets out an annoyed sigh, muttering about how he has to go, but before he can escape you hear Atsumu’s loud voice LMFAO

“OMIIII, where are you goin’? Its team karaoke night remember?”

Tsumu sees you and slings an arm around your shoulders, “Oh-? So I see you’ve met our outside hitter Omi?”

You glance over at Sakusa, his expressionless eyes glued to your face, then slowly trailing down to analyze the way Atsumu casually has you tucked under his arm

Atsumu nudges him, and he grumbles that he’ll meet them after changing at home before walking off in the direction of the private parking garage

You meet the rest of the MSBY boys in the uber, and find them super friendly and welcoming; Bokuto and Hinata buy the first round of drinks at the karaoke bar, but you only have one because you have work to finish the next day WE STAN

Atsumu already has a pink glow setting into his cheeks when you see the boys turn their attention to Sakusa walking through the front door, looking as handsome as ever in his dress pants and fitted white t shirt

They all shout out incoherent hello’s, and he takes the only open seat next to you with a glass of gin and tonic in his hand he smells so good god

You’re unsure what comes over you, but you find yourself turning towards him, and you just start asking him about himself and his career, and surprisingly he’s very polite and much more animated than you previously thought

His voice is like…so alluring and he never looks away from you when you talk, its like he’s absorbing every word

Meanwhile, Atsumu is stumbling over the stage with Bokuto belting Love by Keisha Cole LMFAOO😭

Tsumu kind of ‘warned’ you in the car ride over that Sakusa was a germaphobe, but you know that Atsumu tends to invade people’s personal space sometimes and it probably wasn’t as dramatic as he made it out to be

However, you weren’t expecting the outside hitter to lean over from his seat after checking the time on his phone, whispering in your ear, asking you if you wanted to meet him at his place later than night WHEW

Girl I would be sweating… and you say yes ofc because who’s going to pass up this type of opportunity-

He gives you a charming smile and is like,, okay cool, I’ll see you later then 😊 I’m dead

Ya’ll exchange phone numbers and he’s like if you need any help with my idiot teammates let me know before he takes off

You don’t tell Tsumu about your little… entanglement plans dsnjaknda but honestly he wouldn’t even remember based on the way he’s slumped against you in the uber he owes you big time

You get home after dropping off Tsumu at Osamu’s, and operation dick appointment with the professional volleyball player is put into action 😈

He sends an uber over to get you ladies do not settle for less please, and you’re BIG nervous but in a good way as in you know this dick is about to be bomb af

SO you’re standing in front of his apartment door, and when he opens it, he’s still in the clothes he wore to the bar and its like 1 am he’s so powerful

Um I feel like he would get straight to it honestly, probably starts with a little convo on the couch and then…

YOU WEREN’T AWARE HE WAS SO DIRTY,,, it was SO good too like after getting home that night you’re going through a crisis… like you had so much chemistry together for having just met, and you wonder if he feels the same way🥺

You caught yourself in sleepless states some nights, kept awake by the thoughts of the way his hands felt against your skin, the way his five o’clock shadow gently rubbed against your face when you kissed, and how he would hold you(only after a thorough shower together of course)

As it happens more and more, he lets you into his life little by little, and you notice and remember small facts about him and he often remembers a lot of the things you tell him about you, its really enjoyable for both of you

Its weirdly domestic to a point but that’s why its so good for both of you???it adds a bit of spice ??

Sakusa: can you come over tonight

You: sorry the retainer is in already <3 no dick sucking for me tonight <3

Him: I bought pastries from that cafe you like

You: say less✈️ I’m coming💃

AND he HAS jokes okay, like he’s funny as hell and very witty when his true self comes out; but he’s also a HUGE tease and he’ll say something completely straight-faced that someone else might take offense to like “you look ugly,” but you just know he’s kidding from being around him long enough and from seeing the little glint in his dark eyes

It becomes a routine thing while you’re home honestly, and you try your best to hide it from Atsumu because you just KNOW you would never hear the end of it; for all he knows, you met him that one time at the bar and that was that

Everything is going smoothly until you slip up at one of their games

You were sitting in the waiting area with the team (mostly talking to Atsumu), when he just says something that makes your short circuit

Atsumu: what kind of animal do ya think omi would be? An octopus maybe?

You: yeah I mean with those flexible wrists it makes sense

Atsumu: what the fawk🤠

He’s like… how do you even know about his flexible wrists IT TOOK ME 6 MONTHS TO GET TO THAT STAGE WITH HIM-

Oops, lmfao so you kind of tell him about everything and he’s literally shocked for you, mostly because he doesn’t want you to get hurt :(

Atsumu: So I see he’s just sleeping with ANYONE anyone

LMAO noo he definitely thinks you’re too good for him and he kind of lectures you, telling you that he had a hunch that he messes around with girls like that, but also you’re an adult and you can take care of yourself, and it isn’t like it’s a serious thing!!

Meanwhile, Omi is like going through a bit of a crisis all alone because everything around him reminds him of you or something you said when you were together

He got with people who were compatible sexually often, but he never had the urge to have them stay over after the deed; he usually immediately called them an uber and wouldn’t speak to them again

He found himself thinking about seeing you in the stands at his games, wishing you were there to cheer for him only, and he adored the way you respected his boundaries unlike many of his hookups

Atsumu probably notices something is off with him at practice

Atsumu: hey…if ya ever want to talk about somethin’-

Sakusa: no

Girl… he doesn’t disclose any of this to anyone

Its nearing the end of your break, and you head over to sakusa’s for probably the last time before you go back to school

You’re kind of at the point where you don’t think anything will happen and you know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, and it goes how it usually goes? Except he kind of hugs you goodbye and your heart goes: 🦋🦋🦋

You go back to school, occasionally texting Tsumu about your graduate program, and before you know it, like 5 months pass by and you’re back for summer!

Tsumu texts you and is like… sorry but I’m forcing you to be my plus-one tonight for this dinner thing I have to go to

So you dress up and he comes to pick you up, and you’re really not sure why you were surprised to see Kiyoomi sitting at the table when you arrive you give Atsumu a nice smack on the back of the head for not warning you

You sit down at the table after greeting everyone, trying your best to not act awkward when you shoot sakusa a small smile that he returns politely (but you don’t see it because of his mask)

Atsumu sits weirdly close to you the entire dinner with his arm around the back of your chair, and he’s just acting strange in general??? Like he’s bragging about your degree program and about your accomplishments, you just know he’s trying something funny; but you don’t really say anything because you don’t want to disrespect him in front of the team’s staff as a guest

You almost choke on your wine and you catch on when Bokuto starts making comments after Atsumu says something,

Atsumu: …so yeah, pretty much she should be our next president in my humble opinion

Bokuto: 🙈WOAH. WHAT?😍 HOW COULD SHE GET ANY BETTER⁉️🙄 OR HOTTER⁉️💪🏼💋

You, sitting there: 🧍‍♀️

He’s so bad at acting I’m crying..,, it becomes so obvious that they’re trying to make Kiyoomi jealous

(the boys plotted beforehand, trying to get Omi to ask you out officially; after you left, he literally would never shut up about you whenever Atsumu mentioned you, and it was just obvious he was in his feels when it came to you)

Atsumu: she’s studying at a café tonight for finals

Sakusa: Yeah so I’m glad you brought it up, because I’ve been thinking about it for days. Fine I guess I’ll say it. Her favorite coffee blend is French roast and she only likes a dash of sugar with a lot of cream, but it has to be hazelnut creamer or else she doesn’t like any-

Everyone in the gym: 🗿

LMAO ANYWAYS ITS LOWKEY WORKING you look over at him and his face is like stone.. girl..

The dinner is almost over and Atsumu gets up to go to the restroom with a wink I hate him, and you get up to catch a breath of fresh air outside

You sit on a bench for a minute, calming yourself down after the eventful dinner, but then you see the door to the restaurant swing open, Sakusa looking around the corner before spotting you

Your heart pounds in your chest as he walks over and asks if he can join you, inspecting the bench before sitting down, pulling his mask down as well

He eases into a conversation by just asking you how you’re doing, basic stuff, but then in the middle of you going off on a tangent about your stupid professor, he stops you

“I missed you.”

He crosses his legs, not looking at you as he takes your hand, intertwines it with his, and places it in his lap

You gaze at him, taken back at his confession, noticing the slight pinkness tinging his pale cheeks

You say you missed him too, and then he’s asking you if you would like to go on an actual date with him

You: wait are you asking me out officially?

Him: Yes. No I’m not. Yes I am❤️

SKSLD Please he’s awkward help him a little, you agree and then you hear a tap on the window behind you, you turn around to see Tsumu, Bokuto and Adriah behind you with big grins on their faces LMFAO 🤡

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the small upturn of the corners of his lips as he hears Bokuto happily scream through the glass

[nctzanne]

Your Last Name

♡ doctor!mark x fem!Reader.♡ smut, fluff if you use glasses

WARNINGS!: use of alcohol and drugs, explicit content, not sex but mentions of it.

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: I just want you to give it a try and read it AAAH

𝑅𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡?: no, an idea i've had since i started stanning NCT

𝐴𝑛𝑛𝑒'𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑠 & 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠: As i said above, this is an idea I've had for sOOOOOO many months, so I really wanted it to make it happen. It was on my drafts for a long time. Thank you so so much if you take the time to read this.

You noticed when your mind woke up suddenly, but without opening your eyes, slowly bringing you back to reality. You tasted your own mouth dry as a bone, with a metalic flavor on it, typical scenario when we talk about hangovers. The headache that invaded you so suddenly made you grab your forehead, almost if you brain was going to explode right there. The smell of fermentation on the room -or wherever you were- made you nauseous, so you stayed still to avoid vomiting everything you consumed the night before. A light breathing woke you up from your trance and inner speech, you could even feel the warmth of it on your shoulder. That's when you realize you were not alone, totally opposite of that, you were cornered by arms twice your size, avoiding you to move on the super duper comfortable position you were in. You still didn't want to open your eyes to notice who the lucky guy was, but you could smell the hints of tequila on his breath. When that hit your nose, you turned around abruptly by instinct, trying to avoid the smell. You opened my eyes a little, just to be able to locate yourself in space-time.

A room hotel, there's where you were. White walls reflected the light that came from outside of the giant windows, making you cover your eyes with the hand that wasn't under the grip of this unknown guy. Once your eyes get used to the light, you remembered that you were at Bora-Bora for vacations with your best friend. You can hear the eagles screaming way too loud for your irritable state, but just noticing where you were made you feel more calmed. "At least I'm here and they didn't kidnap me" You thought, finally grabbing the courage to turn around and see who exactly was the guy that had a night of passion with you.

"Sure, shit"

╚═══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ═══════╝

-Wait, repeat it to me, who did you meet? -You asked incredulously, looking at how your friend Rosé was overflowing with emotion and nervousness.

-Do you know this famous band?- She told you a name that you couldn't identify, you automatically shake your head-Anyways, while I was waiting for you on the beach I met with Jaehyun, the bass player, we talked a little and he invited us for a few drinks with his friends!- She talked so fast that you had a hard time processing all the information that was given to you.

-And that's it, a random guy talks to you and you say yes?. He could be a serial killer-

-Ah c'moooon, he's a superstar, it will be funn!!!-

So, a not so official date with guys from a band. Sure, excellent idea.

-Okay, are they handsome at least?- You asked with disinterest

-You can't imagine, y/n, so prepare yourself as well as possible, they will fall for you- she approached the small bridge that united your cabins in the middle of the sea, while she blowed you a flirtatious kiss.

You just laughed and walked towards the windows, admiring the sea. You were literally in paradise, your bedrooms floated above the ocean, the white sand was not so far from where you were staying in, and the horizon was clearer than ever. How lucky you were to have a friend who helped you get over your breakups with a very casual trip to Bora Bora at the Four Seasons hotel. Loneliness invaded you for a second and you decided to get ready for the long-awaited meeting that you would have with her friends.

╚═══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ═══════╝

A white beach dress with pink heels and your tan is enough, with the right makeup obviously. It was already 7 pm and your nervous friend looked at her cell phone while texting with someone

-Is it him?- You ask, trying to peek behind her shoulder to see if you could figure out what they're talking about.

-Yes, he is telling me he's here at the bar but he doesn't see us-

-Of course, we are sitting, let me raise my hand- and so you did it.

-Here!!!!- Your friend screams in excitement when she sees 3 tall figures approaching to you. They seemed to walk on a slow pace, almost like the came out of a movie. And yes, your heart almost stopped for a good 10 seconds. Three guys, my gosh, models? What were they again?. God definitely had preferences for some human beings.

The fact that they aere so handsome and well… structured made you blush. Jaehyun, Johnny and ...

-Mark, nice to meet you- the youngest of the 3 of them greeted me, with a dazzling smile that makes his dimples appear. You bit your lip and studied his entire face so that you would never forget him again. -y/n, nice to meet you too-

╚═══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ═══════╝

Nothing more and nothing less than Mark Lee himself. His makeup was completely smeared, traces of mascara under his closed eyes. His forehead and nose were reflecting the daylight a bit. It was a hot morning (or evening), and having you next to his body was obviously going to make him sweat. His open, broken lips gave off that smell of alcohol that made you sick. But despite of everything, your sight softened after a couple of seconds. He was sleeping so peacefully, and he was clinging to you like his life depended on it, so you couldn't help but smile.

-Mark... wake up- you whispered softly while you tried to get up.

-Hmmmh, what time is it?- his morning voice made my stomach tingle a bit, your sight never leaving his figure while he starts waking up.

He squinted while he sit up in bed slowly, ruffling his own hair. It was obvious that he was in the same blank state you were a few minutes ago, and you could tell by how he confusingly looked around at the room, until his eyes reached at you. His face expression softened, giving you a shy smile.

-Do you need some clothes?- he asked, blushing when he studied your naked torso with lazy eyes. You realized that you both were entirely naked, and you rushed to cover your breasts with your arms, just to earn a pure laugh from him, that made your head resonate in pain.

-We fucked, y/n, no need to hide- Mark put all his weight on his left elbow, getting closer to you while tilting his face flirtatiously. That made you cheeks go red as ever.

-Yes, but I don't remember anything so your point is automatically invalid- His body hovered yours so fast that you couldn't even process what was happening, until he pecked your lips.

-I remember everything, so I will refresh your memory-

You burst out laughing while he deposited soft pecks all over your face. The situation was so sweet, but it didn't make you feel uncomfortable at all. He interrumpted his love actions and looked at you hungrily.

-Mark, I barely can keep myself awake, i feel like I'm going to puke...-You warned him, reading his intentions.

-Okay okay- he looked down defeated- At least, can we cuddle a bit more? I promise I can make the hangover feel better- He tangled his legs and arms to your body, resting his face on your collarbones.

╚═══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ═══════╝

Everything on that evening was talking about the mortality of a crab. Basics like where you were from, what do you do for a living and relationship status open the conversation.

Your attention was drawn to Mark when he started to introduce himself. As a Medicine student, he decided with his 2 best friends that were part of a band to go on a trip to relax due to the busy schedules that consumes their time. The three live together on a small apartment in Korea, where the rent is expensive so they can make it more affordable.

Bora-bora was the destination of their choice. It seems that the band called NCT 127 draw lot of attention from crazy fans who followed them EVERYWHERE, so an expensive place like so would be easier to have a time for them on their own.

Mark spoke always adding "like" between his words, he liked to lay back when he was sipping on his piña colada, but got closer to the table when you talked about your experience as a journalist.

He tried so hard to show interest on a topic he had no idea about, that his questions were kinda clueless, but it was obvious that it was his way to not cut the attraction and chat between you and him. It was a sexual tension you could feel by kilometers, every gaze you had was followed by a shy smile, and you felt tingles on your body everytime you had a bit of interaction.

-Do you guys do shots?- Rosé interrumpted the conversation, scanning the boys reaction.

-I mean, that's why we are here- Johnny combed his hair backwards, already feeling heated by the 2 gin tonics he drank in 15 minutes. I couldn't deny, him on a tight black shirt looked hot as fuck, I could notice how Rosé was drooling for him- Excuse me, maa'am- he raised his hand, calling the waitress- 3 rounds of shots please!-

-Man, we had 2 yesterday and you almost puked on the sea, go easyyyy- you could notice the tipsy state from Jaehyun as well. His eyes were almost closed on a thin line and his dorky smile betrayed him. Mark laughed out loud, first time in the night you heard him like that, with his cheeks tinted red. He took a big sip of his piña colada, looking at you directly at the eyes. Actually, you didnt noticed till that moment, but your legs started to feel a bit numb. Quite usual for you when the alcohol gets up on your head.

-I'm in!- you answer to Johnny's idea. Once the blue shots arrive, you quickly grab one.

-Cheers for this night to be special- he screams with a deep voice, and the other 2 guys howl as response while you burst out laughing.

When you decided that the amount of alcohol on your body was enough, you took a chance to go to the beach to sing and dance to the DJ placed randomly in there.

You felt bliss, the EDM music was filling your senses, but you tried to keep your eyes full opened so you could remember the beautiful but blurry view of the sunset.

Together with your new group of friends were a mess. Jumping, screaming, raising your hands like you could touch the sky, everything seemed possible at that moment. Even dancing and getting laid with Mark.

The music had nothing to do with your plan, but you got dangerously close to him, resting your arms on his shoulders. You could see that he chuckled, tilting his head back so he could see you fully. Both of you were drunk as hell, you thought you were killing it with the flirting skills, but probably you just looked like two fools trying not to fall for the obvious drunken state you were.

-Do you wanna kiss me?- you screamed while "Jenny" sounded on the speakers. What kind of question is that?

-Sure I do- his canadian accent made you bite your lip while smiling- Can I?- his voice tried to mimic yours, but you didnt answered, it wasnt necessary.

Your lips collided as you got close at the same time, and Mark wasted no time to open his mouth and let his tongue in your wet cavity. You moaned so loud, because you knew no one could hear it but him. A fierce fight between both of your tongues started, every graze of them would make yourself wetter and wetter. He squeezed your waist and tried to keep you closer to him if it was possible, in his drunk mind he was scared you could run away from him.

Nothing about the context was romantic at all. You both physically liked eachother and just wanted to make out. No love at first sight, no kiss with fireworks behind, just pure desire.

Adrenaline rushed your body when his hands cupped your ass, that was only covered by the thin dress you decided to wear. Nobody near you could care less about what you two were doing it, but for you, everyone was looking at the show you and Mark were offering, and that obviously turned you on.

You bit Mark's lower lip, sucked on it, while opening your eyes to look directly at him. Eyes closed, he was enjoying how you toyed his lips. The hard grip on your skin, and a bulge poking your stomach made you feel powerful, you were loving the effect you caused on him.

Suddenly, an arm made you break your kiss with Mark. You lose your balance so you hug the guy that was pulling you backwards. Johnny.

-Hey, pornstars, we have some nice shit here- he pointed his hand with his eyes. You could see a tiny bag with a white dust inside. You come to your senses and look around at the crowd to try find Rosé, but it was obvious she already was under the influence. She was on Jaehyun's shoulders, enjoying the music. You sigh, chuckling at the sight of her losing her mind.

-Its my first time though- you commented while you look at Johnny spreading the dust on top of his phone screen with one hand using a credit card. You could notice he was an expert at it, you peek to see Mark right by your side looking at the manouvers as hypnotized as you. Probably it was his first time too.

You both snorted the little substance, and it sucked at first. It was so uncomfortable, but it took minutes for you to get used to that weird sensation on your nose.

You didnt even noticed when everything started to amplify. You could feel the summer breeze making its way around you, the taste of Mark's saliva still on your tongue was strong, the colorful tins of the sky while it was dusking looked so enhanced.

A hand grabbed yours, taking you out of your trance, and almost felt like an orgasm. So warm and so soft, made you wanna scream. You turned to see a fucked out Mark, studying your face with dilated pupils, he was almost as horny as you by only grabbing hands.

He caressed yours with his thumb, and it felt like he was fucking you, your body shivered at it. Mark was enjoying it too, so he brought your fingers closer to his mouth and inserted the index one inside, and started to suck on it. You moaned and felt how your pussy clenched at nothing, the saliva coating your finger felt like caramel, if you could explain the feeling.

-Mark if you keep doing that i'm gonna cum- you told him with a warning tone, he was so inmersed on sucking your finger that he jumped when you talked. He was aroused by the situation too.

He smiled with your finger still inside of his mouth, took it out, holded you by your wrist and started to run towards...

╚═══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ═══════╝

-And we ended up here- Mark sumed up the night while you were laying on his chest, caressing it with the tip on your fingers. His, on the other hand, were playing with the locks of your hair.

-Yeah, i remember now, such a night- and then you snapped- Wait... where the fuck is...-

-Yeah, she was having a threesome with the boys. Dont worry, she was having a good time-Mark answered with a playful tone. Of course, that sounds like a very Rosé thing to do. You let out a breathy laugh.

-We could have joined...- you suggested, looking up at him. He took a few seconds to answer, while his eyes moved from one corner to the other of the ceiling, like he was evaluating that scenario.

-Yeah, and sharing? No thanks- he bit his lip and he looked at you with a greedy smile- I felt so lucky to have you screaming my name over and over-

You hit his shoulder with your fist playfully, and he took that as an answer to keep silent and just enjoy the company of the other.

╚═══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ═══════╝

2 days went by, you get used to hang out with the boys. All kinds of crazy stuff you could imagine, you were doing it with them, and it felt like heaven. Mark couldnt keep his hands to himself and everytime he had the opportunity, he would make you cum on his fingers or mouth. And the same goes for you, too. Thanks to him, you noticed how good you are at giving blowjobs inside public restrooms.

But nothing lasts forever, sadly, and the last day of your summer vacation arrived. Rosé and you were ready to go back to Seoul, while they would be staying a little bit longer. It hurted, you got used to Mark's attention, and either him or you wanted to ask for eachothers contact. Not because of lack of interest, but because both of you thought that the other saw it as an adventure. You didn't even knew his last name.

His lips devours yours before you could get in the car that was waiting for you on the street -I wont forget you, thanks for this amazing 3 days- he smiled, a tint of sadness on his eyes. You caressed his cheek, pecking his nose, trying to hurry as much as you coulf so you wouldnt start to feel emotional.

-Y/l/n-

He looked at you clueless -What?-

-My last name is y/l/n- you smiled and without waiting for an answer, you close the door of the car.

╚═══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ═══════╝

-Hey, hey, it's okay- typical of Rosé being so overdramatic. Sure, your finger almost got cut in half while you were trying to cook some carbonara, but it wasnt a big deal, something a few stitches couldn't fix. The only thing that kept your finger from gushing blood out was a piece of toilet paper.

-Please! My friend needs a doctor!!!!- She screamed at the top of her lungs inside the hospital.

-What happened?- a nurse hurried, worried eyes scanning you both.

-She is losing her finger!!!!- Rosé felt she was going to faint.

-Jesus, Rosé, calm down-

The nurse takes a quick look at your finger- Yeah it doesn't look that good, please follow me. You are lucky we don't have that many patients on New Years Eve-

You are guided to a tiny room full of medical stuff, probably where you are going to get your finger sticked together. It hurted as fuck, but you were trying to keep focused on something other than the pain. You looked at the desk with the computer on, and on a hidden corner you noticed a picture of 3 friends, on a place that seemed too familiar to you. Actually, the friends also seemed like an old ones you had... maybe in university? You can't quite remember.

The door opened up while you were trying to dig into your memories , and you looked at the door startled.

-So, Mrs y/n...- that voice, that motherfucking voice. A year has passed. But how the fuck you were supposed to forget it?. You felt your ears buzzing, face heating and heartbeat racing. You were losing your breath and suddenly the pain of your finger got worst and worst.

He didn't turn to look at you, just got inside by looking at his phone, and once he was sit in front of you, his facial expression dropped.

There were the both of you, looking at eachother like dumb teenagers, like your finger wasnt bleeding out, almost like you were backat that bar in Bora-bora again.

-I... uh... yeah, my finger- you stutter, pointing at it. Mark shakes his head, coming back at his professional senses.

Before the medical procedure he performed, he bandaged your finger, and wrote some medicine you had to take for the pain to go away.

-It should be okay on a few weeks, nothing to worry about- he smiled at you, trying to comfort you. You felt your heart drop when he grabbed the healthy of both of your hands and caressed your palm with his thumb, everything felt like a flashback. You looked at him with clueless eyes.

-I... uh... I should come back in a few weeks then- you stuttered, pressing your lips into a thin line while looking at him directly on his eyes. He nods.

-Lee-

You frowned -Huh?-

-My last name is Lee-

[helloalycia]

worth the wait [one] // daisy johnson

summary: when your best friend, Skye, keeps running away from home, you're left to deal with the consequences, but then one day, she doesn't come back.

warning/s: mentions of unwanted foster kids

author’s note: this is a five parter and each chapter is quite long bc i got carried away. i've literally been working on this for so long so i hope there's still some daisy johnson stans out there to appreciate this!

part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | masterlist | wattpad

"She's the only person she talks to... doesn't listen to anyone... just try..."

I twiddled my thumbs as I refrained from rolling my eyes. Mr Lock was pretty stupid if he thought I couldn't hear him with the door slightly ajar.

"...can't do much... good student?"

"She'll tell you what she knows," I heard Mr Lock say more clearly, to the police officer, before the door got pushed open.

I glanced at him as he feigned a smile for my sake, making his way over to his desk and sitting opposite me. The police officer followed after him, taking a seat at the edge of the desk and watching me with curious eyes like she was studying my every move.

"As you are probably aware, Miss Y/L/N, your friend Skye has gone missing," Mr Lock began to explain. "Her foster family have tried contacting her, but they can't find her."

I felt nervous with the police officer watching me, trying not to glance her way for fear she'd know I was hiding something.

"We just want to bring her home safely," Mr Lock continued. "And you're the closest person to her."

It wasn't a question – he knew I was the closest person to her. We'd done this back and forth many times before, every time Skye decided to run away. And it didn't get any easier.

I swallowed hard. "If you're asking me if I know where she is, I can promise you I don't."

Technically I wasn't lying, so that wasn't too much of a stretch.

"Have you had any contact with her since yesterday morning?" the police officer asked.

I shook my head and tried to ignore how warm I was getting. "I usually meet her by the entrance before class, but she wasn't there. I thought she was just pulling a sick day or something."

The officer hummed in response and the way she didn't give away what she was thinking didn't help with my nerves.

"So, you know nothing of Skye's disappearance?" Mr Lock asked with a raised eyebrow. "Anything you can tell us will be greatly appreciated. Her family just want her home and we all want her to be safe. You know the drill."

"I want that, too," I lied as confidently as I could. "You know she's done this before... she'll come back. She always does."

Mr Lock sighed and rested his head in his hands; he was clearly exhausted from having this same chat with me every few months Skye decided to leave.

"I think that's everything," the police officer said, before standing up straight. She glanced at me, adding, "Thank you for your cooperation. Please let your teacher know if you hear anything from her."

I nodded awkwardly. "Will do."

Mr Lock stood up, hand on his hip with mild frustration. He nodded my way and waved a hand dismissively. "Okay, you can go now, Y/N. Back to class, go on."

I nodded and looked between them both before grabbing my backpack and heading to the door. I could hear them talking quietly though, and felt mildly guilty for lying.

"...does this regularly now," the police officer was saying. "She'll turn up."

"She's wasting our time," Mr Lock was mumbling. "She always does this and for what?"

I sighed inwardly before leaving his office and heading back to class. I continued on with my school day as normal, up until lunchtime when I got a message from Skye herself.

Heading to the toilets to ensure nobody would see me, I slipped into a cubicle and pulled out the burner phone Skye gave me the first time she ever ran away a few years ago. She was always cautious of being caught out but still wanted to be able to contact me, so this was her solution. I didn't argue it as I only ever wanted to make sure she was okay and I could at least talk to her.

She'd texted me, it reading: Meet me by the ice cream truck in the park after school.

I was relieved to know she was okay, since it was the first text she'd sent me since she left yesterday morning. But it was frustrating that she'd disregarded my many concerned texts before that.

With a huff, I replied: I'm doing good, thanks for asking. You could've texted sooner, Skye.

It took a moment before she responded. Sorry, mom

I rolled my eyes, knowing she'd have that annoyingly cute smile on her face as she texted from wherever the hell she was.

Another text came through from her. Sorry I didn't reply sooner. Everything cool with the cops?

I sighed and hastily replied: Everything is as cool as it can be. I'll talk to you later when I see you. You safe?

Every time she left, she came back without a scratch to my relief, but it didn't make me feel any better when she would leave again and again. Running was her way of rebelling against everything – the countless foster families she went through, the teachers who ridiculed her, the other students who judged her. I didn't know where she went – it would change every time and I was sure she was making it up to make me feel better – but I covered for her because I cared about her and didn't want her to push me away like she did with everyone else. It was getting old though.

Her text came through and the heaviness on my shoulders lifted with relief. I'm always safe. But thanks for caring.

I always care. You know that.

I do. I'll see you later, Y/N. Love you.

I love you, too. See you later.

She stopped responding and I put the phone away before taking a deep breath. Seventeen and Skye had me feeling like a soldier's wife at freakin' war. She was gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.

—

"Over here."

I spun around and felt my racing heart calm down when I saw the familiar teasing smile of Skye watching me behind the abandoned ice cream truck.

"You're okay," I breathed out with relief before moving forward and pulling her in for a tight hug.

She laughed but wrapped her arms around me, squeezing gently. "I always am, I told you."

I refrained from rolling my eyes as I pulled away, meeting her gaze. "I'll always worry, Skye."

Momentarily, her playful demeanour disappeared and was replaced with something genuine. "I know... sorry. Thanks for coming."

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "Skye, you can't keep running away like this. Mr Lock called me in again. Thinks I know where you are. Says your family are worried."

Skye snorted as she took a seat on the bench nearby. "They're probably throwing a party in my absence. This is just protocol for them. All of them."

I watched her with a pitiful gaze before taking a seat next to her. "The police came again."

"But you covered, right?" Skye asked with a quirked brow.

"Obviously," I said, making her smile, but I didn't return it. "I hate lying to them. It makes me feel... dirty."

"It's not like you're hiding the location of a war criminal, Y/N, chill," she teased, patting my knee.

"Where were you this time?" I asked, afraid to know the answer.

A grin appeared on her lips with remembrance as she reached into her backpack, pulling out a laptop.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Where d'you get that?" 

She seemed proud as she said, "I won it in a bet."

"Skye!"

"What? It was fair play and I happened to win," she said with a shrug.

I facepalmed. "Skye, if you needed a laptop, you should've asked. I could have asked my parents or– or– I don't know–"

"What? Fundraised for the poor foster girl in class who can't buy a laptop like everyone else?" she cut me off bitterly, before replacing the laptop in her bag. "I'd rather not."

I frowned, moving to rest a hand on her back, but she shook me off harshly before standing up.

"Skye, I didn't mean it like that," I said apologetically, standing up, too. "I just meant– I could have helped. I want to help. I don't want you to have to make bets to get stuff. I just want you to be safe."

Skye and I becoming friends was something I never could have seen coming, but when we were partnered in science class in middle school, we kind of just fell into each other's lives. I knew of her situation with her many foster families and always knew she deserved better. Sometimes though, I think she felt the difference in our lives when it came to little things like buying stuff, and I hated it.

"Skye–"

"It's okay," she interrupted, glancing at me with sad eyes. "I know you want to help. But I'm okay."

Treading carefully, I asked, "Where did you go then?"

She ran a hand through her hair. "Library."

I narrowed my eyes. "You expect me to believe that?"

She met my eyes and shrugged. "You don't have to, but it's the truth."

I couldn't be bothered arguing with her, so I simply played along. "Fine. You went to the library and won a bet with someone, getting their laptop."

"Exactly."

I gave her a knowing look. "When are you coming back? To school?"

She was about to respond, but her phone vibrated and she checked it quickly, her eyes lighting up. I tried not to roll my eyes at her change of mood, not wanting to imagine the bond she'd made with her new friends.

She finally answered. "A few days, I promise."

It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing, so I nodded. "Okay. A few days. You'll keep in touch though, yeah?"

"I will, I promise," she said with a small smile before moving forward and hugging me tightly. "Thanks, Y/N."

I sighed but returned her hug, knowing I couldn't stay mad at her for long. "Just please take care of yourself, Skye. And if you need anything – and I mean anything – just ask. Unfortunately, I have a soft spot for your dumbass."

She laughed and admittedly, my stomach did somersaults at the sound. She pulled away but kept within arm's reach, allowing me to see the honesty shining in her brown eyes.

"I'll see you in a few days," she promised. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I replied, watching as she stepped back to leave.

She sent a final smile my way before running away, leaving me standing there alone and with a worried heart.

"More than you'll know," I muttered to myself, knowing I could never tell her how I truly felt.

—

"Won't your mum kill you for this?"

I shrugged, leading Skye through the the party-goers and to the kitchen where the drinks were. "She's okay with it because she knows I'm responsible. Plus, I promised her I wouldn't get drunk."

Skye let out a laugh. "Right. You're at a high school party and you're not gonna drink. That's totally happening."

I poured myself and Skye a drink as I quirked a brow. "I never said I wasn't going to drink. Just that I wouldn't get drunk. There's a difference, Skye."

She seemed impressed as she nodded. "Sneaky."

I was invited to this party by some girl in class and thought it would be nice for Skye and I to go to since it had been a while since we'd hung out. She didn't want to go at first, but after a little convincing on my end, she joined me.

We ended up staying there for about an hour when Skye needed to go to the bathroom and I decided to grab a snack from the kitchen. As I was browsing the bowls and considering whether I wanted to risk grabbing food from a shared bowl, I felt someone tap my shoulder from behind me.

When I turned, I was surprised to see a very tall guy stood there with a smirk on his face.

"It's Y/N, right?" he began the conversation, before suddenly raising his hand and reaching for something in my hair. "Sorry, you had some fluff there."

I smiled awkwardly and pushed my hair behind my ear. "Er, thanks. Yeah, I'm Y/N. I'm sorry, I don't think I recognise you."

He shook his head. "I didn't think you would. We don't go to the same school. I saw you walking around and thought I'd introduce myself."

"Oh, er..." I didn't know what to say as I wasn't really interested in his clear advances.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked suddenly, still smirking at me.

"I already have one," I said conclusively, before aiming to move past him, but he put his arm in the way. I looked at it before raising my eyebrow at him. "You gonna let me go?"

He snickered. "Come on, just let me get you a drink."

"I'm not interested," I told him straightforwardly before attempting to make another move, but he pushed me back gently. "Dude, come on."

"What's one drink gonna do?" he asked persistently (and annoyingly).

"I–"

"She said back off," another voice came out of nowhere, and suddenly Skye appeared and pushed the guy back harshly, stepping between us.

"Skye, I–" I began, but the guy was already glaring down at her with a fake smile on his lips.

"Or what?" he asked rhetorically.

She returned his glare and said nothing. I rested a hand on her arm and tried to tug her backwards, but she wasn't moving. Always the stubborn one.

"What are you gonna do, Skye?" he repeated with bitter humour. "You gonna call the cops? I heard they know you pretty well by now, don't they?"

"Don't speak to her like that," I said angrily, glaring at him.

He began to laugh, shaking his head, before finally walking away. I released a deep breath and watched as Skye turned around to face me.

"Are you alright?" I asked her gently, resting a hand on her arm as I found her eyes.

"Are you?" she countered, looking over me with concern. "That guy was a jackass."

"He was, but I had it under control," I said with reassurance, before downing the rest of my drink and throwing the cup in the bin. "You didn't need to step in."

"Uh, yeah, I did," she said, stepping in my line of sight. "He was a creep."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Okay, Skye, whatever you say. Thank you."

"You're welcome, now can we leave?"

I shoved her in the shoulder slightly. "We're not leaving. Not yet anyway. There's a foosball table in the other room I wanna play with and you're playing, too."

She sighed dramatically. "Fine."

I grinned at her before dragging her to the other room by her hand.

Another hour passed when I unfortunately began to feel the effects of my drink that I later came to learn was spiked by the arsehole who tried to hit on me. I wasn't particularly aware of my actions, otherwise I definitely wouldn't have done nor said half the things I did. Things like playing beer pong for the third time in a row and losing every game.

"It's just me an' you, Y/L/N," Kate, the girl I was playing with, said as we both a had a cup left. "Think you can win?"

I laughed as I rolled the ball between my fingers. "Third time's the charm...?"

The group of teenagers around us watched with anticipation as I aimed the shot up in my mind. It wasn't exactly helpful that I could barely stand up straight and my eyes were crossing over, making the cup move around slowly.

"One... two... three...," I counted down, before tossing the ball and watching it bounce off the side of the table and onto the floor. "Well, shit."

Everybody laughed as I ran a hand through my hair. Kate chuckled before grabbing the ball and lining it up. Miles better than I did, she aimed quickly and got it in the cup in one shot, resulting in cheers from everyone. I laughed and grabbed the cup, eyeballing the beer. I wasn't really a fan of beer, but a game was a game.

I downed the cup and pulled a face at how disgusting it tasted, before tossing the cup on the floor. I pushed away from the table I was leaning on, before falling back and hitting the floor, butt-first. I giggled to myself as I tried to stand up, but with great difficulty.

"Y/N, there you are!"

I looked up and lit up when I saw none other than Skye standing above me. She bent down and grabbed my hands before helping me stand up. I stumbled into her, but thankfully she caught my weight and let me lean on her for support.

"How did you get drunk so quickly?" she asked with surprise, leading me to the front door. "I've literally been with you. Until you ditched me twenty minutes ago which wasn't cool since I only came to this stupid party because of you."

I laughed. "I'm sorry. I saw the ping pong table and couldn't resist."

She sighed to herself before leading me outside. "You smell like alcohol."

"That's because I had some," I whispered not-so-quietly in her ear, before erupting into giggles.

"I gotta get you home," she mumbled, before searching my pockets. "Where are your keys?"

"My mum is gonna k-kill me," I realised, but a dopey smile was on my lips. "You have to sleepover."

She found my keys and began leading me to my car. "I'm gonna have to, aren't I? So much for not getting drunk."

I covered my mouth to try and stop the laughter from spilling out. She didn't seem amused as she managed to get me into the passenger's seat before rounding the car to the driver's seat. When she got comfortable, I watched her with a childish grin.

"You can't drive," I said in a know-it-all voice. "You didn't pass your test, silly."

She started the engine and began doing her mirror checks before pulling out, muttering, "Nobody has to know."

I watched as she drove, feeling exhausted but lighter than usual. She looked really pretty tonight. I wanted to tell her when we went to the party, but I didn't want her to get the wrong idea. Now however, it was all I could think about and my heart was fluttering at the thought.

"Here, drink this," she ordered, before throwing a bottle of water into my lap.

"But–"

"No buts, just drink it," she said authoritatively, glancing at me.

I didn't want to argue with her, so I began opening the bottle as I giggled to myself. "You said butts."

She groaned to herself and I drank the water as instructed, even if I really didn't want to.

Before I knew it, we had arrived at my house and Skye was helping me to the door.

"Your mum knows you're coming back late, so this shouldn't be a problem," she said quietly, mostly to herself. "Try not to make noise though, okay?"

I nodded obediently, before putting my finger to my mouth. "Sshhhh. Quiet."

She rolled her eyes before using my keys to open the door and drag me inside. I stayed as quiet as I could, letting her take me upstairs and to my room. Only, before we could go in, I heard my mum call out for me.

"Y/N, love, is that you?"

I stared blankly at Skye as she gave me a knowing look with wide eyes, nodding. I continued staring at her as my mum called my name again.

"Answer her!" she whisper-shouted to me.

"But you said to stay quiet," I said with confusion.

She facepalmed. "Just answer her," she said with frustration.

"Well then, no need to get crabby," I mumbled before calling out to mum, "It's me, mum! Skye and I are back!"

There was a pause before she called back, "Okay! Make sure you lock the front door!"

I snickered to myself as Skye shoved me into my bedroom before I could reply.

"Will do, Mrs Y/L/N!" Skye called out before slipping into my room with me.

She flicked on the light as I flopped onto my bed with a satisfied sigh. Suddenly, something was tossed onto my face making me groan as I pulled them off. I realised they were pyjamas.

"Get changed. Now."

I sat up and saw Skye watching me with a stern expression. I couldn't help but smile to myself, giggling. She looked really cute when she pretended to be angry.

"Y/N," she warned.

"I'm not tired," I lied, standing up. I wanted any excuse to keep on talking to her.

"I don't care," she said with a shrug. "You're going to bed whether you like it or not."

"But I wanna talk to you," I whined like a child, before moving forward to grab her hand.

She let go and gently pushed me to the bed. "Don't be a baby, Y/N."

I hugged her quickly, smiling to myself. "Thank you for being here. And for coming with me tonight."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"I'm serious," I said, pulling away and almost falling backwards, but she held me upright. "Thanks."

Her expression softened. "Unfortunately, that's what friends are for, Y/N. I wasn't gonna leave you."

I breathed out, momentarily startled by her sharp gaze. She had the most beautiful eyes, I always thought it. Somehow, she had the power to make me freeze up and forget everything I was thinking or going to say and I never knew why.

"I love you," I said truthfully, not caring what I was saying and too overcome with emotion to care.

She rolled her eyes, a smile of amusement dancing on her lips. "You gotta keep it down, Y/N."

I smiled widely. "But I do."

She gave me a knowing look. "I know you do. And I love you, too, but you have to get ready. Tomorrow morning is not gonna be kind to you."

"No, you don't get it, I really love you, Skye," I said, my mouth going dry as I stared at her with butterflies in my stomach.

"I know," she played along, patting me on the shoulder. "You done, idiot?"

"I'm in love with you," I blurted suddenly, smile disappearing. I stared at her, trying to ignore the blurriness in my vision. "I always have been."

Her smile seemed to fade when she realised how serious I had become. She licked her lips and shook her head slowly, lowering her hands.

"You don't know what you're saying, Y/N," she said quietly.

I grew distracted by her lips, barely acknowledging what was coming out of her mouth. "I do," I told her.

She didn't know what to say, and before I knew it, I had moved forward and pressed my lips to hers. It was something I'd wanted to do for so long and now that I was finally doing it, my shoulders felt lighter as if I wasn't carrying a huge secret on them anymore.

I closed my eyes and momentarily felt her kiss back, hands resting on my chest. It didn't last very long as she gently pushed me away, leaving me face to face with her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. I was sure I didn't look any different.

"You're drunk," she stated awkwardly.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and began to come to terms with what I'd just done, what I'd just ruined. I stepped back and shook my head.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and began to come to terms with what I'd just done, what I'd just ruined. I stepped back and shook my head.

"I'm so sorry, Skye. I–"

"It's okay," she reassured me. "Please, let's just get you ready for bed, okay?"

I avoided her eyes as I nodded, feeling my heart ache with discomfort.

When I woke up the next morning, I didn't remember much from the night before. At least not straight away. All I had to remind me of it was an insane headache that wouldn't go away and a rancid taste in my mouth. Thankfully, Skye caught me up with how drunk I was and how she had to stay with me to cover for me before she left me to shower and freshen up.

Unfortunately for me, showering and freshening up gave me enough time to remember parts of the night before, including the main bit where I kissed my best friend and expressed my feelings for her.

To say I was freaking out was an understatement. I couldn't believe I had done the very thing I had avoided for years. Seeing her at the breakfast table made me wonder why she hadn't mentioned it. Was she embarrassed? Did she want to pretend it never happened? Was she uncomfortable?

I wasn't sure whether to go along and pretend I couldn't remember it, or admit the truth and apologise profusely. In the end, I ended up doing the latter.

We were eating pancakes that she'd made with my mum as I spoke up.

"So, I, er, I'm kinda remembering some stuff from last night," I said awkwardly, glancing up at her.

She slowed down with her eating, avoiding my eyes. "You do?"

I nodded, looking back down to my food. "Yeah. Particularly the, well, I–"

"You don't have to say it," she assured me, and I looked up to see her watching me with a small smile.

"I'm really sorry," I got out with a deep breath. "I don't know why I did that. Or said those things. It was stupid."

"It was?"

"You should've left after that, but you didn't for some reason," I continued with a grimace of embarrassment. "We can totally pretend it didn't happen."

She chewed on the inside of her mouth as she nodded slowly in agreement. I nodded, too, eyes falling to my pancakes.

"Thanks," I mumbled. "And thank you for making sure I was okay. You're a really great friend."

She smiled at me with distracted eyes. "Anytime, Y/N."

[buck-nialled]

Twinkle - P. Mendes Imagine

NOTE: this was originally supposed to be a blurb but now its a 1.46k imagine about biologytutor!peter so yeah. im also tagging @itrocksmysocks​ bc she is the most die hard peter stan i have met on this site. hope you like this one lovely! <3

“Alright, now we just add two drops of Protoslo,” Peter instructs, removing the cap from the tiny bottle. While you were grateful to have such an intelligent and kind tutor, his appearance is as gorgeous as it is distracting. You pretend to concentrate on his nimble fingers as they carefully pinch the bottle but cannot help to transfix your eyes on the way his pink tongue exits only slightly to glide across his lips in focus.

“It doesn’t hurt them, right?” You originally met Peter in the biology lab to go over a few of the more difficult assignments. The tutoring sessions were open to everybody. But when you and Peter remained the only ones in the classroom, he could not help but share his fascination with the different microorganisms beneath the scope. You allowed him to persuade you with the lame excuse, more practice couldn’t hurt. But really, Peter Mendes was the last person you would fight on staying longer with. Since being introduced to him by the professor, he made staying on task much difficult than you assumed. Though he was not present in your lab most days, the thought of when he would be always seemed to be at the forefront. How could anybody be interested in cnidarians and protists and not on the man who speaks of them with such passion in his voice and a twinkle through his glasses?

“It won’t hurt them, right?” Your eyes dart down to the small slide where the droplet of solution coating the unicellular beings, invisible to the naked eye. You see Peter fighting the corners of his lips, which were so adamant about tilting up into a smile. He finally lets them, and even allows his teeth to reveal themselves as he replies.

“Nope. It’ll only slow them down a little and make it easier to see them.” With the microscope slide pinched between his fingers, he caps the bottle of Protoslo solution with his free hand and sets it aside. “Think of it as a sedative.” He continues, “could you get me a cover sheet?”

Nodding frantically and reaching for a small, plastic container nearby, you waste no time opening it. Upon retrieving the thin glass layer, you do not allow Peter to do all the work himself and carefully set it on top of the divot. The two of you are silent for a moment as you study the protist-infested water and solution fuse with one another. Peter turns towards you in the stool with an eager smile and raises his eyebrows. “Ready?” You swear the twinkle in his coffee eyes is even brighter. His excitement has you straightening your own spine in the stool you are seated in and nodding with enthusiasm. You wonder if he has caught on to the fact only his devotion to this subject was contagious to you. In any lab he was not present in, your head would collide with the cool tabletop halfway through in a subconscious daze.

Peter watchfully maneuvers the slide beneath the various lenses and allows the clip to catch it, holding it in place.

“Alright, turn it on.” You giggle anxiously and reach for the power switch while bringing your eyes to the two lenses.

“Wait wait wait,” his urgency halts your leaning body immediately and you watch in puzzlement as his fingers twist the dimming switch to the lowest level. He releases a breath, “that could’ve been bad.” A small chuckle leaves your lips at the attentive student. He spares a few nervous laughs of his own and you freeze to let your ears absorb the sound and truly manifest it. There is no other sound like his laugh and with these sessions being your only true way of communication, you are loyal to his giggles like a drug.

“Thanks for making sure I don’t go blind.” You remark with a small smile. You manage to successfully flip the power switch to the compact microscope and place your eyes against the lenses. Peter mumbles a quiet “of course” which should not have brought such a vibrant red to your cheeks. The vicious flame on your face, though, is now inevitable and a feeling you have grown used to enduring around him.

Minutes of comfortable silence pass between the two of you before he asks if you, “see them?” You try not to let your frustration show as you continue to adjust the nosepiece and focus knobs to the microscope. Peter somehow senses it, however, and asks politely if you could scoot over. While your right eye is gazing through one of the lenses, Peter’s left is doing the same to the other. “Here,” he mumbles, before the feeling of his hand brushing against yours is eliciting a gasp on your end.

“S-sorry,” Peter’s face retreats from the lens to see his hand still cloaking yours and the mechanical stage handles.

“S’okay.” He turns his face from the knob towards you and takes your kind smile and flushes cheeks as motivation. Nodding, his eye is staring through the lens again. You follow and allow his large hand to guide yours while twisting the knobs back and forth.

“Here we go,” he whispers through the conduction of your hands as the image below you slowly comes into focus. The proximity and Peter’s husky voice invites goosebumps to rise on your arms and neck. Cognitive functioning on your part was slowly shutting down, and you were gradually allowing your devotion to usurp all reasonable thinking. Had it not been for your tutor’s resilience in locating the population of organisms and quiet encouraging chants, your gaze would be focused on him. Another gasp leaves you when the image shifts into something discernable. The two of you sat momentarily in awe, watching the single celled beings roam across the microscope slide.

“They’re so cute!” You join in Peter’s quieted tone, squeezing his hand tighter in your visceral response.

You hear the smile in his voice as he hisses back excitedly, “I know right!”

“Do they all have that red eye?” You question. Peter hums.

“It helps them detect light and photosynthesize so they can make their own food.”

“Lucky,” you scoff, making your envy for their skill aware. Peter leans his body away and removes his hand from yours (much to your dislike) to place it against his chest and allow more or his uninhibited laughter to echo around the vicinity.

“What?”

He just shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of these little guys all because of that.” All you manage is a shrug, too entranced in his luminous teeth to do much else.

“How can you not be? Making your own food would be so cool. And all you’d have to do is stare at the sun.”

“Well, technically that’s—”

“I’m just saying it’s way easier than almost burning my apartment down each night trying not to starve.” You roll your eyes. This earns you a tilt of Peter’s head and you eye one of the strands as it flops to the side with the movement.

“You can’t cook?”

“I can cook. Can I cook well? That’s up for debate.” You mutter, flicking your eyes to the side.

“How well can you cook?” Peter asks, resting his head upon his chin. The undivided attention you are currently receiving makes the blood sprint upwards to your face once more.

“My roommate is convinced I tried poisoning her once with a batch of muffins.” So fiercely you loathed when people found humor in your misery, but Peter’s chuckles had you unabashedly laughing along seconds later.

“So I’m guessing she does all the cooking?”

“When she’s here.” You shrug. “But she’s out of town tonight so it’s just going to be me and some instant macaroni.”

Peter bites his lip in thought as you observe his eyes flickering wildly about. “You know, uh…I’m not,” he clears his throat, “I’m not really doing anything tonight. And my brothers can attest that I make a mean plate of tacos. So, if you wanted to join…” His hand which was previously holding yours is now gesturing wildly about and scratching at the back of his neck, so you opt for taking his other in your grip. He visibly stills at the embrace and gulps.

“I’d like that a lot.”

He releases a tense breath and shakes his head. “Good…but I’m doing the cooking.” The hand that was at his neck was now jutting its thumb out to point at his chest. Laughter fills the area between the two of you yet again. You squeeze his hand and peer up into his eyes, the twinkle in them so considerable in their size you could label them stars.

“I think I can live with that.”

[noceuria]

Big Dipper

(Dipper x Pacifica)

They were sitting in the roof of the shack, just the two of them this time; Mabel was at Grenda’s, pajama party she claimed. Of course they would’ve invited Pacifica had they known she was coming over but Dipper was surprised when not 10 minutes before Mabel left, Stan was calling for him downstairs, yelling to “Come and get rid of this rich kid since she ain’t giving no money.” And more surprising was, she came to hang out with him, so now here they are sitting on the roof of the shack with colas and mosquitos and the night sky.

He was in the middle of his third cola when Pacifica pointed at a certain configurations of stars. “There it is, the Big Dipper. I always have trouble finding them.”

“Really? Usually it’s the Big Dipper that’s easier to find, it’s what people use to locate the smaller one.” He replies. They’ve been talking about constellations for a while now and it’s just now that they mention the Dipper. In school or just whenever conversations about stars come up, he’s used to people joking about his name, so he’s quite impressed it took them a full conversation to come to this point.

She was quiet for some time. When Dipper turned to look at her, she was sipping on her cola and with her other hand tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She is beautiful, Dipper thinks. Being around Mabel who’s constantly around people, Dipper is used to seeing girls. He’s exposed to the company of girls that he knows Pacifica is really beautiful. He’d known at 12 years old. Yes, she’s rich and probably has appointments to expensive skin treatments or something and plus quality make ups and high fashion, but he’s seen her muddied and dirtied and wearing a potato sack with no shower for God knows how many days and honestly? It doesn’t change to how she looks wearing designer cosmetics. And now at 17, she’s even more dazzling. He’s more adamant on admitting it to himself now than he was before when she was a pain in the ass for him and Mabel. Dipper was so lost in his thoughts and staring at her that he missed what she just said.

“I’m sorry, what?” He said, leaning a little closer to make sure he hears it this time.

Pacifica suddenly stood up, rigid and face turning red by the second. “Nothing! I’m going home.” Then she dashed inside, leaving Dipper dumbfounded and gaping with the colas, mosquitos and the night sky.

It was in the moments before sleep where your brain either refreshes the memory of the day or wanders to other subconscious parts of your mind, and in Dipper’s case, it was the latter. He thinks he’s already dreaming, or perhaps he really is, because he was back in the roof with Pacifica again, and she was telling him the reason why she has problem locating the Big Dipper was because the Small Dipper was always in her sight.

That got a laugh out of him enough that it brought him back to consciousness. Within seconds of silence he suddenly became dead serious. He scrambled to get up, reaching for his phone because damn if he misses this chance. On the third ring she picked up, voice groggy from sleep but still leaves him with a tinkling feeling as she shaped his name in a question.

So with no hesitation he asked, “Pacifica, did you just flirt with me earlier on the roof while making a joke out of my name?”

It was silent on her end for a few seconds, then he heard what was probably a groan before she replied, “It seriously took you 3 hours to get that?”

He was chortling, and then he was full on laughing. Caution of waking his two grunkles downstairs thrown out the window, none of it matters; he couldn’t stop the grin from splitting his face even if he tried.

Pacifica was groaning again as she said, “God, I don’t even know why I like you.”

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 14/14

“FORD!”

The scientist in question snatched his hand back, just before the carnivorous plant he had been studying snapped at him with a second slime-coated mouth. A second mouth! It was located under the bulbous head’s primary maw, smaller but sharing the larger one’s distinctive jutting spines that seemed to function like teeth – hooked back to prevent prey from getting away. The infant plant was only as long as his forearm but when it was fully-grown the secondary mouth could easily be large enough to pick up small mammals from the forest floor, maybe even large raccoons or the occasional gnome.

Hmm. They might make for good pest control. Ford studied where the plant’s stem met the forest floor, trying to ascertain how deep the roots ran. If he could get his hands on a pair of good, sturdy gloves for protection he might be able to replant it in a pot and take it back to his lab for further testing. That would certainly be easier than trying to run tests on the fully-grown specimens dotting the forest. How old was this one, anyway? Ford pulled out his tape measure to record its size.

Stan slapped his hand away when it neared the hissing plant. “Don’t touch it! Didn’t you just say this thing was poisonous?”

“Venomous, not poisonous.” Ford corrected.

“You know what I mean.”

Ford waved away his brother’s concerns. “Don’t worry, it’s only a juvenile. Its venom hasn’t developed enough to do any damage. The worst it’ll do is itch.”

“I still wouldn’t be touching it if I were you.” Stan said doubtfully, hunkering down next to Ford to get a good look at the creature. The plant hissed and spat at them and generally made a nuisance of itself.

Ford smirked. “Look Stanley, it’s just as friendly as you are.”

“Hey!” Stan brandished a finger in Ford’s face. “I’m a friendly guy! Just not to weird-ass plants that try to bite my brother’s hand off.”

“It’s not like you didn’t try to bite my hand off when I reached for the ice cream yesterday.”

“Fuck you Ford, I called dibs and you know it.”

Ford rolled his eyes, reaching for the spade in his pack. He’d missed the easy banter between them. It had been missing during the whole Rebus fiasco, obviously; there was only so much sarcasm a wolf could convey through its eyes alone, and only so much a scientist could babble to his canine friend without it being… just sad. Even once the brothers had reconciled, Stan’s mind restored, Ford had worried that after nearly ten years apart the differences between them were far to great to bridge.

But in seemingly no time, Ford had fallen back quickly into the habit of trading quips and joking insults, laughs and rolled eyes and body language that sometimes spoke more than words. It felt far more natural than the forced conversations he’d attempted to make during his time in college. Ford had forgotten the comfort of having his brother nearby.

Of course, an adjustment period was necessary – perhaps made longer by the added factor of Stan readjusting to having a human shape. It was rather concerning, the number of times the man would forget to cook his food and instead tear into it raw and bloody. The first time that had happened Ford had been in the kitchen as well, and he’d stared with popping eyes as Stan nonchalantly sank his teeth into a raw steak.

Stan had hesitated, chewing slowly and swallowing before speaking in his gravelly voice, not bothering to wipe away a trail of blood rolling down his chin.

“…okay, yeah, I see what I did there.”

And of course, they were wildly different people who were bound to have disagreements. It had taken Ford quite some time to convince Stan that while they may argue, he was in no danger of losing his family again. He wouldn’t be sent away, punished or abandoned again. Not while Ford was still breathing.

The plant’s hiss brought him back to the moment. Ford frowned, considering his plan of action, before settling on the plain approach. They could simply carry the thing home.

“Can you get out one of the sample bags? I want to bring this specimen to my lab and they should be large enough to hold its roots.”

Stan rifled through the pack while Ford sized up the agitated plant. He would be able to dig up the roots if the darn thing would stay still! He would have to design some kind of muzzle appropriate for two mouths when they got it back to the house.

Ford made a lunge for the creature, trapping its stalk against the ground with one hand so it couldn’t bite him as he dug up its roots. The plant snapped at him fruitlessly. Ford quickly loosened up the soil enough to lift the whole thing and settle it roots-first in the awaiting sample bag.

Stan groused at having to carry the plant all the way home (one hand gripping behind its head, obviously, to stop it from biting). The whining was pretty unfair considering Stan had demanded to carry it so he could keep an eye on the snappish thing, but Ford supposed he could appreciate the intent.

(…on the other hand, that left Ford to carry the heavy pack. He was beginning to think that this wasn’t a purely altruistic move on Stan’s part.)

“When I took the job I didn’t realize ‘research assistant’ meant ‘gardener’.”

“I don’t pay you to whine, Stanley.”

“You don’t pay me.” Stan countered.

“Oh – don’t I?” Ford could have sworn he had been. Stan tended to handle the money so Ford had just… assumed that Stan was receiving some of it. He frowned. “Why don’t I pay you?”

“’Cause I live in your house? That’s kinda payment enough.”

“No it’s not!”

“It was when you thought I was a wolf.”

Ford spluttered. “That – that’s because you were a wolf. Wolves don’t need to be paid to act as research assistants-”

“Oh, are you saying wolves don’t deserve to be paid equal wages?” Stan shook his head in mock disappointment. “Gosh, Ford. My own brother-”

“Oh, shut up! You know what I mean!”

Stan snickered. He only laughed harder when Ford punched him lightly in the shoulder, careful not to jostle the creature in his grasp.

Ford glanced at his watch, taking note of the time. At this pace they would reach home well before dark. Maybe they should take a detour to check on the size-altering crystals? Ford had covered the Warped crystal with a tarp to prevent the light reaching it, but he really should check that the covering was still in place after the blustering winds that had recently swept through. He didn’t want any unsuspecting forest life to wander into its beam.

Then again, that could wait for another day, and they had a carnivorous plant to re-house.

“…I really do need to pay you, though.” Ford muttered as they walked.

“You really don’t.” Stan shrugged. “I’m not doing anything useful anyway.”

The nonchalance with which he spoke made Ford want to sigh. Stan never acknowledged his own value or input! Ford wanted to shove it down his throat and force his brother to acknowledge that he was important, goddammit!

For the moment, he settled on arguing his point.

“Shopping for food is useful; plus, the people in town know you better than me and I’ve been living here for years, so you’re basically handling public appearance. And collecting data from my monitors is useful.”

“That’s just walking and taking readings.” Stan argued right back. “A monkey could do that data-collection stuff.”

“Babysitting Tate while Fiddleford and I are busy is useful.”

“The kid’s easy, he just wants to spend time with a dog all day.”

“Defending the house from griffins is useful.” Especially since they seemed to have it out for the Pines twins and would come by every so often with claws and beaks bared.

“You woulda just found a better way to keep ‘em away.”

Ford gritted his teeth. “You handle the money and pay the bills.”

“It’s your grant money, I just budget it.”

“Exactly! That is exactly what I should pay you for!” Ford flung up his arms in exasperation. Stan merely shrugged, and – smirked? He was enjoying Ford’s misery! “Ugh, whatever.”

Stan continued to look smug. Ford silently resolved to start paying him, even if he had to sneak the money into his brother’s bank account. Or just leave some around the house. Apparently Stan was too proud to accept payment but the guy never passed up an opportunity to take it if it was there.

“…anyway, about the whole money thing, I was thinking.” Stan mumbled, a little more subdued. Ford glanced across.

“Yes?”

“Eh – well, y’know how there are so many cool things around here? If Pa’d let us come, we woulda loved it here when we were kids.”

Ford imagined himself as a child – bright-eyed and eager to learn, marveling at everything around him – and was inclined to agree.

“And just yesterday you were sayin’ about how no one appreciates this stuff. Really, I’m kinda surprised no one’s made something of this place before, snatched it up for a tourist attraction. I was thinking that it would be pretty cool to give… tours or something?”

Ford opened his mouth but his brother was already rushing ahead, a nervous scowl affixed to his face.

“It’s all good if you don’t want me to – probably something about the scientific integrity of the place or whatever – but, it’s kinda something I’m good at. Tours, selling stuff, talking to people, that stuff. A-And I know you love teaching people about things, so if you wanted to help? Like, write up information sheets or – or do classes or whatever. Obviously I’d be spinning some yarns, that’s the fun of these places, but I know people would love to see some of the weird stuff here and actually learn about it too, so I dunno, I think it would be cool?”

All of this was said rather quickly, with few breaths taken in between, so when Stan finally ran out of things to say he took a few heavy breaths. Ford blinked and took a few moments to process this.

“Stan, are you asking my permission to open a tourist trap?”

The werewolf cringed, grip tightening fractionally around the uselessly-wriggling plant creature. “No, ‘course not. I’m just… seein’ if you’d be open to the idea.”

“Well…” Ford adjusted the straps of his pack. “So long as it doesn’t interfere with my research, I think it’s quite an interesting prospect. It would be nice to be able to share some of the things I’ve learned. If you think you can pull it off I believe you. You don’t need my permission, of course, but you certainly have my support.”

“Wait, really?”

Ford laughed as his brother perked up. That was another thing he’d had to adjust to since their reunion – canines tended to express themselves heavily through body language and Stan had apparently picked up that trait. He had no tail at the moment but from the straight posture and slight vibrating, Ford imagined it would be wagging.

“’Cause I’ve got so many ideas.” Stanley gushed. “I was thinking I could get a place set up, probably in the woods closer to town – maybe contract that lumberjack guy you talked about to built it? Anyways, I’d fill it with attractions, some of the cool shit that lives around here. Like, you know that weird-ass bird we saw the other day, the one you said we shouldn’t bother to look into?”

“Having a second head is a fairly common mutation. I’ve studied several animals with that phenotype in my time here.”

“People eat that stuff up, Ford! And I could do tours around some of the harmless places – and charge a pretty penny for it too. You know how many shmucks are happy to get ripped off by dodgy fake tourist attractions? And this one would be real! I’d have a source of income, and you’d have somewhere to put the stuff you’ve finished researching, and people to teach if you want to. Plus this crummy town could use some tourists to give business a boost.”

Wow. Stan had evidently thought this whole thing out – and the excitement was contagious. Ford wondered if this was how his brother felt, when he himself became giddy about a new finding or breakthrough. Stan was grinning like a kid.

Ford laughed and elbowed him playfully. “It’s a sound plan. And it’s nice to see you’re putting aside your history with Dan. You growled at him last time we came across him – you weren’t yourself then, of course.”

Stan shot him a weird look. “Who?”

“Dan. The lumberjack.” Stan continued to look confused. “Matilda’s boyfriend?”

All at once the werewolf’s eyes widened. “The shovel guy.”

“Er – shovel?”

“He hit me with a shovel.”                                                    

“Oh.” Ford had almost forgotten the circumstances of their meeting, with himself rescuing Stan from being beaten to death. Ah – with what he knew now, the situation seemed a lot more dire. He strongly resisted the urge to grab up a shovel and see how Boyish Dan like being smacked into the ground.

Obviously Dan didn’t know it was a person he had assaulted, not a wolf, but still. It would make Ford feel better.

When no words came to him, Ford said the first thing on his mind. “Didn’t you try to eat his mother’s dog?”

“Dog? Fuckin’ thing was more of a bug than a dog. I was starving anyway, gimme a break!”

“I’m not judging. Anyway, I’ve seen you try to eat so many things-”

“Can it, Poindexter.”

Ford began to count on his fingers. “Squirrels, gnomes, the mayor’s hairpiece, our father, my kitchen cupboard, a whole watermelon for some reason-”

“I was outta my mind for half of those!”

“My phone, the multibear somehow, several lemons – why you kept coming back to them after knowing you hated them remains a mystery to me–”

They arrived back at the house before Ford could continue his list.

“We should get this thing planted before it dies or somethin’.” Stan shuffled the plant around in his arms to hold it more comfortably, ignoring its hiss of displeasure. “Where do you want it?”

“The porch should be fine. I don’t know how much energy it gets from its prey as opposed to the sun ­– it might need sunlight to live.”

“Right. You got a pot around? I can get Chompy here planted while you find something to stop it biting anyone who gets close.”

“’Chompy’? You named the plant?”

“You were too slow.”

Well, Ford couldn’t argue with that logic. He’d just have to be faster with the next creature they came across. They had a lifetime, after all, to squabble about names – among other things.

 (For example, whether Ford was terrible for pretending to toss Stan the car keys but hiding them behind his back instead. It took Stan an embarrassingly long time to realize and once he did, Ford could barely see the withering glare he received through his snickering.)

(That evening, in revenge, Stan fell asleep on the couch lying across several of Ford’s books. Upon attempts to remove him Stan simply shifted into a wolf and thus became heavier and harder to move.)

(But these are stories for another time.)

[just-jordie-things]

Soulmate Ink - Richie Tozier

word count: 2578 warnings: swearing summary: Soulmates are a tricky thing, because the only real way to find them is by the scars and tattoos they mark on you by marking on themselves.  Lucky your soulmate is a dipshit that gets a very bold tattoo, which makes it a bit easier to track him down.

___

The thing about soulmates, was that they’re simple.  Anything you put on your body, shows up on theirs.  From scars to tattoos, if it was permanent, it would show.

For years, there was nothing on (y/n), and therefore, no reason her parents felt to talk to her about soulmates.  Sometimes they were just so hard to come by, that they’d figured they wouldn’t bring it up until there was a sign that she even had a soulmate.  Some people never found their soulmate, and a life without one is so lonely, so meaningless.  They just didn’t want their little girl to live like that.

Her first mark came when she was thirteen.

It was a quick, sharp pain in the palm of her hand that had shown up one night while at the dinner table.  She had shrieked in pain and surprise, seeing a gash appear across her skin, and her parents had rushed in to find her crying, and blood dripping all over the table cloth.

“Oh sweetheart, what happened?” Her mother had asked, while her father ran off to didn’t the first aid kit.

“I didn’t do it,” (y/n) was crying, “It just- it just happened”

Her father came back in, cleaning up the wound and bandaging her hand while she tried to stop whimpering.  That was the night they first talked about soulmates, and that whoever (y/n’s) was, just had a ghastly accident.

As terrifying as it was to suddenly have a scar across her hand, she spent the rest of the night unwrapping the gauze to look at it, only to re-wrap and overthink about who her soulmate was, and what the hell he was thinking. ___

It wasn’t until four years later that her soulmate was at it again.  And as if the giant scar that ran across the whole of her right palm wasn’t enough, her soulmate got a tattoo.

A tattoo.

Just like always, she was minding her own business, nose in a book in the comfort of her bed, when it started with a sudden prick on her ankle.

It didn’t hurt enough for her to scream, or cry, but she winced, and brushed it off as a weird tingle.

And then, a few seconds later, it started again, this time rapidly, like someone was stabbing her with the world’s tiniest knife, repeatedly.

She dropped her book, and kicked off her blankets to see that there was a line of black ink and a few drops of blood on her skin.

This continued until there was a distinct F inked there on her ankle.

Collected a box of tissues to help clean the blood, she kept watching to see what the hell her soulmate had decided to tattoo on his body. ___

“Really? Richie?” Beverly cringed at the tattoo Richie was showing off on his ankle.

In bold, clear lettering, he’d thought that a tat that said ‘FUCK YOU’ would be cool.  And it was clear that he was pretty proud of it too.

“Wow…” Stan said, eyes wide as he stared at the black ink that Richie was showing off.  “That’s real classy, Richie”

“I think it’s pretty rad,” He said, and cuffed his jeans so they’d raise above the tattoo and he could show it off more.  “Best seventy bucks of my life”

“Not true, dipshit,” Eddie rolled his eyes.  “Do you even know how dirty those needles can be? You could’ve gotten fucking- I don’t know- AIDS or something”

“Shut up Eds.  And for the last time, I don’t have AIDS!”

“W-what about y-your soulmate?” Bill asked.  “Th-they probably aren’t too happy r-right now”

“Good, it’ll help me find em faster,” Richie shrugged.  “Can’t miss them with this printed on their leg”

“Jesus Richie, you branded the poor thing?” Bev sighed, shaking her head at the boy.

“I’m kidding,” He said whilst laughing.  “Come on, if anything, they’ll know now that I’m edgy, and cool”

“Or stupid” Stan muttered.

Truth was, Richie hadn’t really thought about the fact that this tattoo was now marked on someone else’s ankle, somewhere else in the world.  Soulmates weren’t something that crossed his mind much, especially his own.  Deep down, he didn’t think he would be one of the lucky few who actually met their soulmate, and so he hadn’t thought twice about such a bold tattoo.

He wondered now what they’d thought of it.  If it had hurt when he’d gotten it.  It only stung a little on his end, but surely his soulmate was taken by surprise when suddenly  a tattoo showed up on their leg. ___

A few days later, his soulmate struck back.

While at the quarry with the Losers, he felt a sharp pain on his ankle, right next to his tattoo.

It only lasted a few seconds before he got used to it, and it only took a few seconds for him to realize what was happening.  His soulmate was getting a tattoo, right after the ‘you’ in his ‘fuck you’.  

Richie chuckled, wiping away the small amount of blood that appeared from the invisible needle.  Whoever it was, they were something special.

It was just a small, simple black heart.  Right next to his words.  No more, no less.  And it gave him no clue on who they were.

He liked their sense of humor though.  If they had done this as an act of humor, anyways. ___

(y/n) had decided that she was just going to have to find her soulmate.

Not because she wanted to, no, she wanted to find them so she could give them a piece of her mind.

Her act of revenge had done nothing to help her.  She’d been looking at every ankle of every person she saw, and most were bare.  Or they had something lame, like an infinity sign.

(You’d be surprised how many infinity signs she had the displeasure of seeing)

So she did the best thing she could think of to try and find them.

She went to the library.

And she’d been holed up there all day, reading and re-reading the few textbooks they had about soulmates.  The librarians that had originally been confused by her asking about them, but as the hours passed, they just pitied her.

She’d gone through three so far, and so far, she’d found nothing on how to actually find a soulmate.  All of the stories turned to romance novels were about couples finding each other by chance.  Apparently, tracking down your soulmate was nearly impossible.

“Excuse me,” A voice called behind where she stood, studying the books on the shelf with laser vision.  “I need a book that’s right where you’re standing”

(y/n) turned around, finding a boy behind her, a rather tall boy, with too large glasses and too long curly hair.  And for being dressed like a punk, he was cute.

“Sorry” She mumbled, shuffling away so he could take the book he wanted.

“You know anything about soulmates?” He asked, fingers skimming over the spines as he searched for the book he was looking for.

“Wh-what?”

“Obviously you’re curious, you’ve been standing over here for like- a fucking hour”

Her eyes widened for a moment at his language, before nervously laughing.

“No I… actually the problem is I don’t know enough.  I’m trying to find mine, you see”

The stranger laughed, eyes flickering over to hers as he quirked a brow.

“Isn’t that the point?” He asked, and she felt her face go hot with embarrassment.

“Well- I-”

“I’m trying to find mine too, I guess,” He shrugged.  “But that’s a first for me.  I didn’t really care before now”

“You didn’t?” (y/n) asked, and he nodded, finally taking his book off the shelf.  “I just thought… everyone wanted to find their other half”

“Well, it’s near impossible.  Best of luck to you” He said, before turning back to her and giving her a short salute.

Her brows furrowed at the weird act, but she saluted him back, making him chuckle before he walked off.

(y/n) shook her head, and went back to trying to find the right book that she hoped would magically give her the exact location of her soulmate.

As Richie turned to walk around the corner, the girl in the aisle stood on the tips of her toes, reaching for a book on a shelf just above her head.  Normally, he would’ve just checked her out and been on his merry way.

But the cuff of her jeans rode up as she stood on her tiptoes, revealing her ankle.

Or, more specifically, the tattoo on her ankle.

A very distinct, impossible-to-miss, tattoo, that read ‘FUCK YOU’ with a small black heart next to it.

Richie almost puked.

“Hey,” He called out before he could stop himself, and the girl turned to him, that confused look still on her face.  “We’re both researching soulmates so…”

“So?” She repeated, not following.

For a stranger, this guy was very strange.

“So why not do it together?” He offered, and she made a face.

“Really?” She asked disbelievingly.  “Why?”

“I just fucking said- we’re both trying to figure some stuff out it might be easier to do it together”

“Alright,” She shrugged.  “I’ve got a table in the back with some more stuff, if you want to work over there?”

Richie agreed and followed her to the spot she’d been working all day.  Why he hadn’t just come out and told her that he was her soulmate, he wasn’t sure, and was currently kicking himself for it.

“I’m (y/n) by the way” She told him as she sat across from him at the table, a shy sort of smile on her face.

“Richie,” He replied, and stuck his hand out for her to shake.  “My friends call me Trashmouth”

She chuckled, but nonetheless shook his hand.

“So why are you looking for your soulmate?” He asked.  “Just ready to fall deeply and crazily in love?”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, and Richie’s brows furrowed at the action.

“Hell no,” She told him.  “Not yet anyways.  When I meet them, I’m gonna break their frickin’ nose”

Richie scoffed out a laugh, and she looked up at him from the book she was reading.

“What?” She asked innocently.

“Well, usually when people get hellbent on finding their one and only it’s because they’re super lonely and need some lovin’.  But you just wanna beat them up” He gave her a teasing grin, but she just rolled her eyes again.

“Mine’s a psychopath” She muttered.

“Oh?” Richie folded his hands together and set his head atop them, staring at her curiously.  “How so?”

“I just know it”

“Well wouldn’t you be crazy too, then?” He asked.  “Seeing as you’re destined to be together and all”

“Okay, well, I’m not a crazy person, because I would never do this” She stared at him pointedly as she put her shoe on the table, and pulled up the hem of her jeans to show him the tattoo.

Richie smirked looking at it, even though (y/n) had a scowl on her face.

“See that heart there? I added that myself a couple days after the first one showed up” She told him proudly.

“Neat,” He grinned.  “Crazy thing though,” He added, and put his own shoe on the table, pulling up his pant leg to reveal the exact same tattoo.  “I’ve got the same tattoo”

(y/n’s) jaw dropped open, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Oh my god-”

“So do you wanna break my nose now? Or…”

“It’s you?”

“Well don’t sound too lovestruck” He chuckled,putting his foot back on the ground.

“I just- I can’t believe- what’re the odds?” She stammered.

“Well from this book here, about one in thirty,” He said, and she narrowed her eyes at him.  “So, wanna get married?”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” She suddenly declared.  “Getting a tattoo like this? Did you even think first?”

“Sure, about a day” He shrugged.

“Did you think about me? Did you even realize that someone out there was gonna be stuck with this for the rest of their lives too? My life!”

“Okay, you’re screaming in a library now,” Richie chuckled.  “Want to get dinner and you can scream at me some more there?” ___

Three Months Later ___

“So, I can’t believe I never asked,” Beverly spoke from where she sat on the sofa across from (y/n) and Richie.  “How’d you end up meeting, anyways?”

Richie grinned down at the girl that was sitting across his lap, who quietly groaned and rolled her eyes at the look he was giving her.

“It’s such a romantic story,” Richie declared, and his hand held (y/n’s) head against his chest lovingly.  “We met at the library, while this one was trying to find me.  And then she swept me off my feet by threatening to beat me up-”

“Oh my god” Ben’s hushed whisper made Richie crack up, and the other Losers just gave them disbelieving looks.

“Really?” Stan asked, and (y/n) shrugged.

“I wasn’t all too happy about the whole tattoo this dumbass got,” She explained, and the others started to understand.  “I think that my initial… anger… with his is very justified” She said, returning the teasing grin that Richie had previously given her.

“That’s alright.  We want to hit him all the time” Beverly chuckled.

Another round of understanding nods and smiles.

“She makes up for it in bed-”

“Shh” (y/n) hissed, swatting at his chest with the back of her hand, which only made Richie hold her head more securely against him.

“We’re gonna have to fill her in on how the ‘beep beep’ rule works if we want her to stick around” Stan laughed as he spoke.

“Hey! She’s my soulmate, my one and only, she has to stick around!” Richie declared, and (y/n) snuggled deeper into his soft sweater, wrapping her arms around his neck in giving him a cheesy smile.

“Oh, honey,” She spoke pitifully.  “There is definitely a deeper attachment here because I have no clue how we would’ve ended up together anyways”

Richie pulled a face, unsure if that was sweet, or an insult, and (y/n) just giggled, hugging him with a quick squeeze.

“Yeah.  We don’t fuckin’ know either” Eddie said.

“Shut it,” Richie snapped.  “We’re soulmates” He emphasized, cuddling (y/n) impossibly closer to him.

“And how the fuck did you find your soulmate before the rest of us?” Eddie huffed in annoyance.

“Love” Richie said with a big dopey grin.

“And a lot of anger,” (y/n) chimed in.  “Like a lot”

“Got it” Richie muttered.

“Like a really lot.  I wanted to bust your kneecaps first-”

“Got it.”

The teasing was constant, it was probably the most consistent thing about (y/n) and Richie’s relationship.  Except for the excessive need to be around each other, and the touching ((y/n) always said it was Richie, but she couldn’t go five minutes without some form of physical attention either, he liked to tease her about that).  They were an unlikely pair, and if they hadn’t been soulmates, neither were sure they’d ever cross paths.  But neither couldn’t have gone the rest of their life without the other in it.

And now at the ripe young age of eighteen, and had the rest of forever to spend together. ___

xoxo ~ jordie

[fallen-gravity]

Scars, Show Me All The Scars You Hide

Ford and Mabel have a talk about blame, and how too much of it can cause the heart pain.

Alternatively,

Mabel tells Ford about her encounter with Bill prior to the start of Weirdmageddon.

AO3

Everything is peaceful. 

Ever since the town had been cleansed of any and all evidence that Weirdmageddon had happened at all, the small town of Gravity Falls seemed to sigh a breath of relief for the first time in decades. The birds were chirping away as the clouds from an earlier rainfall were beginning to clear. The whole atmosphere of the town still smelled of rainfall, and it seemed that half of the town’s population was out for a walk to enjoy it. Everyone in town seemed friendlier to each other, too. It was near-impossible to come across a sidewalk unoccupied by groups of people gathered in messy circles to talk. 

The Shack was booming with business, far more than the morning after Gideon’s arrest.  Also in great contrast was the fact that those who were stopping by the shack had little interest in tours, rather to come in to meet the family that saved the town from utter destruction. Stan had already gotten far more than his fair share of aggressive handshakes and teary-eyed hugs from citizens who’d lived in town their whole lives,  while Ford stood off to the side, watching them with a quiet fondness, finally understanding what his brother had meant when he told them the Shack had been a fundamental part of the town’s history. When they had first argued over the deed to the Shack, Ford had just thought he’d been exaggerating, but it was moments like those, as well as the times he would be mistaken for Stan in public, that really opened his eyes to how much the people of this town really loved the place, and, more importantly, how much these people loved his brother. 

Today might be the first lull the Shack’s seen in a solid month, and Stan had made the decision to close up shop to spend time with the family before Dipper and Mabel had to head off back home. They’d spent the entire early afternoon together, playing dumb games and watching dumb movies, and now, for the first time today, they were all off doing their own thing. It wouldn’t last, they knew, but they also couldn’t argue against the fact that sometimes comfortable silence was one of the warmest feelings on Earth. 

Stan’s taking a nap on the back porch, Dipper’s in the kitchen scribbling things down in a blank notebook Ford had gifted him when he was offered the apprenticeship, and Ford was down in his basement lab, cleaning up the last of the rubble of the portal he and Stan had taken baseball bats to the night prior. 

Mabel…. 

Mabel is pacing back and forth in the living room, stuck wondering why if everything is so peaceful and perfect, just like she’d dreamed things would be, that something still felt...off to her.  Not in the sense that she’d forgotten something, or that things shouldn’t be all peachy keen, it’s more along the lines of something that’s wrong with her specifically.

She knew it couldn’t be a lack of sleep, because she’d fallen asleep in Grunkle Stan’s lap during one of the movies earlier. It could be that she’s sad to be leaving in a week, she supposes, but no, they hadn’t been talking much about her and Dipper’s departure lately, and she’d already made both Stan and Ford pinky promise her that the two of them could spend the following summer in Gravity Falls, so that couldn’t be it either…

“Mabel?” Dipper asks, startling her out of her thoughts, and she freezes in her pacing. He’s carrying his notebook under one arm, and his favorite blue pen is poking out of his hair from behind his ear. Nerd. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know…” Mabel admitted, rubbing at her arm. “I know that everything’s all sunshine and rainbows now that Bill’s gone for good, but I don’t feel like sunshine and rainbows”

“Oh, Mabel…” Dipper frowned, placing his book on the armrest of Stan’s chair. “Is it because we’re leaving so soon? I know Stan already promised us we could stay here whenever we needed, but I thought you missed Mom and Dad”

“I do miss them!” Mabel shot her arms in the air. “I miss everyone at home. But I don’t think that’s what’s bugging me so much”.

Dipper frowns, and takes a seat in Stan’s chair, indicating he wasn’t going to leave the room until he could figure out what was bugging her himself. “Well...what do you think it is?”

“I don’t know!” Mabel whined, bringing her hand to her forehead as if she had a bad headache. “I’m thrilled that everything’s okay, I’m thrilled that Stan and Ford are best friends again, and I’m thrilled that we get to come back next summer, but I...can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. I haven’t been able to since the morning Stan woke up with his memories intact” 

“Mabel, that was two days ago!”

“I know, I know…” Mabel begins pacing again. “But I just thought that it was just cause I was so stressed he was gonna relapse again, or that something else terrible was gonna happen, or-”

The small crunch of a piece of paper interrupts her before she can finish her train of thought, and when she looks down to see what she’d stepped on she realizes it’s an early draft of the invitation cards for her and Dipper’s birthday party.

Her face goes pale at the sight. 

“Mabel, are you okay?” Dipper stands to reach out for her shoulder. “You’re not looking too hot…”

“I know what it is” she says, before he can touch her, and he retracts his hand. 

“You do? Can you tell me?” 

Mabel takes a few looks around the room to make sure that they’re alone.

“Follow me,” she says, but then she grabs Dipper by the hand and runs up the stairs to their attic bedroom.

“Mabel, what’s happening?” Dipper asks her as she locks the room behind her. “You’re acting a lot like...me” 

“It’s all my fault”

“What? What’s all your fault?”

The concern in her brother’s tone makes her choke up for reasons she can’t describe. “Weirdmageddon”, she shutters. “It’s all my fault”.

“What?” Dipper’s voice squeaks, which makes Mabel flinch. “Mabel, don’t say that! Of course it’s not your fault!”

“Yes it is,” she mopes, and plops herself down onto her bed. “Bill came after me when I ran into the woods, and I gave him that weird snow-globe looking thing.” She buries her face in her pillow, but she doesn’t wait for her brother to respond before she keeps going.  “It wasn’t out of anger, or anything, I swear. He possessed that Blendin guy and promised me an eternal summer in exchange, and I handed it over because I’m a big dummy dumb, and everyone got hurt because I thought I wanted time to freeze forever so we wouldn’t have to be apart” 

For a brief moment there’s silence, but then Dipper’s hand on her shoulder. When she pulls her face out of her pillow to look at him, it’s all wet and gooey. “Mabel, are you kidding? I thought the rift shattered in your backpack. I thought for sure it was because you tripped, and everything exploded out of your backpack. I thought you were a goner”. 

Mabel sniffles, but she doesn’t respond. 

“Mabel, your story is so much better than the ones I was making up in my head. I mean, I wish Bill had never tracked you down at all, but I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.” He pulls her into a hug. “Great Uncle Ford and I were just talking about this the other morning, Mabel. He was worried sick that he’d hurt you taking it by force” 

“You’re…” she stutters, returning the hug. “You’re not mad?” 

“Of course not” he shakes his head. “I meant what I said in Mabeland. Whatever happens, we get through it together”. 

She giggles and pulls away from the hug, wiping at her face with her sleeves. “But...what about Grunkle Ford?”

Dipper shakes his head. “You should tell him too. He’s gonna be understanding, Mabel, he already knows how much Bill had it out for us personally”

That’s...true, she supposes, shuttering at the memory of her and Dipper offering themselves up as bait so Bill wouldn’t kill their Grunkles. She stands to exit the room, gives her brother one more hug for good luck, and and repeats Dipper’s words to herself the entire way down the staircase and into the gift shop. The stairs to the basement are propped open, which she assumes is because Ford no longer feels he needs to keep its location a secret.  She makes her way down slowly, partly out of nerves and partly to avoid spooking Ford.

He’ll understand, she says to herself one last time as she exits the elevator. Ford’s sitting at the work desk, and the view of the portal in the next room is blocked off with a curtain. He’s hunched over, just a little bit, and Mabel figures it’s probably because he’s writing something in one of the journals. It’s only as she approaches him that she realizes he’s not wearing his trench coat, because she can tell that he rolled the sleeves of his sweaters up to make for easier writing. 

“Grunkle Ford?” she asks, knocking lightly on the machine closest to her right in case calling his name isn’t enough to snap him out of his focus. 

“Mabel!” his response is cheery, and he places a bookmark on the page he’d been working on and closes the cover. “What brings you down here?” 

“Well, I...guess I wanted to talk to you about something”.

“Sure, anything” he grins, patting at his pant leg in invitation to come sit on his lap. Mabel sighs, tries to think for a moment about how she can place things lightly, and takes Ford up on his offer. She crawls up onto his lap, opens her mouth to speak, and freezes when she notices that his wrist is covered in cuts and blistering scars. A quick glance at the other wrist and she’s met with the same sight. 

“Grunkle Ford?” is all she can manage, and her eyes follow hers to the scars on her wrist. 

“Oh!” he replies, much cheerier than she’d expected him to, and rolls his sleeves back down. “I’m going to be fine, sweetie, those will heal in due time”.

“What happened to you?” she looks up at him with her signature puppy eyes. “How recent are these?” 

From her spot on his lap, Mabel can feel Ford’s chest rise and fall as he sighs quietly. “You have to promise me you won’t tell Stan,” he says, rubbing delicately at his wrist. Mabel nods silently, and his eyes fall to the ground to avoid eye contact with his niece.

“Bill did this to me. When he was demanding that I give him the codes to undo the bubble around the town, he chained me by my arms and legs and fried me until I talked. I’m so sorry that you had to come across them by accident, but, uh, I’m grateful that you saw them today, rather than earlier. I nearly threw up when I saw them for the first time after I was freed”

Mabel’s breath hitches, and she’s tearing up. It’s getting harder and harder to convince herself that It’s not your fault could be a true statement when everyone she cares about is getting hurt by it. Bill fried him. Bill chained him up and fried him, and if the scars on his wrists are just from the chains, she can’t even begin to imagine what the scars must look like under the rest of his sweater. He must be completely disfigured from the neck down, if she knows anything about Bill. He’d tried to kill her two other times prior to Weirdmageddon, but those were over much less risky things than control over the whole universe.

She throws herself against Ford’s sweater in a fit of choked sobs, and his arms are around her before she can even finish processing that she’s crying again.

“There, there, Mabel” Ford’s voice is cool and collected, but tinged with sadness to see her break down like this for the second time in three days. He rubs gentle circles into her back, quietly shushing her sobs, and the tender gesture of it all just makes Mabel cry even harder. “It’s okay, Mabel. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m safe, thanks to you”. He gently pats her hair, and Mabel sniffles as she pulls away. Ford keeps his hand where it is, at the top of her head, and she hates how much of a grounding feeling it is. 

“It’s not okay!” She yells, and more tears pour down her face. “You’re hurting! Bill could’ve killed you!” she gasps for air. “If we had shown up just five minutes later than we did, you could’ve been a goner!” She takes his other wrist, which was still wrapped around her to prevent her from falling off of his lap, and rolls it up to reveal the identical scar he’d just covered up moments ago. “These look worse than the time I pulled a tray of cupcakes out of the oven with my bare hands cause I was too excited to wait for them! I thought I was never gonna feel anything ever again!” She cries. 

“Mabel, sweetie…” 

“No!” she cries. “I don’t deserve to be called that. It’s all my fault he hurt you.” Her sobs quiet as her body seems to double-whammy her and send her into a panic attack, trembling uncontrollably against Ford’s chest. “It’s my fault” 

There’s a gentle six-fingered hand on her cheek, and she looks up to warm brown eyes staring into hers with heartbroken worry. “It’s not your fault, my dear, Bill and I have a really complicated history together. Nothing you could’ve done would’ve changed that”

“That’s exactly my point! Bill may not have acted any differently, but I still could’ve!” 

“What do you mean?”

Mabel wipes away her tears with her wrist again.

“It’s my fault everything happened in the first place. I’m the reason Bill got his hands on the...uh...rift, I think Dipper called it” she sniffles. “Bill caught up to me when I was all upset in the woods about arguing with Dipper, and told me he could fix things if I gave it to him, and I-” 

She’s cut off by Ford’s hug around her tightening, like she just unlocked a set of keywords that’d make him never want to let go of her again.

“Mabel, I want you to listen to me very carefully”

She doesn’t say anything, but squeezes him in silent confirmation to let him know she’s still listening.

“Nothing that happened was your fault, okay? I need you to understand how genuine that statement is. It wouldn’t matter if Bill convinced you to smash the rift into the ground yourself. It wouldn’t matter if you handed it over without question, or if you shook his hand.”

“But-”

“Let me finish” he cuts her off, but the soft nature in his tone lets her know he isn’t upset. “Mabel, it doesn’t matter who said or did what because this is exactly how Bill liked to play his games. He knew you wouldn’t be thinking straight, he knew you wouldn’t question anything he asked you to do.” he reaches under his glasses to wipe at his own eyes. “He did the same thing to me when I was younger, Mabel. I called him my best friend. He convinced me to hang onto every word he ever said without giving them a second thought”

He pulls her away from the hug so he can look her in the eyes again. “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever encountered in any dimension, Mabel. Don’t blame yourself for the mistakes I made when I was younger. If there’s anyone that should be blamed for the whole ordeal besides Bill, it should be me.”

“Grunkle Ford, don’t say that!” 

He laughs quietly, bitterly. “I should have told you about the rift earlier, Mabel. I’m sorry I kept it a secret from you”

“It’s okay,” she replies. “I know that you were just trying to keep me safe. Stan had to keep a lot of things from me, too”.

“No kidding…” Ford’s voice drifts off, which makes Mabel painfully aware of the fact she was currently holding a conversation with one of said things. He shakes his head. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that pitting all of the blame on yourself isn’t going to do you any good.” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “...Stan and I had to learn that one the hard way. If you focus too much on the idea that all you’ve done is hurt people, you miss out on all of the times you’ve done good for other people.”

He smiles warmly. 

“Dipper told me you were the one who stopped the portal from shutting down. I’m not sure I’d even still be alive if it weren’t for you. You’ve done so much good for the people you care about that anything else is nonexistent in comparison. You’re a wonderful person, Mabel, inside and out. If there ever were a person out there who truly was pure of heart, I can say in all honesty that I think it’d be you”.

Mabel’s on the verge of crying again. She throws herself at him in another hug, and he’s quick to hug her back.

“You’re a wonderful person too, Grunkle Ford. I don’t want you to forget that either”.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she could hear him sniffle at the remark.

[detectivejigsawpines]

ORN-Part 2 (Reaching Out)

Trigger warning: reference to suicide (very brief).

Ford stared at the phone, still clutched in his hand, in astonishment.

The mystery caller who had spent years (somehow following his trail from Backupsmore all the way to Gravity Falls, no less) contacting him, only to hang up without speaking, had finally said something.

And even though the words he’d spoken were in Spanish, which Ford had never learned (why bother when Latin and Ancient Greek were available?), the voice sounded very familiar, which was the tiniest bit reassuring for some reason.

Unfortunately, even though Spanish was derived from Latin because it was a Romance language, he was stumped as to what those words had actually meant.

Ford realized with a growl of frustration that it was late, and the town library (which was probably the best place he could go to get them translated) was therefore closed.

It would certainly be nice, he mused to himself, if there was a way to readily find information from the comfort of your own home in situations like this.

The next day he put aside his research on the weirdness of Gravity Falls, which was hitting a bit of a roadblock anyway, and headed straight for the library.  He was eventually able to locate a good Spanish-to-English dictionary and start reading through it.

It would have made things easier if he’d been able to actually see the words the mystery caller had spoken, and how they were spelled, but he was able to make a few educated guesses.  About ten minutes later Ford wrote out what he thought was the correct translation in his journal, under his entry on the silent phone calls-and at once his pen fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

Lo siento, hermano.

I’m sorry, brother.

********

There was only one person in the world who it could possibly be.  Well, technically there were two, but only one of them would have a good reason to say that to him.

Slowly it sank in that his mystery caller was the one person he never expected to hear from again, and that he had just told Ford the one thing he never expected to hear from him.

He noticed that his hand was actually shaking a little, and his stomach churning with multiple emotions.

Frustratingly, until or unless Stanley called him back, there was nothing he could do to reconnect with him, because last he’d heard from Mom, Stan didn’t have a phone number.

He went home and spent the rest of the day shooting anxious (or alternatively baleful) glances at the phone as he tried to go through his normal routine, torn between willing it to ring so he could get some answers, and kind of hoping that it wouldn’t.  And then feeling horrified and disgusted with himself for the latter because what if that message had been some kind of final goodbye?  Like maybe Stan was planning to never contact him again, or was about to-

No, he couldn’t think like that.  Stan was incredibly fond of life, he’d never-

But there was no way he could be sure of that, was there?  There were probably lots of suicide cases (just thinking the words made him cringe) where the...victim was one of the last people you’d expect to do something like that.

But come on, even if Stan did feel guilty about what he’d done all that long ago, which he apparently did, surely he wouldn’t feel bad enough to do that.  Even if Ford could hold onto old hurts for so many years, that didn’t mean Stan would-

By the time his phone finally rang again, nearly two whole days later, Ford was a bundle of frayed nerves.

Hurriedly he snatched it up and practically yelled into the receiver, “Hello, this is Stanford Pines!”

There was another silence at the other end of the line.  After a second it occurred to Ford that there was a chance it was someone else entirely, like maybe his mother or a telemarketer (the only other people who called on a regular basis), and he had just frightened them by shrieking into the phone.  He cleared his throat awkwardly, and said in a more civilized tone, “...Um, hello?  Sorry about that.”

There was no reply, but whoever it was hadn’t hung up yet; he could faintly hear what sounded like a car driving by on the other end of the line.  Ford swallowed and decided to take the plunge.

“Stanley?  Is that you?”

This time there was a small gasp, one that sounded familiar now that he was looking for it.

“Don’t hang up!” Ford said quickly, just in case.

Another pause...and then a (maybe more gravelly than he remembered, but still recognizable) voice said softly, “...Hey, Sixer.”

There were a hundred things that Ford wanted to say.  And ask.  And yell.  And probably curse.

He chose to go with, “How did you get my number?”

“Mom,” Stan replied simply.

Ah.  Of course.  She had brought up Stanley a few times, telling him how his brother was doing even when he insisted he didn’t care and didn’t want to hear it.  It sounded like she’d been trying to persuade Stan to reach out to him too.

He chewed his lip, searching for more words.

“I, um-was waiting for you to call back sooner.”

“Sorry.  I got...caught up.”  More cars were in the background; was he next to a road?

Another pause.

“...What did you want?” Stan finally asked.

“You’re the one who called me, Stanley.”

“Oh.  Right.”  An awkward cough.  “Guess I just...wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Is there a reason why I wouldn’t be?” Ford asked, still trying to process that.  That meant that all those phone calls were his brother’s own unique way of checking up on him?

“I dunno.  Besides the fact that you suck at taking care of yourself.”  A half-hearted laugh, probably accompanied by him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck; he tended to do that when he was uncomfortable.

He was hiding something.  Stan was a much better liar than Ford nine and a half times out of ten, but he could tell he was hiding something.  All he said in return, though, was, “Listen to the pot calling the kettle black.”

More awkward laughter from both of them.

Oh geez, they were actually doing small talk.  That felt so wrong; neither of them had ever needed to do small talk with each other.  The alternative, however, was to rip the bandage off the wound that he had to admit to himself had never actually healed, and he didn’t know what would happen if he did that.  Most likely Stan would hang up again and this would be the last conversation they’d ever have.  And while the more self-righteous part of him said that was fine by him, he didn’t need anybody either, the rest of him was frantically whisper-screaming for that to not happen, please please please no-

“So you’re doing okay?  Mom says you got a house.  And a research grant.”

Ford shook his head, bringing himself back into the moment.  “Yes.  It’s in Oregon.”

“Whoa.  You got all the way away from Jersey.”

Ford’s jaw clenched a tiny bit.  “Yeah.”

“Good job.”

“...Thanks.”

And then, out of the blue, he said, “You should come visit.”

“Just take some time off-” Mom told him once while he was in college that Stan had started a sales business of some kind, maybe he was still doing that, and surely it wouldn’t be hard to take a break- “and drive up and see it.  It’s a nice town, very interesting, has all kinds of unique phenomena.”  Ford realized that he was starting to babble and shut his mouth.

A longer silence lasted between them, long enough for him to ask, “Stan?  You still there?”

“I’m here.”  To his surprise, Stan sounded...apprehensive.  Afraid, even.  Something Stan never was, except perhaps in situations regarding Pa.

“I-I don’t-you’re probably real busy doing important science stuff, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Ford insisted.  “I’m...kind of in a roadblock in my research, actually.  Maybe it would do me good to take some time off.”

“You don’t need me for that.”  Somehow the resignation that entered his brother’s voice now hurt worse than the fear had.

“Just think about it.”  Even though before today the idea of inviting his estranged twin to come visit him would have been the last thing on his mind, suddenly Ford very much wanted it to happen.

Maybe it was the fact that Stan had been sort of reaching out to him for almost five years now, even if he’d never actually spoken to him.  Maybe it was because he’d said he was sorry, even if it was in another language.

Maybe it was lingering fear and not wanting to never hear from him again, as ridiculously sentimental as that probably was.

“...Maybe,” Stan finally said.  “S’not like I’m that busy right now.”

Ford exhaled, trying to think of a way to be more persuasive without being pushy.

“Do you need my address?”  Seconds later he wanted to kick himself; too eager, that was way too eager.

“Nah, I got it written down somewhere.”

“618 Gopher Road,” Ford said anyway.

“Yeah, that sounds right.”  Stan swallowed again, loudly.  “I, um, I gotta go.  These calls aren’t cheap.”

Then all that was left was the dial tone buzzing in Ford’s ear.

[invisibletinkerer]

Fic: In Our Bedroom After the War

When Weirdmageddon fades, Stanley isn’t the only one who emerges broken.

Size: ~6500 words.

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/18856615

The world was back.

The forest was back. The singing birds, the summer breeze, the sunlight trickling through the canopy of leaves. The sky was a brilliant blue, as if it had never cracked open and spewed nightmares over the valley of Gravity Falls.

The demon was dead.

Stanford Pines was trembling.

By all rights, this should have been a triumph. The threat to all reality posed by the demon – enabled by Stanford himself so many years ago – was gone. Ended at the very moment when all seemed lost. No, when all would have been lost, if it hadn’t been for—

If his brother hadn’t—

Ford clenched the hands that had held the gun, unable to completely stop the shivers, but at least rendering them less noticeable. The children would be looking to him for guidance. It wouldn’t do to break down now, when it was all over.

In fact, he realized with a deep shudder, he was safe. He was bathed in the sunlight of a morning that would never have come, wearing an ill-fitting suit, toes crammed into too small shoes, and for the first time in over three decades there was no demon breathing down his neck. It should have been a triumph, and yet he felt numb.

“Grunkle Sta—Grunkle Ford!” Mabel’s voice from somewhere behind him startled him more than it should have. “You did it! Everything is back to normal! I don’t even understand what happened but you saved us!”

“Mabel, wait!” Dipper’s warning came a little too late, as his sister had already thrown her arms around Ford’s waist, squeezing him painfully. Ford’s fists clenched harder at his sides, but it was just Mabel. She wasn’t going to break his bones or—He wasn’t thinking about that.

“Mabel,” he said instead, as calmly as possible, maneuvering himself and her around to face each other. She was wearing Stanley’s red fez. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

She tensed. “What do you mean? Bill is gone, isn’t he?”

Ford nodded. “Bill is gone, and he’s not coming back. But I’m not the one who saved us.” All he had done was to pull the trigger on his own brother, the brother he’s kept underestimating and writing off until the moment it was too late to make amends. He took a deep breath. “Stanley did.”

“Is he okay?” Dipper had stopped a bit off to the side, arms folded like he was hugging himself, and glancing around as if trying to locate Stanley. “The memory gun – I mean – you erased Bill, didn’t you? Is Grunkle Stan okay?”

Ford sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “No.” There was no point trying to hide the truth from the children, not after everything they’d been through. “The only way to be sure to erase Bill was to wipe Stan’s entire mind. He—” Ford’s voice broke, and he had to swallow to compose himself. “He sacrificed himself for us.”

Mabel stared at him, wide-eyed, but Dipper eyes narrowed, like an accusation. It was well deserved.

“It should have been me.” That was no defense. It should have been Ford, but it wasn’t. He’d been willing to—he’d wanted to die defeating Bill for so many years, but when the moment came his own desperate means of protection against the demon’s mental intrusions was exactly what had rendered him incapable of the deed.

There had been a moment when he’d lost all hope. When the choice had seemed to be between surrendering the world to Bill’s chaotic destruction and watching the children he’d come to know and love suffer and die in Bill’s hands. He knew what Bill was capable of. The thought of Bill turning his energies on the intelligent, curious boy or the bright, creative girl before him made him want to scream again, even knowing that they were safe now.

Ford had been ready to give in, and afterwards no one would have ever been safe.

“Stanley took my place because the memory gun wouldn’t have worked on me,” he explained, keeping his voice steady. “I have a metal plate installed in my head that makes me immune.” Dipper already knew this, but Mabel deserved to understand, too. She was still staring blankly at him.

Dipper took a few steps closer and put his arms around his sister, unclear whether to comfort her or himself. “Are you saying he’s—he’s dead?”

Ford licked his lips. “He should be physically fine. But the man he was – everything he knew and cared about – it’s gone. He’s gone. I’m sorry, but you need to be ready for that.”

Mabel finally blinked. “No,” she said.

“What?”

“No, he’s not gone. I’m not gonna accept that and neither will he!”

“Mabel, that’s not how it—”

“La-la-la, I can’t hear you!” Mabel papped her hands over her ears, then smiled brightly. “You’ll see, Grunkle Ford! He’ll be fine! He’s a hero! Come on, Dipper, let’s go find him!” She grabbed her brother’s hand and dragged him off in a random direction, not waiting for Ford to follow.

Ford pushed down a spell of dizziness. His heart was beating too fast, his vision swaying as he followed the children at a slower pace. They did have to find Stanley. They had to take care of him somehow. But Mabel was wrong – she was a child. She didn’t understand that sometimes the hero is the one who is not left standing in the end.

It was expected, but still agonizing to see the light die in Mabel’s eyes when they reached him. He was sitting in the grass in a small clearing, his face dazed and empty, looking at the restored world with no indication of understanding it. The contrast was profound between this shell of a man and the focused, determined, clever brother who had convinced Ford to switch clothes and pull a final desperate con in the few minutes of time the children’s actions had bought them. The brother who had wordlessly squeezed Ford’s six-fingered hand and looked at him like he wished he could pour a lifetime’s worth of missed companionship into a single gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Ford mouthed even as Mabel ran up to the shell, putting the fez back on his head, hugging him and thanking him for saving them all. The man that used to be Stanley blinked and managed to talk, but all that came out was confused politeness.

She was openly weeping, begging for her Grunkle to recognize her, when Ford and Dipper dragged her away.

“He doesn’t remember,” Ford said softly. Subtle tremors ran through him again, but he made himself look at Stanley’s blank expression. “He saved the world today, and he doesn’t even know.”

A few steps forward, and Ford was close enough to touch him. The eyes that looked up at him were open, innocent, confused but accepting. “He saved us. He saved me.” He wasn’t sure who he was talking to anymore, but he felt the full weight of his own words like a sledgehammer to the chest, ripping his heart out. It wasn’t just the world – he was saved. Stanley had saved him. And it was too late to thank him for it.

Ford’s legs folded beneath him, and before he knew it he pulled Stanley’s empty shell into a tight embrace. “You’re our hero, Stanley.” His voice broke into a sob, and then the tears came.

Stanford knew all too well that men shouldn’t cry, and he didn’t mean to, not now, not in front of the upset children. Perhaps it was fatigue that did it. The events of the past however-long-it-had-been in the pseudo-time of Weirdmageddon was an agonizing blur, but he was free, and alive, and safe – it was all over, all thanks to Stanley, but Stanley didn’t even know it.

Stanley didn’t move, didn’t hug him back, just sat there awkwardly. Enduring the embrace, but not reciprocating. It was too late. Stanley wasn’t there. Stanley was gone, and it had been Ford’s hand on the trigger. Ford’s own foolishness that had led them to that moment. If he’d talked to Stanley just once – trusted him like he deserved to be trusted—

Emotions that he’d kept bottled up for decades threatened to drown him. It hurt, though he doubted much of the pain was physical at this point. He was a fool. He’d known he was a fool ever since Bill’s betrayal became clear, but this was different. He’d missed Stanley. He’d missed him for all those years, but hanging on to the anger made the loss easier to bear, until he hadn’t even made an attempt to reconnect when he’d had the chance. He’d ignored Stanley, dismissed him, taken him for granted. He’d understood nothing, and now it was too late – now he never would.

Ford didn’t cry for long. He had to pull himself together. With a shaking breath and a quick wipe of his eyes with a hand, he let the man who should have been his brother go, unable to look at his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, both to the Stanley that had been and the remains of Stanley that was.

“It’s fine,” Stanley said. “I suppose.” He hesitated, as if too confused to know what questions to ask, instead opting to ask nothing.

“Mr Pines!” a new voice exclaimed, interrupting the sudden silence. Stan’s handyman – Soos? – landed on the ground next to the brothers and started shaking Stanley’s shoulders. “Is it true? Like you not being you anymore and you can’t remember my name? Please tell me you remember my name, dude!” There were tears in his eyes, too. Apparently, Stanley had been dearly beloved by more than his immediate family.

Stanley’s face frowned slightly, as if trying to remember the correct emotions to respond to people wanting something from him that he couldn’t give. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, which was clearly the wrong thing to say. Soos bawled.

Ford forced himself back to his feet, leaning against a tree. He was going to have to take charge of this somehow, but he didn’t know what to do. He was the most competent adult person in the vicinity, and yet he had no idea how to proceed. Was his house—was the Mystery Shack still standing? Maybe not – the barrier spell around the house would have negated the effects of Weirdmageddon’s reversal, too. But the town might be alright. The children would need some food and a place to rest, surely. They’d need to get back to their parents as soon as possible. California, was it? Did anyone have a car that was still running?

And Stanley. Would need someone to help him for a while. Perhaps for the rest of his life. It was the least Ford could do.

It hurt to move, but Ford pulled himself upright and cleared his throat, steeling himself to get things done.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel interrupted him. She had wiped her eyes about as well as Ford himself had, now standing with her arms crossed and her hands hidden in the sleeves of her sweater. “We’re going to fix this.”

Ford slowly shook his head. “Mabel. I know that you—”

“We’re going to fix this!” Mabel repeated, loud and confident enough that everyone in the clearing looked up. “Grunkle Stan, you’re gonna be okay!” She pointed energetically at the confused man with the crooked fez, then at Ford. “Grunkle Ford, you swap your clothes back with him! He’ll feel more like himself in his own clothes! And then we’re going back to the Mystery Shack. It’s your home, Grunkle Stan – there has to be something there that can make you remember!”

Her tone was far too authoritative for a barely thirteen-year-old human, reminding Ford of that one nation of hunnerbaphs where the adolescents were the undisputed leaders – perhaps there was something to that idea after all – but he listened up. He knew for a fact that her plans wouldn’t help Stanley, but going back to the Shack was fine. He couldn’t bring himself to contradict her.

Stanley stumbled to his feet with Soos’ assistance, then tilted his head at Ford. “Do we change clothes?” he asked, too softly.

 * * *

 Against all odds or reason, it worked.

Mabel’s desperate hope, her refusal to accept tragedy, shone so brightly that Ford was tempted to believe she was rewriting the very laws of reality. When the amnesiac’s soft tone changed – just for a moment – into Stanley’s grumpy affection, Ford thought his heart was actually about to stop. The hard knots in his soul that had kept him going suddenly loosened, and he found himself gripping the back of Stanley’s chair, willing his knees not to buckle until he was breathing normally again. His chest ached and his fingertips tingled painfully, but he was witnessing a miracle.

Stanley wasn’t completely gone. There was still something of his brother there, something that could be saved. Tears threatened to well up in his eyes again, but not from despair this time.

He still didn’t speak while Illustrated tales of a summer’s worth of shenanigans poured forth from the children and the handyman. He knew nothing about these tales, stories about a Stanley he’d never bothered to get to know, but he listened, smiling incredulously. Stanley’s polite confusion turned into eager activity, and each scrap of memory he dragged up was celebrated and cheered by the family.

Stanley wasn’t a blank slate, like Ford had assumed. He was like a sheet of pencil scribblings that had been imperfectly rubbed out by an eraser, many of the writings recoverable with some effort.

Stanley was still there.

That didn’t mean anything about Bill.

There was no guarantee Stanley would be able to remember Ford. Or if he did, that he’d ever be able to forgive him. Maybe he shouldn’t. But Ford hadn’t erased him, hadn’t killed him utterly, and Stanley was going to be alright. That much, Ford allowed himself to hope.

The room seemed to be spinning around him. The pictures in Mabel’s scrapbook was drifting in and out of focus, and the children’s words – something about petting zoos and mutant cows – seemed to be coming to him through water. It occurred to him that if he hadn’t been leaning heavily against the back of the chair, he might have already fallen over.

Vaguely, he supposed he should have anticipated this. Adrenalin will only take you so far. His whole body ached, and he didn’t want to acknowledge why, but if Stanley was going to be alright, maybe it would be acceptable for Ford to rest. He wondered briefly how long it had been since he slept, then shied away from the thought. It was over. Bill was gone.

Ford forced a deep breath and made a decision. Collapsing here and now would be irresponsible. The children were helping Stanley recover parts of himself – who knew what damage it would do to interrupt that? He needed to get himself out of the way before he became a distraction.

He gave Stanley’s shoulder a pat that he hoped was reassuring. “Keep going,” he said. “I’ll be back.” Somehow he managed to keep his voice steady.

“Where are you going?” Mabel looked up from the scrapbook and looked at him with a hint of worry in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Dipper added.

“Yes, I—” Ford made a vague gesture with a hand he hoped wasn’t shaking visibly. “There’s something I need to do.” Lie down, preferably. “I’ll be back.”

“Wait,” Stanley said, head tilted in that heart-breakingly confused manner. “You haven’t told me who you are yet. You some kinda relative?”

Something cold clenched in Ford’s stomach. He wanted to answer the question. He wanted to let Stanley know that he’d missed him. But no words came to him, and his legs wouldn’t hold him for much longer. “Later, Stanley,” he managed. “I promise.”

 * * *

 Ford made it to the old study, closing the carved door behind him. Only then, out of his family’s view, did he allow himself to crumble on the couch. Letting himself settle against the cushions was a relief, body limp other than a few slight, irregular twitches. Unconsciousness beckoned temptingly.

When he closed his eyes, the room around him shifted into red and black and gleaming yellow. He was still there, filled with helpless dread and single-minded determination, anticipating excruciating pain that would—

No.

He drew a sharp breath and tore his eyes open. The wooden ceiling was cracked, but familiar.

It was over.

Bill was dead.

Wasn’t he?

His racing heart refused to acknowledge reason. The recent past played on the inside of his eyelids, beneath his skin.

“Your choice, Sixer! I could find out how to out of this pesky barrier, or I could find out how long it takes for all of your clothes to burn off your body!”

Breathing exercises. In. Then out.

For a moment he almost regretted removing himself from the grounding presence of other people. But no, he would only be impeding Stanley’s recovery, and he was fine. Even if he wasn’t, the mere idea of getting back to his feet and walking seemed currently impossible. He assumed he could do it if his life depended on it, but it didn’t.

“You know how many bones are in a six-fingered hand? There’s twenty-three, if you don’t count the wrist! I’m gonna see if I can snap all of them without tearing anything off!”

Slowly, with great effort, Ford pushed himself up to sit on the couch. He leaned forward and studied his own hands. Twelve fingers. White palms. Smooth. No callouses. No burns. He flexed one finger at a time, confirming that they worked. Stiff and somewhat tingling, but they all moved fine. No broken bones.

“What’dya think? Should we do that again, from the beginning? Or do you wanna let me into your head already?”

He’d been incredibly lucky, all things considered. If the kids and Stanley had arrived at the wrong time – maybe just an hour earlier – they would have found a bloody, broken wreck he wouldn’t have been able to stand, much less draw a circle. One hand half-consciously touched a kneecap, whole and in place. The fact that Bill had healed him in order to inflict more pain didn’t change that fact that Bill had healed him. He was fine.

“Remember that time is dead, Fordsy. We could do this for all of eternity! And I mean, as long as I’m stuck in this tiny bubble, it’s not like I have anything better to do!”

Drawing a shuddering breath and putting his glasses away on the drawer, Ford rubbed his eyes. He briefly considered getting a pot of coffee, but that would also involve moving, and he didn’t seem to have any reserves left.

Breathing. In, then out.

Eventually he clutched a pillow in his lap, curling up with his arms around it, his side against the backrest. Bill hadn’t even allowed him the comfort folding up on himself. He’d been kept in suspended gravity, defenseless, exposed, limbs held out by chains. Making himself smaller should prove, even to his exhausted mind, that he was no longer there.

It was over. Stanley had saved him in the end, whether he deserved to be saved it or not.

Stanley had sacrificed himself. But he would be alright. The children were bringing him back.

In, and out.

There were still yellow shapes moving behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes, but Bill was dead. Ford clenched his fists and pressed the pillow against his chest. For once, he was in no danger whatsoever.

 * * *

 Bill was laughing. Ford tried to scream, but he had no voice. He stared at the blackened remains of his hands, but no, they were fine, all fingers accounted for. Stanley was staring at him from below with blank, empty eyes. Ford tried to reach him, but his knees were bent the wrong way, blood pooling through his pants, and he couldn’t even breathe. Bill towered over him, and in his hand was Mabel and Dipper, faces twisted in terror, and Ford had to do something, but Bill snapped his fingers. The world exploded into brilliant lighting, searing him from the inside, and finally a sound emerged from Ford’s mouth—

—but it was more a strangled croak than a scream, a pathetic sound that startled him awake. He panted, still feeling sparks ripping through him, the burns on his wrists throbbing with every heartbeat.

Nightmares. A counterproductive but natural attempt by the human mind to deal with stress.

Bill was dead.

He let his head fall forward into the pillow in his lap with a quiet groan. His face was damp with sweat. Other than the hot burns on his wrists, his skin felt numb and stiff, but something on the inside stabbed at him when he shifted. Damage from the tail end of the torture. It’d heal. It seemed petty to worry about a mere couple of high-voltage shocks, when by rights he would have been crippled and broken for life.

“Whoa,” a gravelly voice said, too close. Ford flinched, scrambling for a weapon that wasn’t there. A moment later he froze, recognizing the shape of the man standing in the doorway.

“Stanley?”

Stanley – or to what degree was it Stanley? To what degree was it an amnesiac stranger with Stanley’s face? – was looking at Ford with an expression that could only be described as ‘sheepish’. “Yeah,” he said. “Well, I kinda prefer ‘Stan’.” He scratched the back of his head. “Although ‘Mr Mystery’ seems appropriate at this point.”

Ford drew a deep breath. “Yes, of course. Stan.” He straightened his back, put his glasses back on his face and fidgeted with his fingers on the pillow, hesitating. How long had he slept? How much of Stanley had Mabel managed to drag back, and how much of him was still an empty void? He seemed hesitant, but no longer empty, not like he had been. Ford had wanted nothing more than to talk to his brother, but now – still trying to hold back shudders, facing a man that was part Stanley, part no one, he didn’t know what to say. Where would he start? Did he apologize? Did he try to explain? Did he acknowledge nothing until he knew exactly how much Stanley remembered?

“How do you feel?” he managed.

Stanley shrugged with affected nonchalance. “Pretty good, considering. Also, I’m not the one who practically woke up screaming from a midday nap a moment ago.”

Ford tensed. He would have preferred it if Stanley hadn’t seen that. “Just a nightmare.”

“Mh-hm.”

This was awkward. “Where are the kids?”

“Looking for something edible. Told them I’d go check on you.” He grimaced slightly, eyes flicking to the side. “Look, I—”

Ford steeled himself. “You don’t remember me at all, do you?” Expected. Painful, like yet another knife in his guts, but expected.

Stanley looked down at his shoes. “No. Tell ya the truth, I mostly remember the kids, and a bit of my job. You could be the man in the moon for all I know.”

Ford could only nod. The children could only do so much, only inspire Stanley to remember them, but if he remembered his business, he’d most likely be able to resume his life. His brother may still be lost to Ford, but maybe that was for the better. He pulled a hand through his hair, trying to think of words to say, but all of them stuck in his throat. He was no Mabel. How hard would it be to just tell Stanley he was his twin, that he wanted to help, that he didn’t want to lose him again? Evidently, very hard. He couldn’t assume Stanley would be able to remember him. He couldn’t even assume he’d want to.

Stanley continued. “They said you’re my brother.”

“That’s right,” Ford said. That much, at least, was a biological fact, and it was something that could be easily shown if Stanley wasn’t clear on the matter. He abruptly put the pillow aside and stood up, ignoring the way the movement made something sharper than pins and needles tear into him. “Come here.” The large mirror was still covered by a sheet, so he pulled it off and gestured for Stan to join him. “See for yourself.”

It was just as uncomfortable than the last time they’d been standing together in front of a mirror, but for entirely different reasons. Stanley didn’t look much like their father after all. He was too soft, too casual, too much emotion in his eyes even now. It was Ford that looked like Filbrick, ramrod straight and clench-jawed. The realization stung, but he wished he could have seen it sooner.

Stanley put a hand on his chin, studying their faces. “We’re twins, aren’t we?” he concluded. “Like the kids.”

Ford nodded, trying not to be too disappointed that the sight of their faces next to each other hadn’t made Stanley remember anything. Of course it wouldn’t. If it was even possible, it would take more, and could Ford even justify dragging up decades-old wounds just because he wanted his brother back?

“Huh.” Stanley paused. “Is that why we’d swapped clothes before? I was wearing your clothes and pretending to be you for some reason?”

“Yes.” Deduction, not recollection. At least it seemed like Stanley’s cognitive functions hadn’t been damaged, and he should be grateful of that. With a sigh, Ford sat back on the couch, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I take it that didn’t stir any memories.”

“Sorry,” Stanley said, as if that was something he should apologize for. Sitting down next to Ford on the couch, he folded a leg beneath him and half-turned in Ford’s direction.

“Don’t be,” Ford said, leaning against the backrest and looking at the ceiling, not at his brother. “It’s frankly a miracle that you can remember anything at all. There’s no reason for you to—"

“Hey,” Stanley interrupted. “Your hands.”

Ford winced. He could take other people mocking his hands. He’d been a freak since birth, he knew that as well as—as Bill did. But Stanley had been the one person who’d never—

But he didn’t mock them. Instead, Stanley gently braided the fingers of his left hand in the spaces between the fingers on Ford’s right, holding up their clasped hands. “Sixer,” he said quietly, almost reverently.

Ford’s breath caught in his lungs. “You remember?”

“We used to do this when we were small.” Stanley said, staring at their hands with wide eyes. “I used to think my hands fitted much better with yours than with people with five fingers.”

Ford’s shoulders started to tremble. Blinking away tears, he stared at their joined hands, too. “Yes. Yes – you did say that.” His hands, of all the things to remember. Not the fights or the dismissals, not working for thirty years and being punched for the trouble. No, just the fact that their hands fitted well together when they were children.

Like a snapshot in Mabel’s scrapbook. He wasn’t going to cry.

Stanley smiled wistfully. “Oh, good. I do have a past after all.”

Ford wiped his eyes with his free hand, refusing to acknowledge the tears. Voiceless, he nodded.

“I want to say your name is Stanford,” Stan continued, eyes unfocused like he was trying to see through the fog in his mind. “It’s weird, but I also want to say my name is Stanford. But that can’t be right. I mean, you called me Stanley just now.”

Ford made an undefinable sound, neither a sob nor a chuckle, clenching his hand tighter around Stanley’s. He really should have seen that one coming. “You’re right, I’m Stanford. Your name is Stanley. Our father was uncreative, but not that uncreative.”

Stanley leaned back a bit and huffed. “That, I want to believe.” He grimaced. “I prefer ‘Stan’ anyway. And you go by ‘Ford’, right? That’s what the kids used.”

Ford nodded, silently glad that Stanley didn’t decide to pursue the topic further. He knew that the years of using Stanford’s name would have to come out into the open at some point, but not right now. “I prefer ‘Ford’, yes.”

“Alright, so I remember your excellent hands, that’s something.” Stanley said, as if trying to summarize to himself, disentangling his hand from Ford’s. Ford’s hand fell into his lap, strangely empty. “I kinda want to ask if we’ve got any old childhood photo albums or something—”

Ford perked at that. “We might, in fact, have that!” The idea was so obvious he hadn’t even thought of it – their childhood together in New Jersey. The good times. He knew their mother had sent him a box of old memorabilia, including school yearbooks and childhood photo albums, back when he first moved to Gravity Falls, and Stanley surely wouldn’t have thrown such things away, so it was only a matter of finding them.

“—but there’s something else I need to ask you about first.”

“And what would that be?” Ford bit his lip, bracing himself for anything Stanley might have remembered without context.

Stanley leaned forward, away from Ford, supporting his arms on his thighs and looking down at his own knees. “I didn’t want to ask the kids. Maybe I shouldn’t ask you either, but—” He sighed. “Look, I’m amnesiac, not dumb. I didn’t lose my memories by some random fluke. Something went down here. The kids are battered – Dipper has a bump the size of my thumb on his head! The Shack is thrashed. I’m bruised, too. As for you, you look dead on your feet and have nightmares in the middle of the day.”

“I’m not—”

“And unless I was hallucinating while I was still trying to remember how to wear a dress shirt, you’ve got some weird-looking burns under than sweater.”

Ford sighed and leaned forward too, mirroring his brother’s pose without looking at him.

“I just wanna know what the hell happened!” Stanley finished with some heat.

“You saved us,” Ford said softly.

“Yeah, and then there’s that. Apparently I’m some kind of hero for – I dunno – not saving my family from getting injured?”

Ford spluttered, taken aback by that. “You saved us from far worse!”

“Sure, and I’d take credit for it too, if I could remember any of it. But since I don’t, how about you tell me.”

Ford drew a deep breath, straightening his back again. He could understand why Stanley wanted to know. The memory wipe would be confusing enough in itself, but with no reference points other than the obvious fact that something deeply unsettling had happened, it would be unbearable. At the same time, it was the equivalent of starting a story at the end. “You want me to tell you about Weirdmageddon.”

“Weirdma-what?”

“It’s what we called it.” Ford fidgeted with the sleeve of his coat. “It was very nearly the end of the world. If not for you, it would have been.”

“Okay. I saved the world.” Stanley’s tone was only slightly skeptical.

“It’s a very long story.” It was long, and Ford wasn’t sure how to tell it.

“Then tell me the short version. What happened to you and the kids, why can’t I remember anything, and are we still in any kind of danger?”

“I—” Ford hesitated. “I need you to know something first. In case it triggers memories, or for when or if your memories return later. I need you to know that I’m sorry.” He wanted Stanley to understand, but at the same time he knew he wouldn’t, not now, perhaps never.

Stanley looked back at Ford. “For what?”

Ford didn’t meet his eyes. “Ford many things. I’ve made mistakes. We both did, but I—I haven’t been a very good brother.” He swallowed. This was probably incoherent for Stanley at the moment. “Maybe that’s for a later time. I just need you to know that I’m sorry.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Stanley said with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Just tell me about Weirdma-whatnot.”

Ford took a deep breath to collect himself. “A demon called Bill Cipher broke through to our dimension.” He glanced at Stanley, but to his relief his brother didn’t seem disinclined to believe in the existence of demons. “Ultimately,” he continued, “the blame for this lies on me. Many years ago, Bill manipulated me into creating the means to make this invasion possible.” This was still hard to say out loud, but it felt necessary.

Stanley said nothing, so Ford went on. “Bill immediately started to remake this world in his chaotic image, which is what we referred to as Weirdmageddon. But because of a naturally occurring barrier around this area, he was unable to take it beyond the valley of Gravity Falls.” Ford’s hand clenched around the fabric of his coat. “I went to confront Bill on my own. I believed I’d be able to defeat him alone, but I was wrong, and he captured me.”

Stanley’s eyes narrowed. “So what did I do?”

“Frankly, I don’t know the details. I don’t even know how long Weirdmageddon lasted. Normal time was out of order, and in any case I wasn’t—” He bit his lip. Don’t think about it. “I think it was a few days. A week, maybe.” At least if he included whatever time he’d spent encased in gold. “Eventually you, the kids and some other survivors arrived with some kind of giant robot that distracted Bill while you freed me, as well as the townspeople Bill had petrified.”

Ford barely noticed that he’d hunched his shoulders, looking down at his hands again. He skipped the next part. “Bill wasn’t distracted for long. He recaptured all of us and threatened Mabel and Dipper.”

Stanley’s face hardened visibly at that.

“I was ready to give in and give him what he wanted for the chance that they’d be safe.” The memory tasted like ash in his mouth. “But the children bought us a few minutes of time and you came up with a plan to kill Bill, using a weapon that erases memories. If we could use it to erase a person’s entire mind while Bill was projecting into it—” He trailed off.

“And that’s why I can’t remember stuff?”

“It should have been me!” Ford turned to finally look straight at Stanley. “But I have a metal plate installed in my head that would have protected both me and Bill from the effects, so I couldn’t.” He needed Stanley to see that. “So you took my place, tricking Bill to go into your mind instead of mine, and I wiped your memories to destroy him.” I did this to you. “Once he was dead, Weirdmageddon was reversed. We’re safe now, thanks to you.”

“Huh.” Stanley leaned back, relaxing slightly. “Makes as much sense as anything.”

“I didn’t think it would be possible for you to regain your memories,” Ford admitted, “but Mabel refused to believe that.”

Stanley smiled fondly. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

“She really is.”

Shifting to face Ford again, Stanley adjusted his fez, frowning. “Let me get this straight, though. Am I getting it right? This guy held you captive for several days while you had something he wanted, and you wouldn’t give it to him until he threatened the kids?”

Ford winced, but nodded. He might have said too much, but at the same time, not enough. “I knew how to break the barrier around Gravity Falls and take Weirdmageddon worldwide,” he admitted, quietly. “And I would have told him, if you hadn’t found another way.”

“I get that, and I can hardly blame you.” Stanley’s face darkened. “But before that, you refused.”

Ford didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to.

“And he hurt you.” That wasn’t a question either.

Ford looked away. “Yes, but it could have been much worse. He was able to reverse the damage he inflicted, so most of it may as well never have happened.”

“Great Moses.” Stanley fell silent for a few seconds. “Do the kids know?”

“I believe they’re under the impression I was turned into a gold statue for the whole duration.”

“Good.” He seemed to hesitate, and but before the silence could become too awkward, he continued. “Look, Sixer. I barely remember you. For all I know, you’re really a horrible jerk of a brother. But—” He paused again, then shook his head and made a strange, lop-sided grin. “It sounds to me like we make a hell of a team in a crisis.”

Conflicting emotions roiled in Ford’s stomach. Stanley had no idea how wrong he was. But he was also right. In the end, he was right, and maybe that’s what mattered.

“Can I—” Stanley paused. “Oh, of course I can.” Without further warning, he wrapped his arms around Ford and pulled him into a tight hug.

For a moment Ford was too startled to move. Startled, but strangely without fear. On the contrary, he felt safe. Stanley might not know, but he cared, and wasn’t that such a Stanley response to the situation? He shouldn’t be worrying about Ford. He’d lost objectively far more than Ford had. Nevertheless, it was warm, and somehow, Ford needed this. He put his arms around Stanley’s back, returning the embrace, and buried his face in his brother’s shoulder.

“I used to stand between you and the bullies, didn’t I? When we were kids.”

Ford hugged him tighter. “You did,” he said, voice muffled by Stanley’s suit. “You remember that?”

“Very vaguely. I bet you’re the little brother.”

Ford raised his head with a small huff. “I’m fifteen minutes older than you.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He grinned.

They disengaged from the hug, but stayed together in silence for a while longer, leaning against each other’s shoulders. It was comfortable, to the point that things seemed to be almost well. It wasn’t, not really, and Ford knew he didn’t deserve this. If Stanley remembered him properly, he would hardly be so comfortable with him. For Stanley’s sake, he finally stirred. “We should—”

Stanley spoke simultaneously. “Do you—”

Both fell silent. Finally, Ford gestured for Stanley to go first.

“I was gonna ask if you need any first aid or something. Or if you took care of that.”

Ford’s slight grimace must have said enough. Come to think of it, it would be a good idea to clean and disinfect the surface burns, at least.

“We should do that, then.” Stanley shifted and stretched his arms. “What were you gonna say?”

“I was going to suggest that we find those photo albums. It would be a place to start.”

Somehow, amnesia and all, Stanley looked happy. “Right,” he said. “Sounds like we’ve got a plan.”

[killingpast]

things to consider with my canon divergence & my general  “ fuck you ”  to what TROS tried to shove down my throat. it’s my character now, disney will have to kill me first.

POST-TLJ & PRE-TROS  kylo ren / ben solo  canon - divergence details to take note :

the mask doesn’t get reconstructed or any measure of replaced. Kylo is finished trying to be like Vader & getting mocked for it, torn apart for it, & coming across as  “ just a child in a mask ”

it is also a severe regression, the symbolism for a masked character who previously destroyed the mask & walked free of it to then later return to it ? bad take. there are other ways to show regression in character development that don’t also involve disney wanting to be able to use masked!kylo for merchandise & so we don’t stan that

as Supreme Leader of the First Order, his actions as head of the forces at his command primarily focus on draining the Resistance’s resources via hunting & destroying its sympathizers

accustomed to doing the  “ dirty work ”  himself as an apprentice to Snoke, this means Kylo Ren is more likely to be seen actively leading raids, unlike the previous Supreme Leader, & is therefore ‘ easier ’ to gain interactions with fellow SW characters

keep in mind, however; Kylo Ren does not Fucketh ( tm )  around

for some time, Kylo Ren believed his mother perished when one of his wingmen took the shot he hadn’t taken, thus his order of  “ no prisoners ”  on Crait

once he realizes his mother is still alive, he immediately redirects his aggressions of the First Order towards the Resistance’s allies & suppliers, rather than hunting down the Resistance itself  ( thus avoiding direct conflicts targeting his mother )  & he’s doing his best to obscure this conflict of interest / personal matter

Hux is taking none of his shit, however, & tension between them has never been higher. they’re at each other’s throats constantly

Rey’s rejection hurt him, & Kylo has issued an order that if she’s seen, her location must be immediately reported to the First Order. this is also applied to her closest known associates; mainly Finn & Poe, though Rose is added at a later time once data on her connection to Rey is established

he’s contemplated issuing a  “ bring her in alive ”  order but wishes to remain vague with the extent of his personal matters involving her until further notice. Also, he’s bitter, upset, lonely, & so if she has to deal with some blaster fire for the trouble, he’s not going to tear his hair out from the stress. Rey can handle it

in a reoccurring dream, a vision, Kylo has witnessed Rey join him upon the Throne of the Sith - this is typically not a pleasant dream, & he feels nauseous at the thought of Rey joining the dark side. he does not want Rey to leave the light.

yet, he still longs for their unity, & if able to reach out to her, he attempts to make that sentiment clear - though, in earlier days following Crait, Kylo is less likely to be civil about the ordeal. if Crait is fresh, he’s too angry

that being said, as time passes, the bond between him & Rey grows stronger & connects them more frequently. Kylo isn’t one to complain

it is entirely dependent on Rey to end these sessions; Kylo has never forcefully withdrawn himself from their bonded engagements

unless Rey severely hurts him

Luke has kept his word, appearing several times to his troubled nephew as a Force Ghost to better stay true to the words  “ see you around, kid ”

Luke seeks to offer closure, advice, but Kylo is unable to process it

Han Solo haunts him via old memories resurfacing, auditory hallucinations, & sometimes Kylo swears he still feels his father’s hand on his cheek - sometimes he’ll get carried away, imagining a conversation with him that he knows he’ll never get to have

CONCERNING PALPATINE :

Rey Palpatine will only exist if my writing partner has aligned to that canon

dependent entirely on the current writing partner’s stance on Palpatine existing as the  “ final big bad ”  of the sequel trilogy, his whispers & influence begin roughly several months following Snoke’s demise, & gradually build up in strength & viciousness

if Palpatine is not included in the narrative via my current writing partner’s preferences, then Pryde’s military greed & desire to dethrone Kylo as Supreme Leader  ( declaring him as personally conflicted, & possibly with evidence or reason to suspect he had a hand in killing Snoke, etc. )  will become the  “ big bad ”  of the series

Kylo Ren hates Rey’s parents no matter who they are, if they are Palpatine’s or not, or what they did: he would never tell Rey  “ they protected you / saved you ”  by abandoning her to a life under Unkar Plutt, starving, lost, alone, & afraid. so no, he’s spoken the entirety of how he feels about them when in the throne room with her. to him, they’re  “ dead in a pauper's grave in the Jakku desert ”  & he has no intention to romanticize them to her. he’s done with the topic of Rey’s parentage.

in light of his offering of the galaxy to Rey in the throne room, his defiance & killing of his own master to align with Rey, & the hurt that her rejection caused... Kylo is grappling with the strong feelings he has for her, & the full awakening of Ben Solo in their midst

[rappsjournal]

THE FATE OF US. (CHAPTER 1)

Pairing: Mitch Rapp x Reader

Word Count: 3,161

Warnings: Violence, terror attacks, character death, slight swearing

A/N: Hello tumblr so i am here to ruin your lives with this idea that i’ve had for a series. I wanted to start off with a shorter and slower chapter to see if anyone would like this concept or not,  so please don’t hesitate to give me feedback or to send requests for future stuff!

Summary: The reader has just started to build up a life for herself after losing her parents to a horrible terror attack. Years after her loss she works as a teacher in Istanbul when an unexpected tragedy leads her to Mitch Rapp himself.

The truth about the great outcomes in life is that it all lies in how the world decides to move that particular moment. If you’re lucky, you might be led into the best possible future you could imagine. Call it fate or base it on science, –––it doesn’t really matter. In the end it’s all beyond you. And if you’re like me, you may have passed by the love of your life without knowing it, and it probably didn’t hurt.  

The loss doesn’t tingle through your bones like you’d expect it to. Even worse, you may even think that you’ve got it all figured out. You may have looked at the wrong person and thought that they’re the one.  

I probably made all the wrong moves there is. Yet, somehow the universe gave me a wormhole.  Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe i dug my way through one.

I’m half awake when the rain hits the windows in gentle taps, causing me to slowly shift my body to the side on the bed with a small hum. As i turn, the presence of a warm body pulls me in. He’s laying on his chest beside me, peacefully asleep when my lips curl to a light smile, and i take in the sight of every detail on his face in the comfortable silence. His dark, messy bed hair. His tan skin and the morning stubble.

This is it. This is the man that changed my life.

The images flash by when my eyes close moments later.  The sounds,  the scents, all coming back to me. I’m taken back to that day ––––––the very beginning of the chaos.

The chair beneath me creaks slightly as i look through the paper in my hand, finally peeking up to the nervous student standing before me. Pursing my lips in an attempt to dampen my smile, i notice the excitement growing on the young girl’s face when i finally scribble down her grade on the paper and hand it back to her.

“  Keep up the great work, Elma.  ”

I finally give up my weak attempt to stop my smile when the nine year old student hugs the paper to her chest and squeals happily. She is definitely one of the most dedicated students i’ve had the pleasure of meeting during the two years of working in this primary school.

“  Thank you so much, ms Y/L/N! My mom’s gonna be so proud!  ”

Giving her a gentle nod, the girl rushes back to her seat in the empty classroom and stuffs the paper inside her backpack, clearly in a big rush to run home. The orange rays from the sunset outside shines through the windows, and i sigh in relaxation, ready to call it a day.

By the time i gather my belongings, Elma has properly gathered her own and is now waiting for me with a big, bright smile on her lips. We both walk out of the classroom, heading down the empty hall while she talks about her plans for tomorrow night. My heels click against the floor, and i take a moment to appreciate the clean, empty hall that is usually crowded with students during the day.

“ Since tomorrow’s friday and i passed my test, my mom promised me that i could have a sleepover, ”  she pauses, looking up at me with her bright eyes.

“ Ms Y/L/N, do you have any plans for tomorrow night? ”

Before i can answer, we are both taken off guard by the voice calling my name. Elma and i both turn to find one of the teachers, Aram, catching up to us. I tuck my hair behind my ear and re-adjust my bag-strap on my shoulder, feeling a little self-conscious.

“ Aram, ”  I greet, trying to calm the hurricane spiraling within my chest.  Elma peers up, shifting her gaze between us both in curiosity.

“ I see our dedicated teacher finally decided to head home, ”  He smiles, and i can swear that i can feel the heat on my cheeks radiate into the air. Aram then shifts his gaze to Elma and bows in a prince-like gesture, making the girl smile.

“ And hello to you, princess. ”

“ Hi Mr Kocak. ” Elma giggles when Aram ruffles her hair, bringing his attention to me again.

“ I didn’t know you were still here, ”  I admit, smirking a little as i fold my arms over my chest.

“ Well, you can’t be the only one staying late. I gotta impress the boss too. ”  He teases, and shoots back with a smirk of his own. I scoff slightly, shaking my head and walking towards the exit again when Elma runs to catch up to me, holding my hand.

“ See you tomorrow, ” I call over my shoulder, and he smirks, wiggling his fingers in a light wave.

“ Sure hope so, ”

That’s the funny thing about life.  You think you have it all figured out.  You’d think that Aram would be a chance,  a face to wake up to in the future –––––– but the world has a different plan for you.

The streets of Istanbul tend to be crowded at this time. With people heading back home from work or simply going out to enjoy the cool evening air, it tends to be quite a journey until you finally get home. I moved here about four years ago in an attempt to start fresh. My mother and father were two of the several nationalities taking up one of the cities in northern Iraq. Since my father was a turkmenian, it was easier to adjust to the language here once i moved. We didn’t have a lot of relatives apart from my aunt back in Iraq, so there wasn’t much to leave behind apart from horrid, haunting memories. The system, the government, the constant battles between parties that stitched religion into a mask, an excuse for a selfish agenda. It was all a mess. The American troops soon invaded the country, and it only took one more battle before i, among others, lost my parents in an attack.

It was hard to process, to say the least. I remember the countless days spent on tears, on anger and pain. I remember agony and grief to a measure that a huge, black hole punched through my chest. It left me empty.

I had to get out of there.

So i moved to Istanbul, the bridge between the middle east and Europe. Not too far from the culture i was used to, but not too similar to remind me of the tragedy i called home. I finished college and started working as a teacher in a primary school in the less fancy side of the city. The people here are relatively poor, but there are some that could be considered middle class. With the group of dealers trying to make a living, the easy way out can be tempting. However, if you focus on your goal, beyond the crowd, you could manage. I’ve managed to put together a decent life, and while it tends to get lonely sometimes, there is no denying that i’m content with what i’ve got. Even though, at times i find myself picturing what it would feel like to finally settle down, get married, have kids and get old.  The classic life, the one my family never were able to enjoy.

I close the door behind me as i enter the silent apartment. The scent of familiar wood and clean sheets fill my nose, making the smile forming on my lips inevitably effortless. The first thing i’m dying to get rid of are those painfully uncomfortable heels, which i gladly kick aside. A heavy bag drops from my shoulder as i head for the bathroom, ready to wash away the exhaustion from the day.

An hour later on my way to buy a few groceries, i walk past Mitch Rapp. Not a glance, not a touch. Just two people walking past each other on a thursday evening in a busy city. What we don’t know, however, is that we have the same black holes punched through our chests. The pain that loss brought upon us, and how we’re trying to fill it with something. Anything.

My choice was life.

And Mitch ?

Mitch had chosen revenge.

The CIA agent had recently arrived in Istanbul, on his way towards a secret location which Stan Hurley and Irene Kennedy had instructed him to go to. That night he prepares for the execution of Hamdi Sharif, reading over his files when he lays in bed. And i? I’m back in my apartment, grading the papers scattered across a messy desk. Both of us so focused,  but so different.

A wrinkle forms between my brows as my eyes scan over next week’s schedule, hand reaching to grab my coffee.  ---- All while Mitch drags his eyes over the files in his hands again, and again. Just as lost into what he’s so devoted to. It’s the only way to fill that hole. The only way to neglect its existence.

And then it comes, the sound of the mosque outside. I breathe out, relaxing my body and closing my eyes.

Breathe.

Early that morning, Mitch has successfully killed Hamdi Sharif. Despite the fact that his instructions were clear and his instructors explicitly told him to wait for Hurley’s arrival in a couple of days, the assassin takes the initiative and finishes the job. He is on his way back from a ‘jog’ when his eyes capture a bigger issue. Where it leads him next is the beginning of my destruction. My school.

A bad feeling.

It bubbles through my stomach all morning when i look out of the windows inside the classroom. The sound of students in the background is damped when i chew on my bottom lip, eyes trained on the yard outside. Something doesn’t feel right.

“ Ms Y/L/N? ”

I snap out of my thoughts and turn to the student before me, who stands with a paper in his hand that he extends to me. I blink, clear my voice and take the paper, giving the student a nod accompanied by a smile.

“ Thank––”

The words don’t make it past my lips before the roof crashes down with a loud noise, the sound of screams and a loud explosion thundering through the air around me in no time. I quickly duck under my desk, pulling the student with me while i yell at the others to take shelter. Another explosion rips through the air, and this time i can hear the roof crumbling down, resulting several screams and cries.

I panic, my heart wrenching at the thought of how many of those kids must be hurt or wounded from the attack. Adrenaline pumps through my veins,  my pulse drumming in my ears when i freeze around the scared student in my arms. I turn the crying boy so he can face me, hold him firmly by the shoulders and tell him not to move a muscle. Once he nods, i crawl out beneath the desk and check the catastrophe that is the classroom. Everything is destroyed, and i lose my breath when i notice how few of them actually made it.  

“ Everybody stay down! Everything’s going to be o-––”

The wall crashes in with brutal force, sending glass shattering over everything coming its way. I’m sent flying into the nearest wall by the force, a sharp pain biting into my shoulder and back before i’m knocked out.

The rest is a blur. I recall small glimpses of students running for their lives, others crushed by yet another force of wall or broken parts of the roof falling down. My ears are ringing sharply, head pulsating with pain while my body feels numb.

I can’t move. I can’t even think.

It’s hard to pinpoint just how long it is, but at some point, i feel a pair of strong arms pick me up. Everything begins to spin around me and i try to observe the blurry figure above me. The features i can’t quite make out aren’t familiar, which sends a bolt of panic through me.  Who is this person? Is he responsible for the attack?

My lips move, but i cannot hear a word forming. Moving my vision to the side, i see Elma. Her body is crushed under a massive pile of broken rocks and pieces, and her breathing is quick and uneven. I jerk at the sight, lips moving to mumble her name ----but i cannot hear my voice. The warmth of a tear tickles the side of my cheek, and when i close my eyes, i cannot open them again.

It’s too late.

It’s happening all over again.

When i open my eyes i am met with an unfamiliar ceiling. For a few seconds i simply stare at it, allowing my head to register my limbs, the ache in them. The previous events flash by my eyes in a horrid blur, and i’m not prepared for any of it. I instantly sit up, panic filling me once again as i recall the stranger, and the heart-wrenching sight Elma as life was drained out of her.

A sharp pain thunders from my shoulder and back and i flinch out a small groan. My eyes catch the sight of myself as i bow my head. I’m wearing a T-shirt that is too big and a pair of boy shorts. I mumble a low, panicked ‘what the fuck’ under my breath, looking up and around me. The room doesn’t have any windows, and i’m starting to wonder if i’m held captive. My head still aches when i slowly get up on my feet, starting to inspect my surroundings. A small, open kitchen, a wardrobe, a few drawers and a door which i assume leads to a bathroom. I walk up to it and open the door to reassure myself, and it turns out to be just that. Closing the door with a deep, quivering sigh, i finally collect the courage to tip-toe towards the next door.

My fingers shake when i unlock it and reach out to grab the handle. Just when i begin to twist it, the door is pulled open–––––and i’m met by a man’s face staring back at me.

I’m completely in shock, fear bolting through me when i stare at him.

“ I see you’re up. ”  his voice doesn’t sound as deep as i expected it to be, but what really catches my attention is that he’s not speaking turkish, but arabic. And yet, before i can respond, he slips inside, holding a bag.

“ How’s your head? ” I watch as he closes the door behind him and makes his way towards the small kitchen, emptying the bag which consists of a bread loaf, a few vegetables and what looks like cheese and butter. When i don’t respond, the man looks over his shoulder at me, and the shocked expression on my face begins to fade into a frown.

“ Who are you? ”  My voice, despite the weakness in my limbs, comes out steady and somewhat stern. Living in Istanbul for so many years didn’t seem to affect my arabic too much, i could still speak it fluently.

The man turns his attention back to his task again, starting to slice the bread with a knife.

“ The one who saved you, ”  

“ I don’t believe that. ”

“ You’re alive, aren’t you? ”  

I don’t respond for a long moment, gripping the edge of the overly sized T-shirt and pressing my lips together. This fear is unreal.

“ Who are you? ”  I ask again, this time sterner.

“ Mike. ”  he says simply once a long moment passes.

I almost scoff.

“ Mike. ”  I repeat, the tone of my voice revealing just how little i trusted him with that answer.

“ Why have you brought me here ? ”

“ There was an attack at the school. I saw you wounded. I brought you here. ”  

Everything about this felt like a lie. Like he was keeping something dangerous and dark from me. I take the opportunity to look him over when he speaks. His dark, long locks, the tan skin, the light stubble and the black shirt hugging his athletic body. Who was this guy, really? He was definitely not a parent or a familiar face that i had seen at the school.

“ Why bring me here? Why not take me to a hospital? ”  i question, frown deepening.

“ You ask a lot of questions. ”

“ You don’t give me enough answers. ”  I bite back, stepping closer to him.

The man finally turns around, his expression a clear display of annoyance despite how blank and controlled it is.  He looks down at me; towering over me.

“ You’re not turkish, ”  I murmur, narrowing my eyes as i study his features.  “ –––but you’re not arab either. ”  

His expression remains just as blank and solid, but i notice a slight flex to his jaw.

“ American, aren’t you? ”  i speak in english, slight bitterness in my voice. Of course, another american jumps in to play the hero, only to make things so much worse than they are.

“ I would be a little more careful if i were you. ”  he speaks lower, a clear warning in his tone and the look in his eyes. It all falls into place. He’s speaking english now, and it’s clear to notice that it is in fact his native language. “ I could’ve easily left you for dead. ”

“ Why didn’t you? ” I question.

“ That’s classified information. ” I scoff, folding my arms over my chest, and he walks past me towards the wardrobe.

“ I don’t know how things work for you people in America, but here this is called kidnapping. ”

He doesn’t react as strongly as he should, only searches through the wardrobe with a slight scoff.

“ Trust me, lady. I’d love nothing more than to get rid of you. ”

Before i can answer, there is a loud knock on the door, which instantly captures Mike’s attention. He rushes over to me, grabbing my arm and yanking me towards the bed. I try to break free, opening my mouth to protest but he places a hand over my mouth, hushing me.

“ Listen, and listen carefully. If you want to walk out of here alive, you need to keep your mouth shut and follow my lead. Understood? ” something about the look his eyes tells me i would regret not listening to him, so i nod my head with wide eyes, allowing him to push me down on the mattress. Who is this guy, and who is he with?

My heart is pounding inside my chest, and i try to control my rapid breaths while i sit and listen for any noise outside.

Mike curses under his breath, looking quite upset and nervous as he heads for the door. The fear of what’s coming is eating at me,  but i try to stay calm where i sit. Mike twists the handle,  and Stan Hurley walks inside ---- his eyes set on me like daggers.

He’s not happy.

[under-atomic-skies]

The Crooked Kind. Ch. 3

Sleep Walking

Summary:  Fiddleford is a student at Backupsmore University. He meets a stranger at a payphone and makes an unlikely friend who, unbeknownst to him, has a long, complicated relationship with his roommate. The pair become close and eventually, a romance buds between them. What could possibly go wrong? (Tags will be updated as fic is updated)

NOTE: Please check out the warnings for this chapter. It might spoil some of it, but be safe! Also, there’s some mention of prices in this chapter, and considering it’s around 1970 in this fic, I converted the price to match how much it might have been in the 70’s. I’m not entirely knowledgeable on how stuff like this works or is priced for that matter, so keep that in mind. Happy reading!

Warnings: [ sex work Negative views of sex work Explicit sexual acts

Word count: 3,756

AO3

Ch. 1 || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3 (HERE) || Ch. 4

I got a picture on the mantle piece Of the way that I thought that we’d end up But this shows no resemblance to that

When night finally fell, the students emerged from their dorms and apartments, donned in their best bar clothes. Stan envied them in a way. He wished he could be so carefree and able to put his worries out of his head in favor of having a good time with friends. But life had not dealt that hand to him, and instead of finding himself joining them, Stan would take advantage of them.

It was around 9:30 as Stan approached one of the bars he had picked out that previous morning. As he anticipated, there was a bouncer by the window. For years, he had needed a fake ID to get in, and while he still used a fake ID to keep his real name concealed, he had turned 21 last summer and was technically legally allowed into the bars now.

As he approached the large, intimidating bouncer, he flashed his ID and a grin and the man merely nodded and stoically stepped aside to allow him entry. This man was used to college kids who wanted to drink, dance, and find someone to work out their stress with. However, this was not Stan’s first time, and he wasn’t the bars average patron. He stepped closer to the bouncer and whispered under his breath, wanting to work out a deal with him. The bouncer glanced down at him, as if scrutinizing him. Luckily, with Fiddleford’s new coat on, he didn’t look nearly as seedy as he had with only a warn t-shirt and stained jacket. He gruffly nodded and motioned to another man standing just inside by the door to come over. The initial man whispered something to this new man, who also took a look at Stan before nodding and motioning for Stan to follow him.

He hadn’t noticed the tension in his shoulders until he breathed a sigh of relief, glad that this first bar was so far working out well. The man led him through the mostly empty dance floor, though the music was still loud and the lights flashed in beat with the music. It was dark in there and apart from a few people by the bars getting drinks, it was empty.

Stan understood college bars well by this point. It wasn’t until around 10 that people really started to fill the place, and by 11 it was packed, sweaty bodies rubbing and brushing against others as they danced their cares away. Stan usually preferred to get before the crowd so that he could have time to set up shop, get comfortable (i.e. prepare himself) and wait for the first customers.

The man led him past the dance floor and down a thin hallway to where the bathrooms were located. He opened the door and wordlessly pointed inside. Stan had to practically squeeze past the man to get inside, seeing as the large man didn’t leave much space for him to get through.

Once inside the bathroom, Stan turned towards the bouncer again, waiting to hear the terms of the agreement. “You can charge whatever you want, but at the end of the night, the bar gets 40% of your earnings.”

The man said it as a matter of fact and Stan understood that there was no room for negotiations. 40% was a steep price, but considering he usually made a fair amount of money, he’d let it slide. Not to mention he had his ways of pocketing more than what he was technically ‘supposed’ to.

At Stan’s nod, the man merely eyed him one more time before letting the door close. Now alone in the bathroom, Stan looked in the mirror. Luckily, most of the ‘customers’ wouldn’t see his face seeing as most of the people coming to him were just wanting to get off quickly after an unsuccessful night of chasing ladies. However, there usually were a few that weren’t shy. They wanted the full deal, so with this in mind, he made sure he at least didn’t look like complete shit (luckily, he had already shaved and washed his hair that morning for Fid-- nope, he wasn’t going to think of him here.)

It wasn’t hard to find the stall that was meant for him. It had a mark on the door and the wall that bordered another stall had a spherical hole cut into it. He let himself in and after shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the knob on the door, he turned back around. Resigning himself to wait for the first person, he closed the lid and sat on the toilet, idly twiddling his thumbs.

This part was always the worse. When the night picked up in pace, he didn’t have time to think. He just had to focus on the money he was going to make, but now that it was still early, he had plenty of time for his mind to race, wondering how he had come to this.

Making millions hadn’t seemed so hard at first. He’d been practically bursting with ideas after he had been kicked out, not to mention he’d still had the hopes and ignorance of a man who hadn’t been beaten down and trodden upon. Now nearly four years later, all of his prior ideas had one by one turned out to be dead ends. He had learned that the world wasn’t a kind place to people like him, and the hope that one day he’d earn millions so he could go back home was still stubbornly kicking, but he knew realistically that he was never going to achieve it.

Still, what else was he supposed to do? Having that goal was one of the few things that kept him going, no matter how much life threw at him. As more of his plans turned out to be busts, he steadily got more and more involved with seedy people with dangerous offers. He was a desperate man with a hopeless dream so he couldn’t turn down the offers for long.

Those offers soon found him in all sorts of dangerous situations. Colombian jungles, smuggling, selling guns, gangs, you name it, Stan’s done it. Selling himself had, oddly enough, come as a last resort. He had grown weary of always being on the run from people he owed debts to, tired of always looking over his shoulder. Selling himself had turned out to be easier than he had thought. He had lost his sense of modesty and pride a long time ago, and once that was out of the way, he had no qualms making a quick buck by offering services to desperate losers. Of course, this was true most of the time. He tried not to think of it in the daylight hours. He had cash in his pocket for gas and occasionally food, so he just blocked out how he got that money. But as he sits on the toilet seat, waiting for the first john, his mind couldn’t help but travel down the same self-deprecating path every time.

No, this was not his first time. It was far from it, but that didn’t mean it got easier.

Knowing how the night would inevitably end up, he took a moment to prepare himself. He had brought some lube in a tiny container from his car, and only needed a few moments to work himself open before sliding his pants back on.

Finally, the door creaked as someone came in. Stan watched the bottom of the door as footsteps entered into the small bathroom. He couldn’t decipher whether or not he wanted the feet to stop by his door or keep going, so when the footsteps stopped outside his door and knocked on the stall, he was indifferent.

“How much?” the man asked, voice quivering. Stan couldn’t help but feel a mixture of sympathy and relief, the later being the dominant of the two. The guy was a newbie. They had a tendency to over pay, as well as be more gentle.

“$10 for a blow job, $30 to fuck me,” Stan replied back, matter of fact. Hearing the person behind the door sputter, he didn’t have to see him to know what expression he had.

“Uh---I’ll just,” He must not have been able to get himself to voice his desires but instead offered a ten dollar bill under the door. Stan took it, folded it and stashed it away in his shoe.

“Alright, in this stall.” Stan replied, reaching his hand over the wall blocking off his stall from the next and pointed into the neighboring stall. He heard the man shuffle his feet before closing and locking the door behind him.

“What do I d-- oh.” the man replied, apparently just noticing the hole between the stalls. Letting out an exhale, Stan could hear the sound of a zipper and the soft ruffle of clothing before the john inserted his cock into the hole. It took all of his self-restraight to not sigh. The one downside of newbies was that they had a tendency to be loud and come fast. That made the job easier on him, but could also be frustrating after a while.

Stan turned on the toilet seat, finally looking at the poor john. He could see his shoes under the wall and knew from their slight tremble that he was nervous. He wasn’t hard, not that Stan expected him to be, but Stan would fix that.

Hands cupping as close to the base as the wall would allow, he guided the man's cock into his open mouth. After that initial movement, he moved as if on autopilot. He barely thought of what he was doing anymore, now way more practiced then he would like to admit. Soon the sound of Stan’s slurps (hearing them always made himself feel even worse about selling himself) was chorused by the other man's loud, poorly constrained moans. He knew that the other movement he was hearing was the man moving against the wall, maybe gripping the roof of it desperately, and that thought at least gave Stan some small sense of pride that he could at least do this well.

The man was hard now, which made Stan’s job easier. At this point, he lost himself again, focusing on his task. In moments like these, time seemed to stretch on, making the task more arduous. Luckily for him, the man was obviously not used to this kind of sensation, and the sound of his strangled moan broke Stan’s train of thought, warning him not a moment too soon as the man came, spurting cum into Stan’s mouth. Milking the man through his orgasm, his breathy gasps only increased until Stan retracted his mouth with a ‘pop’. When it came to his first ‘customer’, he always made sure to do especially well, seeing as the man might possibly spread the word to other potential customers. Stan shuttered silently as he swallowed. The guy on the other side was still panting, but was already tucking himself back into his pants.

“Uh.. thanks.” The john replied hesitantly, obviously not knowing what or if there was protocol for this kind of thing.

“Sure thing,” Stan grunted out, voice harsher now from the abrasions against the walls of his throat.

The man left and soon enough the stream of customers increased. Stan’s night followed pretty much in the same way that first man had. College kids were green. Many of them just wanted to get off, and the alcohol in their system allowed them to make the bad decision to fork over their money to some faceless man on the other side of the bathroom stall. Stan’s jaw got more and more sore as the night went on, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He reminded himself of the steadily growing wad of cash he was stuffing into his shoes and he forgot about the jaw pain.

A few hours later, the night was finally winding down. Customers were still coming in, but the amount had decreased. Stan wiped his sleeve across his jaw, wiping away what was left of his saliva and his latest customers cum when he heard a heavier set of footsteps come into the room.

There was another knock at the door, “How much?” the voice asked, voice much deeper than any of the others so far. Somehow it made Stan’s gut coil in apprehension. He had been able to get off mostly lucky; newbys only wanted to have their cock sucked. This guy didn’t sound like no newby.

He repeated his mantra, “$10 for a blow job, $30 to fuck me.”

Waiting with bated breath, his gut sunk as the man offered a twenty dollar bill under the stall door. Gulping, Stan silently took a deep inhale to steady himself. He took the bill, pocketed and unlocked the door, revealing a tall, burly man. He certainly wasn’t no college kid. Word that he was there must have gotten around town. The man's lips curled into a smirk.

“Well aren’t you just a cute little bitch.” he replied, closing the door behind him. Thank God he was practiced enough to not let his apprehension show through. Instead, his eyes lowered, looking up at the man with lustful, lidded eyes.

The mans hands moved up, grasping his jaw tightly and angling it up towards his face more as his other hand moved to undo his fly. “Drop em, whore.”

His hands around his jaw dropped in favor of tugging his pants down enough so his dick could be pulled out. His expressionless gaze continued to watch as Stan dropped his pants, meanwhile his hand curled around his cock, pumping himself until he was erect. Stan’s gaze dropped to the man's dick and gulped. He was going to be sore after this.

“Turn around,” The man demanded. Stan mentally was glad that he had taken the time to prepare himself whilst waiting for customers earlier in the night. He could only help that he was still ready. He did as the man said and turned around. Before he had time to bend down, the man’s hand tangled in his hair and thrust him forward until he was practically gripping the toilet. Stan’s hands came to grip the sides of the bowl, trying not to think about how dirty this bars bathroom was.

The man’s cock brushed up against his hole, and Stan couldn’t help himself as he let out a needy moan. It was times like this where he didn’t entirely hate what he did. He pressed back towards the man ever so slightly, silently begging him. This earned a harsh laugh.

“You desperate already, slut?” he said, guiding his dick to teasingly circle his hole, earning another whine from Stan, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re yelling by the time I’m done with you.”

With that promise on his lips, he thrusted into Stan, fast and hard, forcing his way into Stan’s hole until he bottomed out. Stan jerked forward, closer to the toilet bowl with a gasp at the strength of the man’s thrust. He scrambled for purchase on the bowl as the man’s hands gripped his hips like vices and began pounding into him, sliding almost all the way out before thrusting back in. Stan gasped loudly, each thrust forcing him to scramble for purchase on the toilet.

The erotic sounds of their coupling filled the empty bathroom, Stan’s needy gasps, and the man's own gruff grunts. He grabbed a fistful of Stan’s long hair and tugged it, forcing Stan’s head to angle backwards, exposing his neck as the man continued to pound into his hole. By this point, Stan was also hard himself, and his neglected dick was dripping with need.

“Let me hear you, whore.” The man whispered as he leaned close. His breath ghosted over Stan’s earlobe and he couldn’t hold back any more. Each thrust was punctuated by a loud moan. Stan’s hand moved towards his cock, but the man stilled his hand.

“You gotta beg for it.” he growled back. Stan wasted no time. He begged and pleaded with the stranger, begging for him to be able to touch himself, he needed it so bad. Deciding he was pleased by this, he released his hand. Stan instantly curled his hand around his cock, stroking in time to the man’s thrusts, his moans growing louder. As the man continued to fuck into his hole, Stan’s thoughts drifted, imagining someone else behind him, someone a lot smaller and whos voice had a southern twang to it. He imagined this man would be more sensual, whispering words of how good he was, how hot he was into his ears. As if he could hear those words, he let out a particularly loud moan.

Within a few moments, the mans thrusts sped up, losing its normal rhythm. Stan knew he was going to cum soon, so the hand on his cock sped up.

With one, final deep thrust, the man came deep within Stan with a loud grunt. He continued to move though, subtly milking himself as he rode out his orgasm. Stan could feel the sensation of the warm cum filling him and with a few more strokes, came as well, shooting ropes of cum across the closed toilet seat.

The two were still for a moment, just merely panting from the task. Finally, the man pulled out with a wet sound and grabbed some toilet paper to clean himself up. He tucked himself into his pants, and without a final word, turned and left, leaving Stan bent over the toilet, cum dripping from his hole.

After a few moments, he straightened up on shaky legs and retrieved some toilet paper to wipe up his own mess. He could tell he was going to be sore by the next day, but now that he was alone to himself, he thought back to just a few moments before.

Had he… had he really imagined that it was Fiddleford who had been fucking him? That imagining the sweet southern man fucking into him had made him moan louder than the actual man who had done so? He didn’t know what to make of the whole situation, his thoughts merely traveling around in circles wondering when did he start thinking of his new friend-- not even that, acquaintance-- in such a way? Surely if Fiddleford knew the truth about him, he wouldn’t want to even be associated with him.

His thoughts continued to swirl around in his head, until finally, the door opened. He half feared it would be another customer to add to his inner turmoil, but instead he heard the bouncers voice. “Bar’s closed.”

Stan sighed thankfully and stood up, wincing as he did so. He shrugged the jacket back on and unlocked the door. He came out to greet the bouncer, who looked at him with a face of disgust. Silently, he extended a hand, obviously expecting him to fork over the bars share of his profits. He pulled out his wad of cash, thankful that he had hidden a few bills in his coat pocket. He counted out the money before forking over the 40% (though in actuality, it was more like 25-30%) he owed the bar. The bouncer pocketed the cash and motioned to the door.

“Scram.”

Stan didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled out the door and back to the street, yet again thankful that he actually had a real winter coat to wear. It was even colder than it had been the following night. He quickly retreated to his car, parked in the familiar parking lot, to count his earnings. After pulling out all the cash from his jacket and shoes, he had close to around $300. It wasn’t a bad night, especially considering he only was fucked once. This should hopefully be able to buy him gas, food, and maybe even a motel room whilst he was here. Hell, maybe tomorrow, he’d treat Fiddleford to a cup of coffee if he was feeling generous enough.

He tucked the money into a safe place and leaned his car seat back, wincing as he leaned back down against the seat. Hopefully he wouldn’t still be too sore when he saw Fiddleford tomorrow.

He tried to ignore that he had been thinking about the kind man in such a way. He felt dirty. What he did was already dirty by most people's standards, but thinking about the man who had shown him more kindness in a day then he had received in the past four years? It made him feel lower than low.

Unable to help himself, and having masochistic tendencies when down, he pulled down the sun visor from the roof of his car, revealing the photo he had taped to it. Fingers gently traced the shapes of the worn images, looking at the smiling faces of two boys. They had been so innocent back then. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for breaking that damn machine, even if it hadn’t been intentional. If he hadn’t been such a fuck up, Ford would have never missed his shot to go to his dream school, and Stan would have never been kicked out of the house.

Distantly, Stan wondered what Ford was up to now. No doubt, he probably had been able to get into another school. His Ma tried to tell him about Ford sometimes on the phone, but Stan always tuned her out, not wanting to think about how he wasn’t apart of his brothers life anymore. He told himself that one day, he would make millions of dollars so he could make it up to his family and come home. He just-- he just needed to wait for a break.

He closed the visor with one last look at his twin and sighed. It was a good thing Stanford couldn’t see how low his brother had gotten. He doubted Stanford would even want to look at him if he knew what Stan had to do in order to survive. But luckily, Stanford would never find out. Once he made his millions and apologized to Ford, he’d never have to think about what he had to do ever again.

He could leave this all in the past; he just had to be patient and keep working towards his goal.

[xfpornbattle]

Thicker Than Water

The opening chapters of an AU, for the fan fiction contest!

The open ocean was chaotic.   Currents and eddies, tides and storms all competed to push masses of water hither and yon.   But sometimes the forces of nature lined up just so, exerting pressure like the cupped hand of God and sent an extraordinary wave rolling towards shore.   And if you were there when it rose, glassine and swan-necked, holding itself proudly in the air for what seemed both an instant and an eternity too long before ending its voyage by crashing on an empty beach; well, it was as close to perfect as life for a luckless earth-bound fool could get.

…..

Kate didn’t know the first thing about surfing, but she knew beauty when she saw it.   The morning fog kept the air chilly and close to her skin, and she wrapped her sweater tightly around her slight frame.   The surf was breaking hard against the beach, rumours of a storm far out to sea that would not reach land for days yet.    She loved the ocean for its moods, and for its reticence.   You could not tell by looking at it what was going on beneath.  

Because of the violence of the waves, only a handful of surfers were out, and most of those were sitting or standing in small groups along the water line, waiting for a sign that the effort to paddle out would be rewarded with more than a torn leash.   Out towards the horizon, just before the break that signaled the reef that protected Bonares Bay, a figure in a black wetsuit bobbed on the heaving surface like an oversize cormorant.   She wondered if he was in danger, perhaps paddling out into waves he could not handle, but the surfers along the beach seemed unconcerned.

Enjoying the invigorating salt air and the sandy grit between her toes, she was late to notice the change in mood amongst the onlookers.   Those that had been sitting now stood, and those who had been standing craned their necks.   No-one spoke, and she heard the tone of the waves change as though the sea was moving from a major to a minor key.   Following their gaze, she witnessed a wave nearly twice the height of the rest begin its procession into land.  

The lone surfer was in perfect position, and he took full advantage.   As the peak of the wave began to curl, he ducked his head and crouched in the barrel.   Even from where she stood, she could see his right hand caressing the wall of water like it was a living thing.   His speed was remarkable, and it seemed mere moments before the wave carried him closer to the beach.  From that distance she could see the triumphant smile on his face before he sprang off his board, over the top of the dying wave, and headfirst into the water.   The onlookers let out a murmur of approval bordering on the devotional.  

She watched to see if he would paddle back out, but he was already waist-deep, carrying his surfboard towards shore near where she was standing, watching.   He met her gaze then, and his eyes were the exact shade of the water behind him.  He carelessly flicked his sea-soaked hair off his face and gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement.   Her heart stuttered in a truly adolescent fashion.   Angry at herself, she pursed her lips and started to walk in the opposite direction, refusing to look back for several minutes, by which point he was gone.

…..

The antiseptic neutrality of the hospital at UC San Diego exploded into a riotous circus of Mylar balloons and finger-painted wall art as she entered the pediatric ward.  Ignoring the glances of the ward nurses, she strode directly for the cozy doctor’s lounge.

“What’s the meaning of this, Daniel?”  She flourished her work iPad, too quick for him to actually read the damning words on the screen, but he’d know what she was talking about.   As professional colleagues at least they’d never had any difficulty communicating.

“Given your state of moral outrage, I imagine you know exactly what the meaning is.  And hello to you too, Katherine,” he mocked.

“You put me in charge of her care, Daniel.  I explained the course of treatment to her parents.  And then for you to countermand my decision and undermine my authority without so much as a…” she broke off, aware that she was bordering on the hysterical, which her mentor would no doubt call out.

“You never were aggressive enough, Kate.  Miss Sims is an excellent candidate for a more radical approach.  She represents the best chance we have to put my pediatric cardiology unit on the map, and..”

“She’s a little girl!” she interrupted, earning her a dark scowl.  “She’s a little girl, Daniel,” she continued more quietly, “and you are an arrogant man.”   She spun on her heel and strode back down the long hallway, not cheered in the least the tiny handprints and primitive suns in bright primary colours.

…..

Bonares Bay couldn’t really call itself a town, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t busy.  Stretched out over thirty miles of windswept pines, the majority of its inhabitants were members of the local Native American band, interspersed with a motley collection of hippies, hermits, surfers and outcasts.   The social hub of this odd assortment was the band community centre, and it was there that her office was located.   From nine until three on weekdays and anytime outside those hours when an emergency arose, her job was to tend to the medical needs, both mundane and calamitous, of the approximately two thousand people that called Bonares Bay home.  

She hadn’t given much thought to the details when she saw the small job ad at the back of a medical journal she subscribed to.   All she’d seen was a chance to escape an untenable situation, and she’d leapt before she looked in truly uncharacteristic fashion.   Now that she’d been doing the job for a couple weeks, it was clear that her role including everything from amateur psychology to delivering babies that wouldn’t wait for the ninety minute drive to the nearest hospital in Crescent City.   She could hear her father’s voice, bemoaning the waste of her top tier cardiology internship on the people of this forgotten coastline.  But for the first time in a long time, she slept soundly at night, her mocking dreams driven away by the murmur of the endless surf breaking outside her open window.

“Doc!  We’ve got someone here who needs you.”

The voice of Gerry, the social worker cum administrator whose office was adjacent to her own, intruded on her vagrant thoughts.   Looking towards the door, she could see Gerry and another man half-supporting, half-carrying a black-haired adolescent boy with an open gash across his temple.  The boy’s right arm hung oddly from its socket, and she diagnosed his dislocated shoulder before he was seated on her examining table.

“What happened to him?” She directed this at Gerry, who shrugged and looked at the other man, now standing in the door to her office.   Focussing on him for the first time, she realized with a start that he was the surfer she’d been watching the previous morning.  He was dressed in cut-off shorts and a technical t-shirt, his brown hair damp with sweat.   Despite his apparel and the situation, her first impression was that he seemed composed, and possibly even mildly amused.

“Well, I didn’t see the whole thing go down, but as I understand it, Noah here felt that he’d have a better chance of scoring a date to junior prom if he could do a backflip on his dirtbike.  So he was practicing on the BMX course out behind Old Man Stan’s.   I happened to be running by when I heard the crunch of bones meeting metal.”

“How’d you get him from Stan’s to here?” Gerry couldn’t help asking.

“Flagged down a delivery truck on the main road.”

Grunting, Gerry looked over at the teenager, who was now looking embarrassed as well as ashen, and made his way out of the room.   The other man grinned at Noah, and then seemed ready to leave himself.

“Excuse me …” she hesitated, not knowing his name.

“William.”

“Doctor Scully.”  He tipped his head towards the nameplate on her door, and she blushed, feeling unaccountably tongue-tied in his presence.

“What does the K. stand for?”

“Katherine.  Kate.”

“Well, Katherine Kate, I have a run to finish, unless you need me here for anything.  I don’t think there’s any paperwork that needs to be filled out for pubescent stupidity, otherwise Sheriff Long would be snowed under.”  He once again broke out in a lazy smile, and she had a flashback of his wetsuit-clad form leaping into the waves in joy.

“Actually …. I could use your help.   His shoulder is obviously dislocated, and it would be a lot easier to pop it back into joint if you were holding him.”

Noah has been looking anxiously between their two faces, but their conversation flowed around him.   William inserted himself between the patient and the office wall, bracing his back and clasping his right arm across the front of the boy’s chest, trying not to jar his injured shoulder.   Sensing his unease, the older man began to talk, as she prepared to manoeuvre her patient’s arm back into place.

“So, who’s the girl?”

“Huh?”

“Miss I’ll Date You If You Can Do A Backflip?”

“Oh, uh, Daisy.  Daisy George.”   Noah couldn’t concentrate on both William’s inquiries and the doctor’s preparations, and quite frankly, the inquiries were a lot more pleasant.   She shot a look of gratitude before moving purposefully to leverage the boy’s humerus so that it once again nestled against his scapula.   The grinding noise of bone against cartilage, a pop and a few muttered curses later, and the deed was done.

She began testing the reflexes of his right hand, checking for nerve damage.  Besides the heavy pants of the boy trying to stay on top of his pain, the room was silent, but she knew William hadn’t left yet.  She looked up from her iPad once she’d entered in some basic information.

“Thank you again…”

“William,” he reminded her with his perpetually bemused expression.

“Yes, thank you, William.  I’ll make sure Noah here gets a ride home.  You probably want to get back to your run.”

He nodded and made for the door, then turned back to Noah.

“Daisy with the three older brothers and the…” he gestured towards his chest as though he was about to juggle grapefruit.   Noah grinned and nodded.

“Best get used to pain then, son.”   And he left without another word.

…..

The water closed above his diving body like a silken envelope, clasping him in its diffuse embrace.  The air had been cool, but he was bare-skinned except for his trunks and flippers, not even a face mask to distort his view of the cyan world that admitted him without ceremony.

He descended, lungs already starting to burn as he worked against the buoyancy of his body.  He both hated and accepted the battle, understanding the toll it demanded.

The deeper he swam, the greater the call grew to return to the surface, and the more he longed to stay.  It was peaceful, in the womb of the ocean.  A place without noise, but not silent.  Without illumination, and yet not dark.  The birthplace of all things, and the grave of the one thing he held dear.