#maybe ill try gravity falls next

[mercurydarlin]

DR.MALPRACTICE HEADCANNONS!!

Alright, if you want context im practically begging you to look at this one ficlet i wrote.

Right here~

Okay, headcannon time!!

General/Fluff Headcannons

God, where do I start?

He's so fragile with you, He has this fear that even the slightest touch could kill you.

Don't worry, he still touches you more then anything.

You are his favorite afterall.

He has you on a healthy diet, can't have you dying on him,now can we?...

"Awh, darling. Why aren't you eating? Not hungry?" He sat right next to you. Usually, you didn't say much to him. Only giving slight nods whenever he asked questions. But, you've started realize he genuinely cares for you, which has sparked conversation every now and then. "Oh...I'm just not the biggest fan of chicken si-" Wilbur cupped you mouth before you could continue. "You don't need to call me sir, just call me Wilbur." He smiled as he lowered his hand from your cheeks.

He'll do just about anything for you, if you just ask to be touched, he'll be the most clingy man ever. Oh, do you want some more to eat? He's standing right in front of your bed with a meal of your choosing. ( The meal has to be healthy btw UNLESS you are on your period-- or need sugar for some medical reason of sorts.)

Oh, and every now and then you get a hold of his lab coat. He leaves it in there time to time.

"Love... I know you have it." Wilbur was insisting for his lab coat back, but you were hiding it under your pillow. You were trying so hard to hold back laughter. "I don't have it..." You said, covering your mouth. Wilbur sighed, "Well, i guess i won't be able to get you more blankets now..." Your head sprung up. "No... You wouldn't..." He snickered, "If you want my lab coat so bad, then i wanna guess that's really all the blanket you'll need, hm?" You jolted to your pillow, yanking the lab coat from underneath, handing it over to Wilbur. Wilbur smirked, "Even if i didn't get it back, I'd still get you blankets."

Hear me out, Wilbur fucking loves cuddles.

It's become one of his favorite things to do with you.

Like, he'll bring his phone into your room and watch something like gravity falls while your in his lap. (on your bed of course)

He just loves to be near you.

Agnsty Headcannons

Lets all be honest here though, he can be be rude some times.

Whenever he's upset with you, (which is actually quite rare) he'll just be cruel to you.

"Shut up, Labrat." It's a phrase you vividly remember him using.

Honestly, he probably uses pet names in a condescending way just to piss you off, or just when he's upset with you.

I'd like to imagine that the only reason he'd be 'upset' at you, would probably be for reasons like you escaping your room, being extremely difficult during a test-- or even just a simple check-up in that case-- or maybe faking illnesses to get out test, that kinda stuff.

(in the context of the lil ficlet, reader was pretending to be like, EXTREMELY sensitive to pain. sorry if it's cringe lol)

"The more you squirm the harder you make it..." Wilbur had been doing another test on you, but GOD the needle he was using was really sharp...Too sharp. "Look, Wilbur, I swear I didn't mean it--I swear--I thought it was funny." You pleaded. Wilbur rolled his eyes at you, before slamming your arm (the arm he was trying to put the needle in ofc) against the surgery bed and holding it there, his grip was tight and however much you tried to move your arm away from his grasp, he still wouldn't let it go. You felt the needle perice your skin, it stung more then anything. "See? That wasn't so bad, wasn't it?" Wilburs grasp on your arm loosened. You quickly pulled your arm back, as he looked at you with a stern look. "I expect better from you." He walked out the room, leaving you alone, by yourself.

He'd come back only minutes later realizing what he did.

Wilbur would wipe the tears from your face, probably. Depends on how he feels.

It's a guessing game really, Will he come in and give you a endless amount of praises or will he come in and start yelling and screaming at you?

He doesn't know how to let out anger, so he puts it on other people.

[gravedigginbbydoll]

AHHH HI so as a curly haired girly who once bleached her hair, i have MANY tips for how to learn how to do your curly hair and treat it properly. it is a lot, shawty, and it’s not the same for everyone, so im just going to briefly explain how i do my hair and then also add some people on different social medias who taught me different techniques n stuff!!

okok so first off, how you wash your hair is SOOO important!!! and how often you wash it!! personally, i have very thick hair (for reference, i am half white, half latina, which is where my curls come from) and the curls often form into ringlets. i wash my hair about twice a week, maybe three at most.

for example, today is monday, so it was hair wash day for me. ill wash it again friday. here is my hair wash routine:

- scalp scrubber on dry scalp, parting hair into sections if needed. this is something i recommend to everyone, because it’s a much easier way of exfoliating your scalp, and lifting some of the gunk/dirt from it before you even begin to get it wet. then i brush the hair and get in wet in the shower.

- i alternate between two shampoos, my usage depending on what i determine my hair needs. they are a detoxifying shampoo (i strongly recommend the brand nioxin, their detoxification shampoo is my holy grail for getting a clean wash), and a hydrating shampoo. i use conditioner maybe once a month. i section my hair and make sure to wash the scalp and the hair well. if it doesn’t lather the first time, it likely needs to be washed again. if you use conditioner, only put it on your ends, and use ‘prayer hands’ to distribute it evenly. rinse with cold water!!! it helps the curls start to form so much better than hot or warm water does, AND it keeps your scalp from getting greasy quickly!

- i suggest using a microfiber towel or a tshirt to dry your hair with, not a regular cotton towel. those can be damaging to the hair. also, only brush your hair when it is wet!!! i know people say not to because it can cause breakage, but for curly haired people, it’s an essential. what is even MORE of an essential, is HOW you brush your hair. after putting your product in there (more on that in a sec), make like will byers and flip that head UPSIDE DOWN!! the curl patterns fall into place when gravity lets them. this is the only time you’ll wanna use your fingers and scrunch that hair to get them going, but only after brushing it while upside down.

- for product: always, ALWAYS, put product onto your hair before brushing it, using ‘prayer hands’ or a spray bottle. THEN, when you brush it, the brush will evenly distribute the product without you having to do any of the work. now, there are many different types of ways to style your curls (finger curling, brush styling, microploping, diffusing, bowl method, etc. etc.), but im lazy and so i typically just use some sort of spray that’s hydrating and has heat protectant, since i end up curling (with a hot tool) or styling (with a round brush) my hair on day two or three. then i normally just scrunch it from there (or microplop it if im wanting the curls to be extra defined), but if you want to look into wearing your hair naturally and having the curls look put together and defined, you WILL need:

- a mousse or a gel (this creates the ‘cast’, which you let the hair dry into)

- and an oil (this breaks the cast, setting free your pretty curls and taking away the crunch in them.)

ik that’s a LOT of information and i doubt i covered it with one hundred percent accuracy and ik there’s probably a lot i missed, so im sorry in advance for this incoherent ramble. i might come back later and try to re explain myself, but in the meantime, I suggest checking out these people (ill send it in the next ask), as they taught me a lot of what I know!

Ah!!! Thank you!

I’m also half Latina ! But in my Latino family everyone mostly has very loose waves or straight hair, so I was never taught to treat my hair a certain way tbh so I’m always looking for tips and tricks haha

I do a lot of these things already, I think I need to be better about cold water rinsing bc I’m a little baby and hate cold showers lol

Also shampoo brands help bc I am always looking for good detox ones so thank you!!!

These tips are great!! <3

I appreciate this so so much

[gloam-eyed-radio-tower]

January 20th, 2024

"I already feel like ill quit super fast

Uhmmm May 5th 2023, 12:30 pm" I didn't quit but when I said I would write to myself at chaotic time frames I clearly did mean it. Well I did write in my notebooks more, well in 2 specific ones, one right after may in june where I spent just 1 week writing in it, in a way it was an act of passion and the other one quite the opposite an act of love ( something that goes against passion ). I was thinking of doing a third one as they are cursed notebooks and I wanted to make a Gravity Falls joke but since 1 isnt with me anymore and the 2nd I was writing during a span of 6 months and finished on New Years I thought it was a fitting end of that. I...just need a place for this stuff and its easier for me to write here than in some scrappy notebook sometimes, ill think of a thing to do with them. The first time I wrote something here is when I finally started feeling better ( not again, before that point I never felt good ) at January 10th, 2022., before that point every year I was getting worse and worse over the course of my life but right when I did get better in 2022... my mom died, I ran away alone and planned to run away even further alone until I couldnt ( not because of my mothers passing, just something else I felt) and I came back, no matter how you try and fight it you come back where you are supposed to be. 2023 was a calm year, probably the best one I had maybe, I dont think about that stuff much, I got something back thats extremely dear to me, the only troubles that I did have were managing how I should feel about having it back and maybe some sort of fear of restarting the last 8 years all over again. I started uni, its nice, I am managing, tried to be more social but I feel like there is a disconnect that I cant brake on my own with the world... It snowed yesterday, I have a lot of thoughts always but I cant speak, write or draw a thing. I sometimes want to live more normally but I require other people for that, going places, maybe parties, even if I hate them I would go, drink coffee, maybe, but I need other people for that and I dont really have either family or friends for it. No matter how you look at it and no matter how many times I justify to myself that other people are a problem also and the world its all on me, its on my if I cant change any of that and if I cant change the world in the way that I like so I am at peace, as long as I am at fault for my life, I am at peace. I guess I did feel a little bit gloomy but it is comforting to me. It is still inside I am sure of it, it will always be, you will know what I mean. Anyways what was playing while I wrote this.

I played a lot of persona, done with the Prime Ministers palace, almost done with the game it does feel a bit sad ( and pathetic) saying goodbye, I did spend more time with those characters than with people in real life.

Also 1 photo from the time I spent with my brother and his girlfriend at the mountain, it was nice, there is a lot of pretty pictures tho.

I little bit longer than I wanted, but Ill probably forget about this until next year anyways.

[crushpunchh]

for the ask game LILITH

youve doomed yourself im not going to answer this ask for like an hour because ill be saying so much. shes in my head 24/7

illget around to the hunter ask too!!! just maybe in a little while because of how much im about to say

What I like about them

high int low wis build. stupidest cheeto puff but i say it affectionately. anyway its like. shes trying SO HARD. its obvious she is doing her best throughout the entire show but shes like. A fucking realistically written character who is misguided and MASSIVELY FUCKING UP AT EVERY TURN. but she's TRYING she's trying REALLY HARD. she WANTS to be a good person she WANTS to help eda she WANTS to fix things!!!! unfortunately for her shes narratively doomed.

What I dislike about them

high int low wis build but like. negative. shes so fucking smart but she totally lacks any common sense. she would not be able to do half the shit she does if she weren't *really* smart, but also she simply would not have done half the shit she does if she weren't *really* dumb. schrodinger's intellect

Favourite moment

ALL of elsewhere and elsewhen. like yes girl. punch that bitch in the face. be incredibly suspicious all episode and still be susceptible to manipulation because you're still healing. realize you've hit your lifelong 'nearly killing your niece' quota and that eda will actually genuinely maybe murder you if you let her nearly get killed again.

Least favourite moment

hm. now like she definitely has a lot worse moments but i gotta say keeping up afearances. like girl no. that's an 8 year old. stop projecting your insane mommy issue game onto an excited 8 year old. he did nothing. i want to grab her and shake her back and forth like a maraca jesus CHRIST.

A situation with this character that I want to see explored more

HER SCOUT YEARS!!! Put her on that fucking mountain. Girl vs allconsuming guilt vs the cult she just joined who will WIN. i DONT KNOW BUT THE GIRL WILL DEFINITELY LOSE HOLY **SHIT!!!!** Also just her time in the coven in general.... i would KILL for a spinoff i know its not happening but AHEEHEE....

An interesting AU for this character

you know what i WILL advertise my own au. this may become a fic at some point but right now im just fistfighting the plot trying to get it to behave. the working title is Lilith Clawthorne's Time Loop Extravaganza.

i KNOW ive told you about this but whateve.r.

lilith, 16 years old, like 13 months out from cursing eda, gets a week off home because the golden guard fufking dies. naturally, she, genius, decides to clean out her room to avoid interacting with her family. finds her time pool shit. goes Oh.... and then spends a full day at the library researching time magic that doesn't spit you out at just some randomass time. finds a spell. traps herself in a time loop going from the day before the golden guard dies to the next week. and we go from there!

A crossover

HM. i have a encanto/toh crossover au thats really silly. shes not a main character in it (shocking i know) but its great.

realistically gravity falls is hilarious. she finds out eda married a guy, stole his car, immediately drove it into a ditch, transformed, stole half of kfc's stock, and then left and shes like ?????????

OTP (or OT3+ etc…. just… favourite ship)

no <3

Other ships?

no <3

BROTP

her and hunter are fucking hialrious and i NEED to see them interact it would be so goddamn funny. they're like. SORT OF FRIENDS. but if anything goes wrong they instantly throw each other under the bus. i think they're on bad terms for s1 because of the basilisk escape though <//3

also her and eda but thats just a given because im deeply abnormal about the clawthorne sisters.

her and darius also! theyre so fucking funny. little bit of a rant here but i think that scouts are paired into like .teams for training exercises and shit. and i also think that darius was a scout for a while up until the mountain trial at which point he, having already been considering leaving, quit. so i think she and him were partners when they were both scouts and had a liiiiittle bit of a falling out when he quit. and then when he becomes a coven head too its like Oh. Hi.

NOTP

all of it <3 especially though i see lilith/belos disturbingly often when im just scrolling and like. eugh.

however NOTP in terms of friends. hm. no clue i think her as friends with most everyone is highly entertaining. because shes so terrible at everything. i do, however, think she hates kikimora and stays as far away as she can from her at all times always.

An assortment of headcanons! 

OKAYYY. I've told you like most of these because i never stop talking about her sorry but don't even worry about it.

SO! That mask she has in s1! The one she wears literally twice! That gem on it is the same type of gem that Odalia has on Amity. She hates it and goes out of her way not to wear it.

despite it being the boiling isles with an insanely warm climate when shes in the coven she literally just straight up doesn't have any short sleeve shirts. this is thanks to her being deranged.

so. ears. witch body language. et cetera et cetera. lilith has the resting bitch face of a lifetime* but she never got a handle on that.

RELATED: she got into shit really often when she was a scout for Literally Just Stimming because Its the emperors coven and the emperors coven is the probable literal least welcoming place for autistic people on the entire isles. shes resorted to just messing with her hair because she can totally excuse it with like ohhh my hair was messed up blah blah. i do this actually but just because not because of any elaborate plan to get away with stimming in public.

in s1 shes on anxiety meds but they're like the most fucking insanely outdated prescription ever. hasn't gotten adjusted since she was 18. same with her glasses. in s2, however, eda manages to badger her into seeing a healer (hypocrite, eda has not seen a healer in 30 years either) and she gets her meds & glasses prescription updated. still on anxiety meds, also on antipsychotics now. a little bit of why shes so much more stable** in s2b! yes girl, get on meds that actually work for you! holy shit why have you not seen a doctor already!

*Resting Bitch Face may not extend to embarrassment call (NUMBER) to buy today

**trying to start a cult in her 8 year old nephews name is the exception and not the rule

[drjdorr]

Just got caught up on owl house and for spoiler reasons I'm going to talk about my thoughts under the cut

I just love how they show the power of the collector. Just casually splating the seemingly unbeatable Bellos, a guy we have only seen inconvenienced but never truly beaten, with the most casual tag. Or breaking the draining spell, not with some counter spell or disrupting the spell itself but instead by removing a requirement for it to work, by casually moving the entire moon with a simple slide of his finger. Most of the videos talking about him refer to him as being a god with the mentality of a child and... yeah.

Also I totally called King's sigil being a tool against the collector, though admittedly I thought it was more a warding thing as apposed to simply obscuring.

Also the golden guard grave pit. Ok. that's alot of bodies

Also it is honestly impressive that this show was even made given what we know of Disney's standards and what Hirsh had to fight for in gravity falls. "We don't want any thing even close to demonic" the owl house is set in the demon realm where some of the population is literally called demons the rest are witches. "Can't let there be to much gay" Amity and Luz having crushes on each other was established in season 1 and started dating in season 2. "Even implying kissing is forbidden" these two girlfriends give each other kisses all the time. Just, it is so good to see we've progressed so much, enough to make Disney realize deny it outright would be less profitable at least (sorry for drawing the optimistic sentence into cynicism at the end)

Also no offense to Gus, but he put King, a being with a clear powerful ability and acted like he couldn't help in the fight. Gus, how much impact did your illusions play in bring down Bellos? Meanwhile the show acted like King only could contribute by getting the Collector. He's been shown to be able to do some serious damage when he needs to when using his power. But I guess we needed to get the Collector in play somehow and you need Titan blood to do it(I totally thought his blood was going to play into getting a door open, I admit I was wrong on that). I just wish they stopped acting like King was totally helpless.

Maybe instead King helps in the initial fight but nothing they do even phases Bellos for long(like in the original). Then King gets swatted away during the fight and lands next to Kikimora and when Kikimora makes her claim, and King sees that they can't really even beat Bellos anyway, atleast not in time, it then plays out like it did in the original only instead of King helping the only way he was allowed, team Hexside is buying him time to go down and deal with the Collector.

Ok theory time. We got 3 longer episodes coming before the end(remember how I mentioned Disney realizing that stuff could be profitable? There's a few asterisks) so nothing too too ambitious.

Edda has been getting death flags the whole series (she was literally decapitated in the first episode). But she's also been avoiding actually succumbing to them this whole time. So she may or may not die, however if she dies it will probably be as an act of sacrifice during the finale protecting her family(for simplicity Raine is included in family) and if she lives she still will be dealing with the owl curse because it would be pretty cheap to cure their chronic illness allegory(they arguably get close with harpy Edda but I give harpy Edda a pass because rule of cool).

King survives. The owl house is constantly having characters trying to murder straight up children. But as loose as Disney has been with its previous standards, Actually killing children(as apposed to implied) is still off the table and king is a child. Plus I can already see the epilogue scene where king has hit a growth spurt and is taller than the other characters of the main caste(I picture an appearance/physique not to different from "dad trapper"). Also maybe my King being used for a new door theory might be true? He also will obviously be central to retraping the Collector

Lilith I can see trying to sacrifice herself for Edda (she cursed her sister, I don't know if she still carries some guilt about that around not to mention everything else up to the petrification ceremony) though whether she succeeds or has a "you aren't allowed to sacrifice yourself for me" moment *shrug*

Sorry to cut this short but it's late I got to get up early tomorrow (ugh) so I should get off now

[muffinrag]

I'm looking after some children and they've been watching some mindless show called Nicky Ricky Dicky and Dawn nonstop for like two weeks. So I sat down after dinner and put on ATLA and now they all beg me to watch it every night. Fucking success

[s0dium]

Living with out you

Synopsis: In which suguru left you, his non-jujutsu sorcerer girlfriend, for dead on a rainy day. Unbeknownst to him, you survived, and so did the child in you. Slowly you learn to live without the love of your life. 

Warnings: Extreme angst, mentions of suicide, determined single mom!reader

Things were supposed to change on that rainy day.

The always persisting dark cloud that had attached to Geto maybe would've  finally started to subside, once you told him the news that would surely change his, no, both of your lives forever.  

And then things would finally start to get better. Finally. 

But you never got the chance to tell him. 

Its so calm.

Time seemed to slow down as you stared at the dark blue sky, rain bouncing off your skin and diluting the pool of red blood that streamed from your stomach. The droplets float down in gentle waves, as if gravity is a soft music from earth, a sweet beckoning serenade. The cement is cool underneath your skin, and you wonder how long you've been here, your starting to feel dizzy. 

It feels like your floating now, eyes too heavy to stay open. You barley even register the pleads of what sounds to be Gojo’s voice asking you to stay alive. 

Ah, I want to see him again.

~

Dozens of pink pregnancy tests littered the bathroom floor all portraying the same message;

Its alive.

You stared blankly at the dripping tub faucet, watching the water recollect around the rim until it was heavy enough to fall in a fat droplet. The water of the bath had grown cold now, too cold, but you stayed still hugging your knees close, unable to move. It took to much strength to do anything lately, to even refill your lungs with air and take a breath. Even killing yourself would be too much work. 

The door opens but you dont bother to turn your head. 

“ Y/n....”

Shoko moves to scoop you up from the tub. You've lost weight, its visible. Nothing tastes good anymore, just eating has become a chore. 

~

Your dreams of Geto are peripheral. An overheard conversation where his name is mentioned; a letter in your hand you desperately try to read before you wake, A Styrofoam coffee cup and a half read book on an empty table where you know he just was minutes before. Its as if your dreams are a mirror of your waking world, like finding your self walking down the street where you could have sworn you caught a glimpse of him, only to look again and realize it wasn't him after all.

Waking up is the most difficult. 

Every morning you’d tell your self that maybe, just maybe, if you close your eyes and pray hard enough it would all be a dream. And there Geto would be, right beside you to tell you everything is going to be ok. You will be ok.

But the place beside you remains desolate when you wake. And the pain of being alone hits you. Its excruciating. It makes you scream and writhe in agony, tears streaming endlessly down you face as you beg at nothing for him to come back.  You even resorted to praying to a god, any god, negotiating anything to just let you even simply touch him again, but things remained the same. 

You find your self frantically searching through your memories, through your possessions of anything that indicated him. Searching for any detail you can no longer recall - any morsel of information that may have been lost to your subconscious. The memory of him is fading, a little at a time and you can feel your self forgetting. You dont want to forget.

Im afraid ill miss you forever.

~

You dont know what makes you keep the baby. 

Maybe it had to do with the fact that it is Getos, but you didnt think that was quite it either. 

You especially dont know why since you knew that the pregnancy process would be hard. That being alone would make it even harder. You cant count the amount of times you spent next to the toilet, sobbing because of the pain of the baby and the pain of being by your self. You wonder what he'd do if he was still with you. Probably rub your back and press kisses on your tear stained cheek, to reassure you he would stay by your side and you would be ok.

But he wasn't by your side.  

Instead he left you to face this by your self. And that's just what you’d do. You'd learn to be strong; Alone. 

~

On your 40th week is when you finally went into labour. You had spent most of your pregnancy walking around the Jujutsu high school campus (since that was the safest place), freaking out new students and making them wonder why a strange pregnant women was watching them. To say you were entirely alone would be completely wrong, shoko and gojo were your main cheerleaders, shoko taking care of your health and Gojo being your entertainment. In fact it was Gojo who carried you to the hospital when you went in labour in his arms while yelling “PREGNANT WOMEN ABOUT TO BURST CODE BLUE!” 

 Luckily, god decided to go easy on you and you went through only 8 hours of labour. Even during the excruciating pain your body was going through, your brain couldnt help but wander back to him. A part of you hated yourself for still clinging onto him this tightly.

Its pathetic really, how I still hope its me and you in the end.

~

The sun blooms on the horizon, golden petals stretching ever outwards into the rich blue sky. The yellow rays stream through the hospital window, alighting your skin and playing along your lips and eyelashes.

“Y/n?”

Gojo sucks in his breath as he gazes upon something he hasn't seen in a long time; your smiling.

Through the exhaustion you grin, and you watch as your new born son’s eyes flutter open to meet yours.You slide your pinky into the baby that you were cradling open hand, watching as they curl around it. And in that moment you begin to cry the sweetest tears you've ever known, all the pain of the moments before melting away. 

Sun glints off your tears like stars as you turn to face Gojo.

“He has his eyes.”’

It had been so long since you seen them. 

And finally, you could breath again. 

[heliads]

I Remember

Fred and George Weasley have been a constant thorn in your side ever since you started at Hogwarts. That being said, why is Fred trying so hard to make things right again?

masterlist

Honestly, one more prank and you just might convince yourself to give up Hogwarts and move to another country. Beauxbatons could be your thing. Maybe even Ilvermorny. It’s not that Hogwarts has been particularly bad to you, it’s just the people who study there beside you. Namely, a pair of redheaded twins with a bone to pick and a never ending desire to prove themselves: Fred and George Weasley.

This isn’t some new idea, by the way. You’ve been simmering with ill-hidden irritation ever since you met them. Your annoyance only grows with every hex that they accidentally send your way, every prank that just happens to ruin your robes or your path to your classes or bother you in every conceivable way. It’s like they have it out for you, even more than the professors. Honestly, it’s enough to make you want to hit them over the head with something heavy. You might not even bother with the wand, wanting the thrill of it solely for yourself.

Your friend, Hermione Granger, glances over at you with a grin. “So, what do you think about the Weasley Twins’ latest prank, Y/N?” 

You give her a look. “Don’t even ask. Don’t even. I’m a few seconds away from burning the whole school down myself.” 

She laughs. “I think that’s a little ridiculous. What about the rest of us?” 

You allow yourself a reluctant smile. “You might be able to stay, if you stop teasing me about those insufferable twins.”

A voice arrives right beside you, and it takes everything in you to not startle. “Insufferable, huh? That’s a new one.” 

A new voice appears on your other side. “Agreed. I didn’t realize you were paying us such high compliments, Y/N.” 

You scoff, still doing your best to maintain a neutral expression. You’ve learned long ago that the one thing that convinces Fred and George to keep going on and on is a reaction, so if you pretend that they don’t affect you, they get bored and move on. However, they’ve already caught you talking about them, so you doubt you’ll be able to escape that easily.

“Many things are insufferable. A broken quill. Tearing parchment. I wouldn’t consider you that important.” 

Fred just laughs, the sound free as a soaring bird. “A broken quill. You’d lower me that far?” 

You finally give in and turn to face him, letting your gaze fall impassively on his shock of red hair, the triumphant smirk on his face. “It’s fairly easy, Fred. I don’t think about you at all.”

Fred raises an eyebrow. “Is that why you were talking about us with Hermione?” 

You can’t exactly deny this, so you turn around, walking forward purposefully in the hopes that they’ll leave you alone. However, they’ve never backed down from an opportunity to rile you, and they’re just as unwilling now. Despite your attempts to speed up your pace, they easily keep speed. Fred slings an arm around your shoulder, as if you’re just the best of friends. You try to shove him off, but he stays there nevertheless.

“Honestly, Y/N, I think you’re just going to have to give in and accept the fact that you really like us in the end. This whole cold demeanor won’t last forever.” 

You want to laugh. “It won’t?” 

George shakes his head with mock gravity. “I’m afraid not. We’re clearly some of your favorite people in the entire castle-” you try to cut him off with an indignant outburst but he talks over you “-and it would be much more efficient if you just accepted us for our sadly flawless pranks and everything.”

Hermione, still walking beside you, looks like she’s having the time of her life. You cast her a bothered look, but it doesn’t shake her smile for a second. 

You come to a stop, folding your arms across your chest. “Sorry, George, but I doubt that’ll happen for the next few centuries. It might not be as efficient, as you say, but I don’t have time for lackluster party tricks.” 

You spin on your heels, pulling Hermione with you down an adjacent corridor. For some reason, they don’t follow you this time. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief at the welcome silence, but you can’t help glancing over your shoulder to see if they’re still there.

Now that you’re both out of their range of sight, Hermione turns to you once more, ill-concealed mirth still bubbling underneath her eyes. “That was a little harsh, don’t you think? I mean, lackluster party tricks? Their pranks are their pride and joy.” 

You let out a huff of annoyance. “Then they should get some better hobbies. Are you really taking their side?” 

Hermione shrugs, casually adjusting her bag on her shoulder so she doesn’t have to look your exasperation dead in the eyes.

“Well, I know they were bothering you at first, but I think they’re past that now. I think they honestly just want to be friends.” 

You scoff at that. “Fred and George have never done anything honestly, and they’re not going to start now. You remember what it was like in the first few years, right? They were downright cruel.” 

Hermione acknowledges this with a shift in her shoulders. “Maybe then, but I swear things have changed now. They might actually want a change.”

You can’t believe this for a second, but after the prank and this recent encounter with the twins, you can’t find it in yourself to give up the energy and continue arguing. So, you change the subject to safer waters, and Hermione seems equally inclined to accept this easy escape. You’re not sure what Fred and George are truly planning for you, but you do know what they were like when you first came to Hogwarts. Honestly, it’s hard to forget.

You had been a timid first year, then a shy second year. That hadn’t mattered once to Fred and George, who had seemed to make it their life mission to be a constant thorn in your side. You knew what they were like with everyone else- funny, doing their best to impress while still staying cool, easy as a shot of sunlight.

With you, however, it was different. Suddenly, their jokes took on a darker undertone, their words less humorous and more mean-spirited. You didn’t understand it- you’d never done anything to get on their bad side, yet they never saw you as more than something in their way, a rug to be stepped on. Hermione is partially right- over the last year or so, they’ve become nicer, as if trying to move on, but you can’t shake the feeling of shame and indignation that rises at the sight of them. No matter what they want your future to be, you’ll never be able to move on past how mean they’d been to you in the past.

Three days later, you’re feeling that same well of shame overflowing in you, but this time it has nothing to do with the Weasley twins. Instead, it is focused entirely on Professor Snape. You’d made the mistake of thinking you could swing by your dormitory in between Charms and Potions to drop off your books, and ended up arriving at class a few minutes late. Your absence had hardly been noted- in fact, Snape hadn’t even started teaching yet, but that hadn’t been enough to stop him from issuing you a detention in that same creepy voice that you couldn’t help but hate.

You’ve been directed to head to the Herbology greenhouse to pick some plants for much-needed potion ingredients, a seemingly simple task that will likely end in dirt under your fingernails for the next year and hours wasted wrangling altogether infuriating plants. You set your jaw, starting the walk down to the greenhouse, but you’ve scarcely stepped foot from the castle door when someone comes bounding after you.

You’ve spent enough time dreading that particular carefree footfall to know exactly who it is, and you stifle a groan when you realize that your follower is none other than Fred Weasley. 

You barely give him time to approach you before tossing out the question already burning in the back of your mind. “What are you doing here?” 

Fred, evidently surprised, offers up a confused smile. “Escorting a friend to her detention, from what I hear?” 

You toss him an irritated glance. “I can find my way to the greenhouse, thank you very much. Go bother someone else.”

The words are a little sharp for someone who apparently just wants to help, you know that, but he’s given you enough false promises and praise for you to trust him on the first opportunity. However, Fred doesn’t leave. 

Instead, he continues traipsing across the grounds next to you, appearing undaunted except for a slight tension in his shoulders. “So, Y/N, are you ever going to truly talk to me?” 

You refuse to look at him, eyes fixed steadily on the growing shape of the greenhouse. “I’m talking to you now.”

Fred groans. “Not really. I mean, no matter what I try you always blow me off. Sure, George and I can be a little bothersome, but never bad enough to warrant this.” 

You give him an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? You know why.” 

Fred, however, still looks confused. “We were a little mean to you years ago, I’ll give you that, but-”

You’ve stopped walking, only a few paces away from the refuge of the greenhouse. “A little mean? Fred, you mocked me at every possible opportunity. Sorry if I don’t want to trust you immediately.” 

You reach for the awaiting greenhouse door, but Fred takes hold of the wooden frame before you can slip inside. “What if I want to change that?” 

You duck underneath his arm, marching in resolutely. “Why should I believe that you’ve only had a change of heart now?”

Fred heads in after you, closing the door behind him. “I haven’t only had a change of heart now. I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for years now, thank you for noticing.” 

You scoff, reaching for a faded pair of work gloves. “If you mean trying to antagonize me after every one of your pranks, I suppose you’re right.” 

Strangely enough, Fred grabs a pair of gloves as well, ignoring your startled glance. “Maybe I want to make things right.”

He reaches for the list of required plants in your hand, scanning it before starting to work beside you. 

You stare at him, bewildered. “What are you doing?” 

Fred gives you an impossible grin. “Helping. Talking. I thought it was obvious.” 

You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah, I can see that. Why are you doing it?” 

Fred plunks a few freshly collected leaves in your designated bag before turning to you again, face suddenly serious.

“I’m serious about this, Y/N. I feel bad about how I made you feel, and I want to make up for it.” 

You cast him a doubtful look as he keeps working. “And you think a few leaves will make up for it?” 

He casts down his plant with a sigh. “Honestly, Y/N? I don’t know what will. I’ve been trying to apologize for years, but every time I get within eye sight of you, you either insult me or leave the room. I don’t know what else to do.”

There’s something strange stirring in your chest. Had he really been trying that hard? All this time, you’d thought he was just approaching you to tease you again, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe you’ve been reading all of this completely wrong. You must have stayed silent for a little too long, because Fred continues speaking, words flowing out in a rush as if he’s unsure of what to do now that he’s got you alone. 

“I’d like a fresh start, Y/N. I mean it. Will you forgive me?” 

You consider this, then nod hesitantly. “Okay.” 

Fred’s eyes widen. “Really?” 

You feel a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Did you want me to forgive you or not?” 

Fred spreads his hands, nearly sending dirt flying across the greenhouse table. “Well, yes, I just thought that you’d argue a little more. I mean, I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for years. I didn’t think it would be that easy.”

You laugh, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him watching you, see that same light smile on his face when he thinks you can’t see him. “I can make it more difficult. I can rescind my apology so we can fight a little more.”

Fred snorts. “I think I’m good.” 

As if on an impulse, he reaches across you, snatching up a trowel in front of you right before you can grab it. 

You give him an affronted look. “Hey! I was going to use that?” 

Fred grins. “Key word was. I’m using it now.” 

Maybe it’s the spirit of your rivalry still flourishing, but you can’t give up this easily. You reach for the trowel, ready to knock it out of his hands, but he dances away from your lunges every time. 

“You’re going to have to try harder than that, you know.” 

You laugh. “Is that so?” 

Fred winks. “Absolutely.”

An idea is sparking into your head, completely terrible, but it just might work. You consider it a second longer, than lean forward, not reaching for the tool but for him. You kiss him for just a moment, but it’s enough to surprise him. When you break away, Fred is staring at you like you’ve knocked the ground out from underneath his feet. It takes him a second or two to find his voice. 

“What was that for?” He manages, but you just flash him a triumphant grin. 

“This.”

He’s still distracted, so he doesn’t notice your hand closing around the trowel until it’s been pulled out of his grip and you’re darting across the greenhouse, already past his attempts to stop you. 

Fred gasps in mock outrage. “Is that how we’re doing this? It’s on.” 

He tosses his discarded work gloves onto the table next to yours, dashing around the table to you. You try to duck out of his reach, but it’s too late. 

However, he focused not on the tool but on you. You freeze for just a second, trapped by the look in his eyes. His hand reaches up softly, cradling the side of your face before he kisses you. You can feel yourself leaning into him in spite of yourself. You stay there for one second, two, and then the sound of hastened footsteps approaches the door of the greenhouse.

You both startle apart, glancing with guilty eyes first at the door then at each other. You can see a few other Herbology students a few paces away from the door, ready to continue their study. 

Fred laughs, scratching the back of his head. “I think we’d better stop this for now. We’re supposed to be serious students in serious detention, right?” 

You laugh. “I’m the only one in detention. You don’t technically have to be here, you know.”

Fred just grins. “Well, why would I leave now? Things are going perfectly.” 

You can’t help but smile at that. He’s right, isn’t he? Things are excellent.

harry potter tag list: someone who i think could probably garden really well idk  @underc0vercryptid​, @cameronsails, @chaoticgirl04​

[thelastspeecher]

Amphibious Tendencies - Chapter 9: Cryptobranchus alleganiensis

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9   Chapter 10   AO3

Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve updated this fic.  Hopefully this chapter (the longest one in the fic so far) was worth the wait.  And if you haven’t seen the wonderful art I commissioned for the fic, you can find it here.

— 

Summary: Grauntie Angie has returned from her trip, but when she contracts a mysterious illness, Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy search for the cause and the cure.

The hellbender (Cryptobranchus alleganiensis) occupies a very specific niche in its habitat, and as such, is vulnerable to inconsistencies in its environment.

——————————————————————————————

             “This is where he lives?” Dipper asked.  Soos nodded.  He rang the doorbell.

             “Old Man McGucket lives right next to the dump so he has easy access to free scrap metal,” Soos replied.

             “Why does he need free scrap metal?” Mabel asked. Soos shrugged.

             “I try not to ask Old Man McGucket too many questions.”

             “Fair,” Mabel conceded.  The door opened, revealing Old Man McGucket.  Old Man McGucket grinned toothily at the three of them. His gold tooth and ever-present round reading glasses glinted in the morning sunlight.

             “Visitors!” he chirped.  “Please, please, come in!”  He stepped aside, allowing Dipper, Mabel, and Soos to enter the small house. “So, what brings y’all here?” he asked as he closed the door.

             “This,” Dipper said, holding up the beaten-up laptop for Old Man McGucket to see.  Old Man McGucket took it from him with a frown.

             “This poor thing’s been through the wringer. Didya want me to fix it or somethin’?”

             “Well, yes, that would be great, but that’s not the reason we came here,” Dipper said.  “We saw that on the inside, the laptop was labeled ‘McGucket Labs’ and since your last name is McGucket…”

             “Y’all thought I built this here piece of machinery,” Old Man McGucket said softly.  His posture, already slumped, hunched further, and he paled, nearly going as white as his trimmed beard and what bits of hair stuck out from under his wide-brimmed hat.

             “I mean, how many people are there named ‘McGucket’?” Mabel asked.  Old Man McGucket chuckled weakly.

             “I have three older siblin’s and two younger, kidlet.  And more cousins ‘n you could shake a stick at.”

             “Why would I shake a stick at my cousins?” Mabel mumbled.

             “I’m tellin’ ya I’m far from the only person named ‘McGucket’,” Old Man McGucket said, not unkindly.  He handed the laptop back to Dipper.  “I didn’t build this.  In fact, I ain’t ever seen it ‘fore.  You’d be better off askin’ someone else with my name.”

             “But even if you’ve got relatives, how many of them are in Gravity Falls?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket raised an eyebrow.

             “I’m mighty surprised ya can’t answer that question yourself.”  Something in another room began to beep.  “That’s the kettle.”  Old Man McGucket stretched his back, producing popping sounds, then clapped his hands.  “And it’s as good a cue as any fer y’all to skedaddle on out.  If ya want me to repair that there laptop, feel free to bring it back.  But I’ve got to do my mornin’ yoga, and I reckon none of ya want to see that.” 

-----

             Wendy was sitting at the register, her feet propped up on the counter, when Dipper, Mabel, and Soos walked into the Gift Shop. She looked up from her magazine.

             “Oh, hey dudes,” she said lazily.  “Where have you been?”

             “Talking to Old Man McGucket,” Dipper replied. Wendy raised an eyebrow.

             “That old weirdo?  Why?”

             “While Soos was fixing the laptop, he opened it up and found out it had the name ‘McGucket Labs’ in it.  So we went to talk to Old Man McGucket about it.” Dipper scowled.  “But he just said he didn’t build it and sent us away.” Wendy sat up straight, bringing her feet down to the floor.

             “You saw the name ‘McGucket’ and went to talk to Old Man McGucket about it?” she asked.

             “Who else were we supposed to talk to?” Dipper asked defensively.

             “Uh, I dunno, maybe your great-aunt?”

             “What?” Dipper and Mabel said together.  Wendy looked at Soos.

             “C’mon, dude, I know you know Dr. Angie didn’t change her name when she married Mr. Pines.”  Soos winced slightly.

             “I…may have gotten caught up in the mystery and forgot,” he said.  Wendy rolled her eyes.  She looked back at Dipper and Mabel.

             “Dr. Angie’s last name isn’t Pines.  It’s McGucket.  Old Man McGucket is her older brother.”  Dipper and Mabel’s jaws dropped.

             “That explains why there are pictures of Old Man McGucket in the house,” Mabel said slowly.  “And why they have the same nose.”  Wendy nodded.

             “Grauntie Angie just keeps getting implicated over and over again,” Dipper said to himself.  “I feel like, at this point, she either knows the Author or is the Author.”  Wendy groaned loudly.

             “C’mon, dude!”

             “No, I think Dipper has a point,” Mabel said. “She’s been connected to this stuff too much for it to be a coincidence.”

             “Soos, back me up,” Wendy said.  Soos shook his head.  “Traitor.”

             “Why are you defending her?” Dipper asked quietly. Wendy stilled.  “Do you know something we don’t?”

             “All of this is news to me, too.  It’s just…”  Wendy crossed her arms and looked away.  “Dr. Angie’s my godmother, okay?  She- she saved my mom’s life, way before I was born.”

             “She did?” Mabel gasped.  Wendy nodded.

             “Yeah.  Mom always called it the ‘favor’ that she owed Dr. Angie.  She told me to keep an eye on Dr. Angie and help her out if she needed it.  Protect her.”

             “You’re protecting her?” Dipper asked.  “From what?”

             “You guys dragging her name through the mud!” Wendy stood up.  “Look, I’ve gotta go.  Talk to Dr. Angie about the laptop or whatever, but don’t go around accusing her of being the same guy who put Jonah in a cage.”  With that, Wendy stormed out of the Gift Shop.

             “I think we might have touched a nerve,” Soos said softly.  Dipper groaned and slapped his forehead.

             “I didn’t mean to offend Wendy!  I just can’t shake the feeling that Grauntie Angie knows more than she’s saying.”

             “She hasn’t had a chance to say much,” Mabel pointed out.  “She got back from her work thing last night and we still haven’t seen her.”

             “That’s a good point,” Dipper said.  “Where is she?”  As if on cue, Grunkle Stan poked his head into the Gift Shop.

             “Kids, Soos!” he barked.  All heads turned to face him.  “Angie went to run some errands this morning but hasn’t come back yet. Go see if you can track her down, okay?”

             “Why not call her cellphone?” Mabel asked. Stan scowled.

             “She doesn’t have it on her.”

             “Why not?”

             “She didn’t want it to get stolen.  Now, get outta here.  We’ve got tourists coming in a bit and I want Angie back before then.”

-----

             After half an hour of looking for Grauntie Angie at the stores Grunkle Stan said she might be at, there was still no sight of her.

             “Okay, I’m starting to get worried,” Soos said. “You don’t think a werewolf or fairy or something got her, do you?”

             “Grauntie Angie seems like she has magical street smarts,” Dipper said.  “I’m sure she’s fine.”  He frowned. “But it is weird that she’s not at any of the places Grunkle Stan said she would be at.”

             “Maybe she finished her errands and decided to go somewhere else,” Mabel suggested.  “Like, maybe she went to the museum?  She’s a scientist, she probably likes boring places like that.”

             “We’re near the museum right now,” Soos pointed out. “Want me to drive by just in case?”

             “It won’t hurt,” Dipper said with a shrug. Soos promptly jerked the wheel, causing the pickup to take a sharp U-turn.  He slowed down his speed as they drove past the museum.  “Uh, is that her?” Dipper asked nervously, pointing at the person collapsed on the sidewalk.  Soos slammed on the brakes and bolted out of the truck to be by Grauntie Angie’s side.

             “Dr. Angie!” he said desperately.  Grauntie Angie let out a soft moan.  She sat up, rubbing her forehead.  Dipper and Mabel exited the truck as well and came over. “Are you all right?”

             “I think so,” Grauntie Angie mumbled.  She looked around.  “I can’t quite recall why I’m here…”

             “Maybe you had a fall like old people do in those commercials,” Mabel suggested.  Grauntie Angie frowned.

             “Sweetheart, I ain’t nearly that frail yet.”  Soos stood up and helped Grauntie Angie to her feet.

             “Do you need water or food or-” he started. Grauntie Angie shook her head.

             “No, no, I’m fine.  Just confused.  And in pain from this headache.”  She let out a hiss and said something under her breath.

             “What language was that?” Dipper asked. Grauntie Angie looked at him.  “You muttered something just now, and it wasn’t in English.”

             “It was probably Irish,” Mabel said. Grauntie Angie nodded.

             “It was.  How’d ya know that?”

             “Well, Emily said she learned how to swear Irish from you.”

             “That’s news to me,” Grauntie Angie said after a moment.  “I never got ‘round to teachin’ the kids any Irish.  They just know the bits of Spanish Stan taught ‘em.”  She slumped against Soos.  “Jesus, would ya mind takin’ me back to the Shack?  I need some rest.”

             “Of course, Dr. Angie!”  Soos helped Grauntie Angie get into the truck.  Mabel and Dipper climbed into the back seat and buckled up.  Soos looked at Grauntie Angie nervously.  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.  Grauntie Angie rolled her eyes.

             “Yes, Jesus, I’m fine.  A bit confused, I’ve got an awful headache, but other than that, fine.”

             “If you say so…”

             “Grauntie Angie, we’ve been waiting for you to get back,” Mabel piped up.  Grauntie Angie turned around in her seat to look at Mabel and Dipper.

             “Oh?”

             “We need your help to make a nixie trap.”

             “A nixie?”  Grauntie Angie’s tone was politely bemused.  “Now, what could that be?”

             “A kind of fae,” Dipper said.  Grauntie Angie nodded slowly.

             “I do have a lot of knowledge ‘bout the Fair Folk. My Pa, he says that our ancestors encountered ‘em a lot back in the old country.”

             “The old country?” Mabel asked.

             “Ireland.  That’s where my Pa’s fam’ly came from.  It’s why I know Irish.  My Pa taught me.  Humans and the Fair Folk coexist in Ireland in a way they don’t anywhere else.  More like neighbors than anything.  Neighbors what might kidnap yer child if ya don’t take the proper precautions, but neighbors nonetheless.”  A twinkle entered her eye.  “In fact, fam’ly tradition has it that one of the McGucket ancestors caught the eye of one of the Fair Folk, to the point that they had a child together.”

             “So you’re part fairy?” Mabel gasped.  Grauntie Angie chuckled.

             “Well, if the story’s true, yes, the blood of the Fair Folk runs through my veins.  But I don’t know fer sure, given that it ain’t one of the tests they give ya at the doctor’s.”

             “A nixie is specifically a frog-like fae,” Dipper said, putting the conversation back on track.  Grauntie Angie raised an eyebrow.

             “My doctorate is in herpetology.  I know quite a bit ‘bout frogs.”

             “That’s why we wanted your help.”

             “Well…”  Grauntie Angie sighed.  “I’m sorry, sugar-cubes, but I’ll have to turn ya down.  If the Fair Folk truly live ‘round here, it’d be quite foolish to draw their attention, let alone try to trap one of ‘em.  The Fair Folk ain’t the fluttery lil butterfly girlies ya see on TV. They’re dangerous.”

             “What do you mean ‘if’?” Soos asked.  Grauntie Angie looked at him.

             “All’s I have as proof the Fair Folk are here is Dipper and Mabel’s word.  I’d need to see ‘em fer myself to know it’s true.”  She glanced at the backseat.  “No disrespect, darlin’s, it’s just the scientist in me.”

             “But you have seen them,” Soos said slowly.

             “The only time I ever saw the Fair Folk was when the Headless Horseman showed up at the farm on Samhain when I was a girl.  I ain’t ever seen ‘em in Gravity Falls.”

             “You have!” Soos insisted.  Grauntie Angie frowned.  “You’ve told me about it!”

             “Jesus,” Grauntie Angie scolded, “I think I’d know if I’d seen the Fair Folk ‘round these parts.  And I haven’t.”

             “He’s telling the truth,” Mabel said.  Grauntie Angie sighed.

             “He roped ya into this, too?”

             “Grauntie Angie,” Dipper said, “the day after we got here, you told us to be careful in the forest, because you’d seen fairies growing mushroom rings.”  Grauntie Angie’s brow furrowed.

             “I don’t recall that at all.”  She shook her head.  “Y’all must be misrememeberin’.”

             “Or maybe…you are,” Dipper suggested. Grauntie Angie chuckled.

             “Not a chance, honey.  My mind’s like a steel trap.  Ain’t nothin’ goin’ to fall out of it.”  She yawned widely.  “Oof, I think I need a nap.”

             “Are you sure you’re fine?” Mabel pressed. Grauntie Angie rolled her eyes.

             “Yer worse than Stan!  Yes, I’m fine.”  She turned back to face the front.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look, the same thought running through their minds.

             She’s not fine.

-----

             By the time they pulled up to the Shack, Grauntie Angie had fallen asleep.

             “Dr. Angie,” Soos said nervously, poking her. Grauntie Angie grumbled something and turned away.  “Dudes, I don’t think she’s gonna wake up.”

             “Not if you try like that,” Mabel said.  “The best way to wake someone up is to pinch their nose shut.  That always works.”  Dipper side-eyed her.

             “How many times have you done that?” he asked.

             “Enough to know it works!” Mabel said cheerfully. “Try it, Soos.”  Soos reached over and pinched Grauntie Angie’s nose.  Promptly, she punched him in the face.  Soos let out a yelp and let go.  Grauntie Angie settled back, still asleep.  “Maybe she’s under some sorta spell?  That could explain why she was saying all that stuff about not seeing fairies.”  Mabel opened the back door and got out of the truck, closely followed by Dipper.

             “If she’s under some sort of sleeping spell, I don’t know if we’ll be able to wake her up,” Dipper said, paging through the Journal.  Soos got out of the truck as well.  He tenderly prodded his nose with a wince.  “Are you all right, Soos?”

             “I don’t think she broke it,” Soos said. “Dr. Angie’s stronger than I thought she would be.”

             “A lot of people make that mistake,” a voice said. Dipper, Mabel, and Soos looked over. At some point, Grunkle Stan had exited the Shack and joined them by the truck.  He looked at Grauntie Angie, his eyes soft with fondness.  “I was gonna ask why you three were just standing around shooting the breeze, but it’s pretty obvious.”  Grunkle Stan opened the truck door.  He carefully unbuckled Grauntie Angie and hefted her into his arms. “Angie’s always been a heavy sleeper. I’ll take it from here.”  He paused.  “And…thanks for getting her.”

             “No problem, Mr. Pines!” Soos said, saluting. Grunkle Stan grunted in response. “She was acting a bit weird earlier, though…”  Grunkle Stan frowned.

             “That’s normal for her.  She’s weird.”

             “No, not like-” Dipper said.  He blinked.  “How come you’re holding her just fine?”

             “Old people aren’t supposed to lift heavy things,” Mabel put in.

             “I’m not that old and Angie’s not that heavy.” Grunkle Stan adjusted his hold on Grauntie Angie.  “How was she acting earlier?”

             “She kept saying that she’d never seen a fairy before.  And she has! She’s told us about it!” Mabel said. Grunkle Stan furrowed his brow.

             “She also said she didn’t believe Bigfoot was real, which is weird, because the first week we were here, she told us she was stepping out to bring Bigfoot some iced tea,” Dipper added.

             “It’s like she has no memory of magical or supernatural creatures at all!” Soos said.  Grunkle Stan went pale.  “Mr. Pines? Are you all right?”

             “Yeah,” Grunkle Stan said in a tight voice.  He shifted Grauntie Angie around slightly again. “It’s just- I’m not used to carrying Angie for so long.”  He cleared his throat.  “She was probably just yanking your chains or something.  Now, get to work.  I’ve gotta put Angie in bed.”  Grunkle Stan turned around and marched back to the Shack.  When he got to the porch, he sighed heavily.  “Soos, come get the door.”

             “On it, Mr. Pines!”  Soos sprinted away.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged an unnerved look.

             “Is it just me, or did Grunkle Stan look worried about Grauntie Angie not remembering the weirdness of Gravity Falls?” Dipper asked.  Mabel shook her head.

             “It’s not just you, Dipdop.  But it might not mean anything.  He might just be worried ‘cause she’s his wife.  Y’know?”

             “Yeah.”

             “I hope Grauntie Angie is all right.”  Mabel perked up.  “Maybe she just needed a nap for her brain to work.  That happens to me all the time.”

             “Yeah, I know,” Dipper said.  Mabel punched him playfully.  They both laughed and went inside.

-----

             Soos made his goodbyes and left the Shack. Mabel turned the sign on the door over so that it read “CLOSED”.  She turned to face Dipper and Emily, who were completing the end-of-day tasks.

             “Emily?”

             “What’s up, lil cuz?” Emily asked, looking up from the register, where she was counting out the day’s profits.

             “How’s Grauntie Angie doing?  She seemed a bit…off earlier.”

             “Dad’s checking on her now, since she’s been sleeping most of the day.”  There was a bloodcurdling scream from somewhere in the house.  Mabel and Dipper jumped.

             “What was that?” Mabel squeaked.

             “Should we, uh, look into that?” Dipper asked. Emily had gone as pale as a sheet. “Emily?”

             “That sounded like Ma,” she whispered.  She swallowed.  “I’m gonna go check it out, you kids stay here.”  She headed for the entryway to the living room.  Before she could take more than a few steps, however, Grunkle Stan appeared, panting heavily.  “Dad, was that Ma?”

             “She was just a bit, uh, a bit disoriented when she woke up,” Grunkle Stan said.  Emily frowned.  “She’s not used to sleeping for so long in the middle of the day, so she was confused and thought she saw something…abnormal.”

             “Really?” Emily asked, crossing her arms.  “That doesn’t pass the smell test, Dad.” Grunkle Stan glared at her.

             “Don’t question me, squirt.  I need you to go do something.”

             “Is it because I talked back?”

             “No, I was gonna ask you to do it anyways.”  Grunkle Stan glanced at Dipper and Mabel briefly before focusing on Emily again.  “I need you to go see Gobby.”  Emily’s eyes widened.

             “Why?”

             “Your ma isn’t feeling very well.  Ask Gobby if she can think of a reason for it.”

             “What are her symptoms?”

             “I’ll call you on your way.”

             “I didn’t finish the stuff with the register-”

             “I’ll take care of it, just get going,” Grunkle Stan said impatiently.  He handed Emily a set of car keys.  “Take the Stanleymobile.”  Emily swallowed nervously and nodded.

             “Got it.”  She exited the Gift Shop.  Grunkle Stan turned to Dipper and Mabel.

             “Go to your room.”

             “Who’s Gobby?” Mabel asked.

             “An old friend.  Go to your room.”

             “We didn’t finish-” Dipper started.  Grunkle Stan rolled his eyes.

             “Kid, I’m letting you get out of your chores for the day.”

             “But-”

             “No buts,” Grunkle Stan snapped.  “Go to your room and read that weird book or make a new sweater or whatever, okay?  I’ll close things up.”

             “But-” Dipper tried again.  Grunkle Stan glared at him.  “…Okay.”  Dipper and Mabel headed into the living room and upstairs into the attic.  “That was weird.”

             “Yeah…”  Dipper looked at Mabel.  She seemed thoughtful.

             “What is it?”

             “Emily told me the other day that when Grunkle Stan gets nervous or worried, he tries to take care of everything himself.” Mabel met Dipper’s eyes.  “He does all the chores, all the cooking, all the work for the Shack, and he won’t let anyone help him.”

             “You think he’s worried?  About what?”

             “Grauntie Angie!  Doy!”

             “Oh.”  Dipper rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.  “Right.”

             “Hopefully, he’s overreacting,” Mabel said.  “I’d really hate if there was something wrong with Grauntie Angie.”

             “Same.”  The engine of the Stanleymobile roared to life.  Dipper and Mabel raced over to the window to watch Emily drive away.  For once, the radio wasn’t blasting so loudly that they could hear it from where they stood.  “But I’ve got a bad feeling about it, Mabel.”

             “Me, too.”

-----

             The bell over the door to the Gift Shop jingled. Dipper and Mabel looked up from their chores.  A tall young man with long blond hair in a ponytail stood in the doorway.

             “Junior!” Mabel shouted excitedly.  Stanley Pines Junior, Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s oldest child, smiled weakly at her.

             “Hey there, kiddo,” he said.  Of Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s kids, Junior was the one Dipper and Mabel saw the most after Emily.  Junior ran a car dealership that doubled as a mechanic shop, and Grunkle Stan had a tendency to tell Dipper and Mabel to go help his son out on days where business for the Shack was slow.  Luckily, Junior was more easy-going than Grunkle Stan, so working for him wasn’t that bad.

             “What’s going on?” Dipper asked.  “Why are you here?”  Junior was too busy with his children and shop to come by the Shack often. The sight of him was either a very good thing or a very bad thing.

             “Dad said Ma isn’t doing too well.”  Junior rubbed the long, thin nose he had inherited from Grauntie Angie.  “He asked me to come by and see what I could do.”

             “Why would he ask you?” Dipper asked.  “I thought you just worked on cars.”

             “Why he asked for my help doesn’t matter,” Junior said firmly.  “You kids should get back to work.  I’ve gotta talk to my folks.”  He strode through the Gift Shop and disappeared into the living room.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look.

             “It is weird that Grunkle Stan asked Junior to help with Grauntie Angie, right?” Dipper asked.  Mabel nodded.

             “Yes, it is.  I mean, she’s been sick for a week now.  They should take her to the doctor, not have Junior come over.”  She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.  “Unless Junior is going to drive them both to the doctor.”

             “Grunkle Stan won’t take Grauntie Angie to the doctor,” Dipper said.  “He told me the other day that he doesn’t trust them.”

             “Yep, that sounds like our Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said. Soft voices carried from somewhere in the house.  

             “Wanna eavesdrop?” Dipper asked.  Mabel threw aside the broom she had been sweeping with.

             “Duh!” she scoffed.  “Let’s go, bro-bro!”  Dipper set down his own broom and the two scampered out of the Gift Shop and into the living room.  They snuck down the hall to Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s bedroom.  The door was ajar.

             “Ma, you don’t remember?” Junior’s voice asked.

             “I’ve been told, but I ain’t seen it with my own eyes, so’s I can’t confirm it,” Grauntie Angie said.  Dipper looked at Mabel in horror.  Her eyes were wide with concern as well.  Grauntie Angie sounded incredibly weak.  Like she was on death’s doorstep.  “I…I’ve seen you ‘n yer sister ‘n Stan, but I ain’t seen it with me.”

             “Angie, you’ve gotta believe me,” Grunkle Stan’s voice said desperately.  “If you don’t…”  He trailed off.

             “I’m sorry, darlin’, but I can’t.  Not without proof.  You know how I am.”

             “Yeah.  Yeah, I do.” Grunkle Stan took a deep breath. “Junior, did you find out anything about memory junk?”

             “I asked around.  I guess there are some freaks in red cloaks that mess with people’s minds for some reason.  That’s the only possible explanation I could come up with fer what happened to Ma.”

             “Red cloaks?” Emily’s voice asked.

             “Aw, shit,” Grunkle Stan swore.  He groaned loudly.  “It’s that damn thing Fiddlenerd got mixed up in.”

             “Whattaya mean?” Junior asked.

             “Wait, why’d you call him Fiddlenerd?” Emily asked.

             “Old habit.  And, well…”  Grunkle Stan sighed.  “It’s a long story, but I guess that cult your uncle started never went away.”

             “He started a cult?!” Emily demanded.

             “I’ll tell you later.  After you get back from finding Fiddlenerd.  Bring him here.”

             “You got it, Dad,” Junior said.  There was a sound like someone getting up from a chair. As quietly as they could, Dipper and Mabel raced back to the Gift Shop.  They picked up their brooms again and pretended to sweep.  Shortly after, Junior and Emily walked into the Gift Shop.

             “Are you guys going somewhere?” Mabel asked. Emily ruffled her hair playfully.

             “It’s top secret, cuz,” she said with a wink. “When we get back, though, I’ll play with you, okay?”  She and Junior left.  Mabel and Dipper looked at each other.

             “Where’s Soos?” Dipper asked.

             “Grunkle Stan told him to replace the rotting boards on the outhouse,” Mabel answered.  Dipper dropped his broom.

             “Good.  Grunkle Stan won’t get suspicious he’s not in the Gift Shop, then,” Dipper said.  Mabel cocked her head curiously.  “Junior and Emily are looking for Old Man McGucket, but I don’t know if that’s the right move.  We need to go to where this whole thing started.  The museum.”  Mabel grinned and dropped her broom as well.

             “Normally, I don’t like museums, but if there’s an adventure involved, you can count me in!”

-----

             Wendy was waiting for them when they got to the museum.  She looked up from her phone as they rushed over to her.

             “All right, what’s going on?” she asked.  “All the text from Soos said was to come here.”

             “Grauntie Angie’s sick,” Dipper said.  Wendy’s eyes widened.  “She started getting weak and everything after we found her here, so we thought it would be a good place to start.”

             “Huh.”  Wendy looked at the museum entrance.  “I did just see Old Man McGucket go in.”

             “Wait, really?” Dipper asked.  Wendy nodded.  “Why would he know to be here?”  Wendy shrugged.

             “Grunkle Stan said something about Old Man McGucket being involved with a cult,” Mabel pointed out.  Wendy’s mouth dropped open.

             “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.

             “No, that is what we heard Grunkle Stan say,” Dipper confirmed.  He frowned. “But what could that have to do with Grauntie Angie being sick?”

             “Only one way to find out,” Wendy said.  She opened the door.  “Let’s track that guy down.”

-----

             Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy walked through the empty, darkened halls of the museum.  They had yet to see someone who didn’t turn out to actually be a poorly made statue.

             “Where could he be?” Dipper asked.  Mabel shrugged.  Wendy came to a stop.  She held out her arm, stopping the others as well.

             “Do you hear that?” she whispered.  Soft muttering sounded from a nearby room. “That’s gotta be him.”  Mabel snuck over to the room and stuck her head in.

             “Hi, Old Man McGucket!” she said loudly.  Old Man McGucket let out a shocked yelp.  The others came over as well.  ��What are you doing here?” Mabel asked.

             “Uh, just- just checkin’ out my fav’rite room in the museum,” Old McGucket said in a tight voice.  Dipper looked around.  The room was full of eyes.  Paintings, statues, even eyeballs in jars.  Adding to the sinister atmosphere was the only source of light: a crackling fireplace.

             “Really?” Dipper asked flatly.  “This is your favorite room?”  Old Man McGucket crossed his arms, scowling.

             “I reckon I ought to ask y’all what yer doin’ here, too,” he said shortly.  “If’n I recall correctly, all four of ya ‘re s’pposed to be workin’ at the Mystery Shack right about now.”

             “We’re on a rescue mission!” Mabel said.  Old Man McGucket frowned.

             “A rescue mission?  What for?”

             “Dr. Angie,” Wendy said.  Old Man McGucket’s eyes widened.  “She’s sick.”

             “And y’all came to the museum to help her ‘cause…” Old Man McGucket prompted, his voice wavering.

             “She only got sick after we found her here,” Soos answered.  “She was on the sidewalk and had a headache and couldn’t remember what happened.” Old Man McGucket’s shoulders drooped.

             “I can’t believe it,” he whispered.  “They- they went after her?”  He rubbed his eyes.  “No, I- I can believe it.  She’s always been mixed up in the weirdness ‘round here.”

             “Uh, what are you talking about?” Mabel asked. Old Man McGucket sighed.

             “I’ve been lyin’ to you kids,” he confessed. “I know more ‘n I’ve been lettin’ on.” He walked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames, his gaze a thousand miles away.  “I first came to this town over thirty years ago to help someone out.  But I couldn’t- I couldn’t handle this town’s oddities.  They were too much fer me.  So’s I- I came up with a way to forget ‘em.  If I could go back in time, I’d destroy the darned thing.  All’s it did was ruin my life, make me lose m’self. Turn my memory into a block of Swiss cheese.”

             “Okay, but what does that have to do with Dr. Angie?” Wendy asked.  Old Man McGucket sighed again.

             “I figured I weren’t the only person in town what wanted to forget somethin’ horrible they’d seen.  So’s I started goin’ ‘round, helpin’ folks forget.  But things- things got out of hand.”

             “It turned into a cult?” Mabel prompted.  Old Man McGucket whipped his head around to stare at her.  “We overheard Grunkle Stan say something about you and a cult.”

             “…Yes,” Old Man McGucket said softly.  “Yes, it turned into a cult.  Thanks to Angie ‘n Stan, I got out of it, but I guess the other members kept it goin’.  They hid it well enough I didn’t realize until recently, when I caught one of ‘em sneakin’ through the alley by the junkyard.”

             “Grauntie Angie and Grunkle Stan got you out of the cult?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket nodded.

             “Without ‘em, my mind would be an even bigger mess ‘n it already is.”  He scowled. “If what ya say is correct, that Angie woke up outside the museum with a headache and no memory of how she got there, the Blind Eye Society was definitely responsible.  They must’ve wiped her memories after they caught her witnessin’ somethin’ paranormal.”

             “The Blind Eye Society?” Soos asked.

             “The name I came up fer the…”  Old Man McGucket winced.  “…cult.”

             “So how do we fix all this?” Wendy asked.  “I mean, it’s nice to know the problem, but it’s not super useful unless we also know the solution.  Y’know?”

             “If’n they ain’t changed things, then the memories should be stored in a secret room under the museum,” Old Man McGucket said. “But I can’t quite recall how to get there.  All’s I remember is that this room is the key.”  He shivered.  “It’s awful difficult to try to remember, with all these eyes starin’ at me.”

             “Wait…”  Dipper took a second look at the many eyes in the room.  “They are staring at you!”  Every single eye in the room was pointed in Old Man McGucket’s direction. “Move aside.”

             “If ya insist,” Old Man McGucket muttered. He took a step to the left, revealing a triangular stone with an eye carved on it.  This eye was staring straight ahead.  Dipper walked up to the stone and pushed it.  There was a loud shudder from the fireplace.  Everyone turned around, watching as the fireplace slid to the side, revealing a staircase.

             “Whoa,” Mabel gasped.

             “Thanks fer findin’ that,” Old Man McGucket said. “Who knows how long it might’ve taken me to figure out on my own?”  He frowned. “Yer all plannin’ on comin’ with, ain’t ya?”

             “Yep.”

             “Yes.”

             “Duh.”

             “Yeah!”

             “Of course,” Old Man McGucket sighed.  He crossed his arms.  “All right.  I think I can lead us to where they keep the memories from here, but I want y’all to stick close to me.  No wanderin’ off.  And most importantly, don’t look at any memories ya find.”

             “Aw, buzzkill!” Wendy whined.  Old Man McGucket scowled.

             “It ain’t right to pry into someone’s private memories.  Understand?”

             “Yes,” everyone muttered.

             “Good.”  Old Man McGucket turned to somberly face the staircase.  “Good.”

-----

             They stood before a set of large wooden doors. The top of the door was carved to looked like a massive eye, with a hydraulic tube going through the eye’s pupil. While the doors were intimidating by their mere size, there was an added uneasy air from the red spray paint crossing out the eye.

             “Now, if’n I recall proper, this is the Hall of the Forgotten,” Old Man McGucket said.  He took a deep breath and pushed the doors open.  Everyone but Old Man McGucket let out a soft gasp at the sight of the massive room.

             “Whoa.”

             “What are all these things?” Dipper asked, picking up one of the many glass tubes laying around in piles.  He squinted at it.  “It’s got Robbie’s name on it.”

             “Then Robbie’s memories were erased at some point,” Old Man McGucket replied.

             “These tubey things are memories?” Mabel asked. Old Man McGucket nodded.  “…How?”

             “Let me see if…”  Old Man McGucket looked around.  “Ah-ha!”  He walked over to a large pile of memory tubes.  At the foot of the pile was a strange device that looked like a futuristic ray gun of some sort.  On top of the gun was a compartment that held one of the tubes.  He picked it up.  “You enter in this here gun what it is ya want to forget.  Once it’s fired, those memories are saved in a tube.”

             “How do you get your memories back, if they’re in a tube?” Wendy asked.

             “Oh, ya put it in a special TV to watch it.” Old Man McGucket gestured towards a strange television tucked away in the corner of the room.

             “And that gives you your memories back?” Dipper said slowly.  Old Man McGucket shrugged.

             “Sort of.”

             “I found it!” Mabel called.  The others looked over.  Mabel stood in front of an ominous stone statue of a hooded man with outstretched arms.  Above the statue was a shelf with multiple memory tubes.  “Grauntie Angie’s memory thingy is right here!  And so is Old Man McGucket’s!”

             “Do ya have to call me that?” Old Man McGucket muttered.  He blinked. “Wait, they’ve got some of my memories?”

             “Guess so,” Mabel said with a shrug.  She grabbed two memory tubes, then threw one to Old Man McGucket.  “If you have to watch these in order to get your memories back, how is it going to help Grauntie Angie?”  Mabel’s eyes widened.  “Do we need to take the TV, too?”

             “No, I think there’s still one in the Mystery Shack’s basement,” Old Man McGucket said.

             “The Shack has a basement?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket nodded.  Dipper looked at Soos and Wendy.  “Did you guys know that?”

             “Nope.”

             “I had no idea, dude.”

             “Stan can show ya when ya get there, then,” Old Man McGucket said.  He sighed softly, looking around the room.  “I really tarred it up, didn’t I?  All sorts of good folks ‘re gettin’ their memories erased all over town. ‘Cause of me.”  A determined look settled on his face.  “Guess I’ll have to clean up the mess what I made.”

             “Uh, you’re gonna take down a cult on your own?” Wendy asked.  Old Man McGucket chuckled.

             “Oh, no.  Don’t worry, I know some folks what can help me out.”

             “Who?”

             “That ain’t information fer you to know.”  Old Man McGucket took a deep breath.  “But I will come clean ‘bout somethin’.  It’s the least I can do fer yer help in findin’ my mem’ries and wantin’ to help my baby sister.”  He closed his eyes.  “I did make that laptop.”

             “I knew it!” Dipper said, punching the air. “But…why did you lie, then?”

             “I didn’t want you children to get mixed up in what awful things that laptop comes with.  But it’s pretty obvious that yer goin’ to be in trouble no matter what, so I might as well tell y’all the truth.”

             “Then- are you the Author?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket frowned.

             “Author?  Of what?”

             “I found this journal in the woods and-” Dipper reached for the pocked in his vest where he kept the Journal.  Nothing was there.  “Dang it! We were in too much of a hurry to leave; I forgot it back at the Shack!”

             “I think…” Old Man McGucket said slowly.  “I think I know what yer referrin’ to.  The book had research on the supernatural things here in Gravity Falls?”  Dipper and Mabel nodded.  A shadow crossed Old Man McGucket’s face.  “I reckon I used to know the Author.  But I can’t quite recall.  I- I can almost hear his voice, almost see his face, but I might need some time ‘fore I remember who he was.”

             “Once you remember, will you tell us who he is?” Mabel asked.

             “Only if I know the answer won’t put ya in danger. And given the lengths I’ve gone to forget him, I get the feelin’ that danger is a close friend of his.”  Old Man McGucket shook his head.  “Ya best get goin’.  My baby sister needs her memories back.”  He stared down at the memory tube in his hands.  “Y’all can leave without me.”  His fingers brushed his name on the label.  “I thought I remembered just ‘bout everything, but clearly I’ve got some left to do.”

             “Are you sure you can find your way home?” Soos asked.  Old Man McGucket chuckled.  He put the memory tube underneath his hat.

             “You’d be surprised what this ole feller can find.”

             “So is that a yes?” Soos asked slowly.  Old Man McGucket nodded.  “Oh.  Good.” Soos turned to Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy. “Let’s go bring Dr. Angie’s memories back to her!”

-----

             “All right, we’ve gotta get this to Grauntie Angie!” Dipper shouted as he burst through the door of the Gift Shop, closely followed by Mabel, Soos, and Wendy.

             “What are ya gettin’ to me?” Grauntie Angie asked. Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy froze. “If it’s a gift, ya don’t need to get me anything,” Grauntie Angie continued.  She was standing by the vending machine, whose door was currently open. “I’m just goin’ to grab m’self a quick snack ‘fore I went out.”

             “Grauntie Angie, you’re- you’re all right!” Mabel squealed in delight.  She rushed over to Grauntie Angie, tackling her in a hug.  Grauntie Angie chuckled, ruffling Mabel’s hair.

             “Were ya concerned I wouldn’t be?” she asked.

             “You’ve been bedridden for days,” Dipper pointed out.

             “Hmm, that’s true,” Grauntie Angie conceded. “But-”  She paused.  “Jesus, are you cryin’?” she asked.  Soos wiped away his tears.

             “I’m just so glad that you’re not sick anymore, Dr. Angie,” he sobbed.  Grauntie Angie tsked sympathetically.

             “Honey, ya don’t need to cry over me.  It’s okay.”

             “How’d you get better so fast?” Wendy asked. “Dipper and Mabel said you were doing really bad this morning.”  Grauntie Angie beamed at Grunkle Stan, who was closing the door to the vending machine.

             “Stanley’s just quite excellent at nursin’ me back to health,” she cooed.  She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Grunkle Stan on the cheek.  Mabel and Dipper grimaced, grossed out by the public display of affection. “Thank you fer yer help, darlin’. I better go.  Who knows what state the lake is in after I left it alone fer so long?”

             “Oh, yeah, those frogs go nuts when you’re not around to keep them in check,” Grunkle Stan replied.  Grauntie Angie giggled.  “Junior’s gonna come by in a few minutes if you wanna wait for him to give you a ride.”

             “Excellent idea, my dear.”  Grauntie Angie smiled at Dipper and Mabel.  “I’ll catch up with the two of ya later, okay?”  She left the Gift Shop, the bell over the door jingling with her exit.  Dipper turned to Grunkle Stan, who was staring at the door wistfully.

             “Seriously, how did she get better so quickly?” he asked.

             “You heard her,” Grunkle Stan said.  He grinned.  “I’m good at taking care of my wife.  Wouldn’t still be married if I wasn’t.”

             “But-” Dipper started.

             “I gotta go work on the newest exhibit,” Grunkle Stan said, talking over Dipper.  “I’ve been too busy with Angie to finish it up.”  He went through the “Staff Only” door, disappearing into the house. Dipper frowned thoughtfully.

             “Dipper,” Mabel said in a warning tone.  “I don’t like that look on your face.”

             “I can’t shake the feeling that Grauntie Angie is hiding something,” Dipper said quietly.  Mabel gasped.

             “Are you gonna watch her memories?  We promised Old Man McGucket we wouldn’t!”

             “Old Man McGucket isn’t here,” Dipper retorted. “Her memories could answer the biggest mystery in this town!”  He reached for the pocket he had put Grauntie Angie’s memory tube.  Nothing was there.  “Uh oh.”

             “Uh oh?” Mabel said.  “What’s uh oh?”

             “I don’t have her memory tube.”

             “What?!  Did you drop it somewhere?”

             “I don’t think I did!” Dipper said.  He dragged his hands down his face.  “We’ll have to retrace our steps to find it!” Wendy’s phone chirped.  She took it out of her pocket and blinked in surprise.

             “I got a text from Emily.”

             “What’s it say?” Mabel asked.  Wendy squinted at her phone’s screen.

             “Huh.  They tracked down Old Man McGucket and apparently the tube fell out of your pocket or whatever before we left.  He’s got it, so we don’t need to look for it.”

             “Oh.”  Dipper sighed.  “I guess that’s good.”

             “Uh, duh, it’s good that Dr. Angie’s memories aren’t on a sidewalk somewhere,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes. She pulled the brim of Dipper’s hat down over his eyes.  “Dork.” Dipper laughed.  “I’m gonna go wait outside with Dr. Angie.  I bet I can get Junior to give me a ride back home.”

             “Bye, Wendy!” Mabel called.  Wendy grinned and went outside.  Mabel looked at Dipper.  “Maybe it’s for the best that we accidentally left without the memory thing.  This way, you can’t sneak around and watch Grauntie Angie’s memories without permission!”  Dipper rubbed his arm, abashed.

             “Yeah,” he mumbled.  He sighed.  “I just want to find out what she’s hiding!”

             “Is she hiding anything?” Mabel asked.  “I mean, we haven’t really been able to ask her about what she knows about the Journal.”

             “Good point,” Dipper muttered.  His eyes shot open.  “The Journal!”

             “Oh, it’s over here, dude,” Soos said.  Dipper and Mabel looked over.  Soos held the Journal up in one hand.  “It was behind the checkout counter.”

             “I left it next to the register, though,” Dipper said.  Soos shrugged.

             “Maybe Mr. Pines put it somewhere a tourist wouldn’t see it and want to buy it,” he suggested.  Dipper frowned.  “Or Dr. Angie moved it.”

             “That’s more likely,” Dipper said.

             “Soos, kids!” Grunkle Stan’s voice shouted from somewhere.  “Get back to work!”  Dipper and Mabel groaned.  “I heard that!”

[mistress-and-servant]

Just a Tear

“Go change,” she said to him, sternly.

She was sitting at her vanity, powdering her face when he walked in. She didn’t even turn around to say that, merely glanced at him through the mirror. Charlie was momentarily shocked, but then nodded to her and quickly made his way back to his room to put on his maid outfit. This was a common occurrence for him. Sometimes she’d demand to see him in his maid outfit, while other times she didn’t mind the butler one. But he would gladly change for her whenever she asked.

The maid outfit was slightly more revealing. The skirt portion didn’t even go past his mid thigh, and there was a cat head hole right where his chest was. It showed off a bit of his cleavage squishing out against it. The sleeves were tight right below his shoulders. It was a bit more difficult to move around in this outfit, but he’d never complain to his Mistress. He quickly made his way back to her door and knocked.

“Enter.”

He opened the door and shut it behind him as he walked in. He stood behind her, just like earlier. This time when she glanced up, she smiled and slowly turned around in her seat. There was a spark in her green eyes.

“That’s better. Now, Charlie, do me a favor and do not take that outfit off till you burst out of it.”

Charlie paused, and blinked a few times to catch up with what he heard. His maid outfit had started to show how much he’s grown, but even with how ill fitting it had become he wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to completely outgrow it.

“Do you expect me to even wear it while I sleep, Mistress?”

“Oh heavens of course not-“

He sighed in relief.

“- I expect you to do it today kitten.”

His eyes widen and a blush began to form on his chubby cheeks. She giggled.

“Oh stop. I know you can do it. I would suggest you sit around and just stuff your face till it happens, but I know how much you don’t like ignoring your duties.”

He nodded, he hated the idea of not doing anything at all. He was her butler after all. And if he did nothing at all, then how was he ever to keep his worth?

She continued, “ Yes, so since you need to be doing something, I suggest that as long as you are working, you are also eating.”

She got up from her seat and walked up to him. She placed her small hand on his tum and patted it. It gurgled, reminding him that he had yet to eat today. “I want to see you eating something all day, no matter what. I’ll make sure of that.”

｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡

Breakfast was the easiest. She didn’t add anything to his simple meal of eggs, bacon, toast and a cup of whole milk. He was sure that she would add a pastry of some kind, but she just sat there with her own portion and smiled. After taking and cleaning their dishes, he got started on making a list of things that needed to be bought for the home. He would receive lists from the head chef and head housekeeper, and he would then in turn check the stock room and pantry to make sure everything was listed off.

It was in the stock room that he heard someone come into the room. He looked and saw his Mistress come in with a plate of cookies. When she got to him, she immediately shoved a cookie into his mouth. He had no choice but to eat it, and it was delicious. It was still warm, and it was crunchy on the outside but soft on the inside. The chocolate chips were gooey, coating his mouth as he chewed. As he finished it, a second one was pushed into his mouth. This went on as he continued to check the stock. Cookie after cookie would pass through his lips with no room in between them until finally there was none left. She smiled at him and finally left him alone again. It wasn’t till then that he noticed a slight bit more pressure in his tummy. He rubbed his belly and burped into his fist before continuing on with his work.

｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡｡◕‿◕｡

This continued on throughout the morning. Treat after treat would make his way to him, and his Mistress would happily feed him as he worked. She fed him slices of cake, batches of brownies, plates of cookies, and other such desserts until it was finally time for lunch. He had just finished a plate of scones and was now slowly making his way to the kitchen. He was full, his belly now pushing against his maid outfit. He could have sworn that the fabric was slowly inching its way higher up his legs, showing more and more skin as it went. The end of his skirt was barely covering the top of his thighs, and soon would start showing the very bottom of his belly. Yet there wasn’t a tear yet, he was afraid that he wouldn’t burst out of the outfit and it would simply no longer cover his body.

He held his belly as he walked, trying to stop it from sloshing around and causing more discomfort. He hiccuped and burped softly as he got closer. But before he could enter, his Mistress came out and blocked him.

“Oh no no no. You are to sit at the dining room table. I will bring you your meal.”

He was about to protest, but she began to push him away. “Go on now. I know how hungry you must be,” she teased. He relented and made his way to the table. As he was slowly lowering himself onto the seat, he felt something give, and his belly expanded a little with the extra room. Upon inspection, he found that the bow to his apron had come undone, and now the flaps were loosely on his sides. It didn’t count, but it gave him hope that maybe he’d be able to stop soon.

He inspected his clothing further and found that, when sitting, his skirt barely covered his legs at all. The ends of the fabric were just shy of exposing his belly. He patted his tum, causing it to gurgle. He was so full already, but he knew his Mistress would not stop till he burst out of his clothes. He hiccuped, causing his belly to wobble, and he groaned. He hoped he'd be able to get up after lunch.

Half an hour passed before his Mistress entered the room. With the little time he was given as a break, he was starting to breath a little bit easier. His tummy was still full, of course, but he was finally relaxing, until he wasn’t. The Mistress brought in two plates with her. One with a bowl of creamy potato soup with bits of bacon in it, the other with a sub cut in half with cheese and tomato sauce oozing from the sides, a classic chicken parm sandwich. They both smelled amazing. Even with his full tummy he began to drool at the thought of eating them both. He rubbed at his belly, momentarily forgetting his fullness.

His Mistress sat the two meals down and motioned for him to eat, which he did with no hesitation. He began with the bowl of soup. It was warm and creamy. The bacon was salty, and as he lifted up his spoon he saw that there were globs of cheese and chunks of onion and carrots mixed in. He savored the flavors, and before he knew it the bowl was empty. He stifled a burp in his hand and began to rub his tummy. Not only did he feel how stretched his belly was, but also the fabric of his dress. He didn’t understand how it could still contain him after everything. He swore that he could hear creaking, he just wanted it to tear already. His belly gurgled and a burp slipped past his lips. He blushed as his Mistress pushed the next plate in front of him. Charlie picked up the sandwich and began to eat again.

Slowly he made his way through it. Bite after bite of cheesy, saucy chicken and bread slid down his throat and expanded his tight gut. He groaned as he felt his stomach grumble even more. He tried to push his belly out in hopes that the dress would finally give but it just held on. Even after the last bite joined the rest in his packed gut, not a single thread had given out. He let his head fall back and didn’t try to hide the burp he let out. He was just so tired from the heavy weight in his belly sitting on his lap, still covered by his maid outfit. He barely registered the hand slowly rubbing circles into his belly. His Mistress pushed a finger against his stomach and felt how tight he felt.

“I really thought for sure you’d rip through this by now.” She placed both hands on either side of his wide expanse and gave him a gentle squeeze that still made him groan at the discomfort. She stopped and continued with her rubbing circles. After a few minutes of caressing his stuffed midsection she got up and stood beside him, grabbing his right arm.

“Come, it probably isn’t too comfortable sitting like this. Let's get you to a more comfortable spot.”

He moaned at the thought of moving, but after a moment's hesitation he began to slide himself closer to the seat edge. He used one hand to grip the dining table, and the other to support his tum to prevent any unnecessary movements. Slowly but surely he got onto his two feet with the help of his Mistress, his belly wobbling as it was pulled down by gravity. The weight making him have to arch his back to give his belly more room. He hiccuped and groaned and clutched at his middle, his Mistress leading him towards her personal Reading Room. She led him towards the plush coach they’d both use to sit next to each other during lazy days. She made sure that he slowly and carefully sat on the cushions and then pushed him into a lying position. With laying on his side his belly was no longer pulling at his back, now being supported by the soft pillows. He was both more comfortable and still in pain by the sheer volume in his tummy. His Mistress sat down next to his head which then made him want to pull himself closer to her to put his head on her lap. He struggled a little before she granted mercy on him since all this began and shimmied closer for him to snuggle into her. She began to run her fingers through his hair.  With now being close to his Mistress, he began to purr softly and gently fell into a food coma, his tummy slowly digesting all the things he’d eaten .

The last thing he heard before slipping into darkness was, “Maybe when you wake up we can continue working on tearing this outfit.”

[wizkiddx]

unusable faces

i have exams hence why i needed to write something exceptionally cringe :)

PSA: this is completely inspired from one of my fave writers own blurb @blissfulparker​ --> completely recommend u go read hers its much better than anything i could ever write!!!! (and just her whole account) = link

Summary: pure exhaustion and mutual pining, Tom Holland x actress!reader

^(just thought this was cute, doesn't really fit aha but full credit to op!!)

A scheduling nightmare would be putting it lightly. Perhaps almost unavoidable but that didn’t make it any less of a hellish form a torture. Harry had very helpfully said it actually was a form of torture, that is sleep deprivation. Y/n loved her job - it was all she’d ever really wanted - yet that thought was quickly becoming not enough to get her through the day. Not when it felt like an interrogation tactic used by the CIA. 

To give a quick timeline of the past few days may give a little context:

Thursday - filming the fight scene all day plus an evening-turned-half-the-night-shoot due to some technically difficulties delaying the process.

Friday - flying to New York while doing read throughs of scenes for the next few days; followed immediately by getting glammed and filming the tonight show with Fallon; then a dash across town to the late late show with James Corden; then straight back on a flight to Atlanta that landed at stupid o’clock in the morning

Saturday - a full day of shooting in a mock grand central station set

The press trip to NY had been unplanned… to say the least. But the star of their studios other new release had taken ill - meaning they had slots booked on some of the biggest talk shows in America that would just be abandoned (angering the shows bookers too). It was a waste of perfectly good promo time and since the studio had their two other stars together doing a block of reshoots - it wasn’t a conversation. Much more a call demanding the two of them to be on the plane.

Normally this wouldn’t be such an unmanageable ask either, except the reshoot block was really rather time pressured. You see, the promo tour wasn’t far from beginning meaning they really needed the final film in the can. So really it was a bit of a mess. Just to free up that single day the two were in New York the whole schedule had had to be rejigged - in doing so they’d lost a rare day off too. It was just typical.  

The joys of success hey?

Well, that’s at least what Y/n was making herself think whilst her incredibly talented SFX artist was in the process of crafting a deep wound onto her upper arm. The reason why she would be ‘dripping with blood’ whilst at a train station was beyond Y/n to be honest - she hadn’t been allowed to read a lot of the script so even now as filming was drawing to a close, the story arc of the movie she was headlining was still a little ‘fuzzy’.

“So I watched your ‘spill your guts’ thing on YouTube” Ellie giggled whilst reaching over for more prosthetic putty- a technical term apparently

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed the experience” Y/n replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the mischievous smirk on her face - no doubt Ellie took great joy out of seeing her suffer through eating a thousand year old egg. Which Y/n swore the taste of was still in her mouth… and it seemed as though it’d never leave. 

“Oh don’t worry darling I did too” Nelli called over from the next chair along, where she was doing Tom’s makeup for the day of shoots. “Between that and the animals on Fallon, you made a hell of a lot of people laugh last night” Tom’s artist was referencing the fact one of Jimmys other guests was a zookeeper, so at the end of the interview he had you and Tom join in trying not to scream at the snakes and spiders.

“You mean laugh at us?” 

“Well of course darling!” Nelli exclaimed back in an overdramatic bronx accent making all three of the women burst out laughing, Ellie’s unceremonious snorts echoing through the trailer only egged them all on more.

Tom in response, who had otherwise been absent from conversation for the majority of the morning, exclaimed a curse and jumped up in his chair. While you and Ellie collected yourself, Nelli apologised to him.

“Oh sorry love, I’m interrupting your snooze with my uncontrollable comedic gift” She spoke sweetly, even if still taking the moment to flaunt to the other women, as she squeezed his shoulder compassionately.

“No no” Tom waved off her apology, attempting to rub his eye before Nelli swatted his arm away - a stern look for the risk of ruining all her hard work she’d put into making his face look half presentable. 

“I’m impressed you can sleep while they poke you with all these er instruments” Y/n added in, having only just realised Tom had been in a light sleep for god knows how long they’d been in that chair. It did seem a bit unlikely, being able to fall asleep as you were dabbed, prodded and brushed. 

“Maybe you should try though Y/n… your purple eye bags are proving a struggle even for me” Ellie quipped back, now it was Y/n’s turn to give the stern look. Tom took the explain though, shutting her off from whatever kindly meant insult she was about to throw back at her friend. 

“No normally never, I just….” He was cut off by an ear splitting yawn, appearing almost powerful enough to crack his jaw - which would be a disaster, for no one should ruin such a beautiful and sharp jaw line. “…uh-sorry. I just think I ended up taking my NyQuil and DayQuil the wrong way round in the madness of yesterday.” Only Tom, the poor kid often seemed to lacking in any form of common sense - even if those closest to him knew just how intellectual and passionate he could be about the right topic. Affectionately, Nelli scalded his idiocy by jokingly swatting his head with a little tut.

“I can’t believe your still standing then! I’m barely alive and I don’t have any sedatives in my system.” It was true, Y/n was at that stage where every part of her body felt ridiculously heavy… eyes included … eyes especially. 

“But I did sleep on the jet back while your stupid self was studying the script!” Tom replied with a pretty inarguable point - at the time he knew her actions were stupid;  when their flight took off at 11 PM he was certain that the most valuable asset to his ability to act in the reshoots today would be sleep - rather than character development. And he’d tried to convince Y/n that briefly, but gave up. She was bloody stubborn when she wanted to be. 

“Stop competing about who has it worse cos I think it’s me and Nell”Ellie announced - making Nelli agree empathically with her coworker, nodding her head as she looked first to Y/n in her chair then back at Tom.

“Yeh because we have to deal with your unusable faces!!”

After much sarcasm thrown back and fourth, the trailer slowly ebbed it’s way back into serenity and peace as both artists focused on their work. Once Nelli was done she excused herself, Tom staying in the chair in favour of studying (more like staring blankly) at the dialogue for this mornings scenes. His pretence didn’t last long though and while Ellie was busy adding the final touches of fake blood to the now almost completely believable gash that she’d crafted on Y/n’s arm - Y/n had her attention focused the opposite way.

At poor little Tom. He looked so childlike, his slightly puffy eyes looked as if they had weights tied to them - they way he was having fight against gravity to flutter his eyes open, before loosing the next second only for the process to repeat as they dragged downwards. The broad muscles of his neck occasionally seemed to occasionally let up a little, letting his head tilt slowly at first until it gathered enough momentum to throw him off balance. The then sudden movement of his head unconsciously pulling itself back in line caused his eyes to bolt open prior to the whole cycle repeating again. All Y/n wanted to do was let him lay down someone, her heart feeling a tug in her chest just seeing him like that. 

Ellie proclaimed her completion of the wound, leaning back to admire her work before looking to get an affirming nod from Y/n. Yet instead, she was too preoccupied gazing at the boy slouched across from them. “Someone seems a little distracted.” Ellie smirked, finally garnering Y/n’s attention, only feeling more and more smug watching a light tint appear on the actors cheeks. 

“I-well-no… we need to go.” Y/n ignored her words as though nothing had happened, instead rushing off the chair to get Tom out the chair and onto the awaiting set. They had places to be.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (bcos im lazy)

Honestly when the director, Ed, called for lunch break, it was pretty apparent to be purely as a compassionate gesture to Y/n and Tom. Both of them had tried so hard this morning to fully commit, even so they’d both been almost completely useless. Y/n kept missing cues whilst all Tom’s actions and lines where slow, dragged out and at times completely prompted from someone behind the cameras. 

So when the lunch break was called there was only one thing on Y/n’s mind and what sandwich was available in the mess tent was not it. Still standing on the set next to her fake holdall bag she looked toward Tom, who was pulling himself up to standing from the train station bench - the pace of his movement making him look more like an old man. 

“You good?” His answer was predictable. 

“I’m so fucking shattered”

Tom swore he’d never heard anything sweeter come out of Y/n’s pink lips than her next statement.

“C’mon I know somewhere we can lie down.”

Without any sort of thought Tom blindly agreed, nodding as he took her outstretched hand in his. The gesture in itself brought a fresh wave of comfort to his aching limbs and as his feet stumbled to catchup with her slight head start he leant the majority of his weight into their connected hands. 

Neither would admit it but they were ‘a thing’… whatever the hell that meant. It was clear as day to everyone and anyone that worked closely to the two but neither of them had ever broached the topic with each other. They’d worked on a few films together over the years; each time they got closer and closer to the point any job without the other simply wasn’t as good. It was scary though, especially for two actors in the prime of their careers. If they weren’t working the same film they’d likely be the opposite side of the world to each other most of the time - quality time together would be few and far between, Really their jobs didn’t suit dating at all, yet it would be perhaps easier if one half of it worked a ‘normal’ job. Something with consistency, a regular structure. A level of dependability that neither Y/n nor Tom could offer to the other. 

So it was terrifying, acknowledging the growth in their magnetic attraction to each other. Both were acutely aware that doing that, confronting their feelings, would most likely signal the beginning of the end. 

Although none of this stoped Y/n from returning the gesture, tilting her shoulder into Tom’s left side as they took slow steps through and then out the set building. She steered the two past the hair and makeup trailer and round into a store and extra equipment trailer. Tom tilted his head as she climbed the stairs whilst beckoning for him to follow - it didn’t seem like the most obvious choice. Rolling her eyes, Y/n explained.

“It’s where all the blankets and coats and kept for the raining scenes plusssss no one will disturb us in here.” Again Tom was not in a position to disagree, eyes drooping as his shoulders sagged to the floor. Right now he’d take anything. 

So he climbed up the stairs and shut the door behind him, just as Y/n flipped the light on. She was right, it was well equipped and with an almost mountainous supply of red blankets that normally the crew and extra would all be wrapped up in after the freezing rain scenes with all the ‘waterfall machines’ as Y/n called them. However it was also um…. It was cosy. “Oh I don’t think I realised how small it was” She chuckled lightly, since now the door was closed her back was pressed up against the far wall of cabinets and still her front was mere millimetres from Tom.

“I…I don’t mind… if-if you don’t?”

“I’m too tired to care” She giggled in response, and Tom , now with her seal of approval, immediately started ransacking the piled shelves for all their worth creating a floor carpeted in the pale red of the blankets, in an attempt to make it more cosy. Joining in, it was almost remarkable how quickly their bodies suddenly agreed to move, with the new promise of rest mere moments away. 

Once the trailer was fully drowned, Tom kicked off his costume shoes and threw his jacket off - it haphazardly landing by the doorway. Y/n copied him, leaving her stood up whilst he had the advantaged of already settling down on the floor, her standing and looking down at him.

The space between the two opposing shelving units was not close spacious enough for two people to lie down whilst keeping a respectable level of personal space. Suddenly feeling a wave of awkwardness, Y/n stayed standing, wringing her hands slightly - whilst fairly certain Tom could hear her heart running at 100 mph. 

“You er… gonna stay there or?” Tom, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a complete idiot - he could see she was suddenly self conscious. He got it too - they’d never crossed this boundary of choosing to cuddle into each other. It had happened once of twice accidentally over there 2 years of knowing each other. Both of those times it was completely accidental, falling asleep watching a movie with a safe distance of space b between the two, only to find hours later their bodies almost completely intwined. Tom would be lying if he said that his heart didnt skip a beat when he had awoken to Y/n’s soft and gently breath fanning into his neck. He’d loved it, but understood that was unconsciously breaking down part of the wall they’d both been the constructors of.

For fear of getting hurt. 

So now, as Y/n awkwardly bent down and lay on her side, he thought it was imperative to make her feel comfortable. Naturally then, his arm slid round her shoulders and pulled her down toward his chest, releasing a little breath as he felt her relax, her legs slowly wrapping round one of his. 

“This okay?” He murmured, now into the crown of her head as she lay half on her side half on his chest. In reply she nodded into him and Tom couldn’t help but grin- unbeknownst to him but Y/n was doing the exact same thing. 

The peace lasted all of 3 seconds until she groaned again.

“What?” Tom enquired as she wriggled out his hold and stood up. Instead of replying though she just leant over and flicked the one harsh light bulb off making Tom chuckle as she fumbled her way back onto the padded floor in the darkness, earning a few grunts from both as she accidentally kicked Tom’s thighs or banged her head on one of the now empty shelves. Fumbling her way back into a comfortable position, occasionally cursing when she stubbed her toe- or Tom did when she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Comfy?” Tom asked a little sarkily as he squeezed her a little more into his side.

“Mhmmmm… I’m gonna sleep for 100 years”

“Yeh me… me too”

And with that they both almost instantly and in complete unison sagged into each other and the blankets - the pent up stress and tension of the past few days ebbing away.

What the pair had neglected to remember was that sleeping for 100 years wasn’t really an option. The whole crew of 50 people, who wanted to restart filming after 45 minutes, had not been told about Y/n’s little hiding place. The pair were so completely safe in their own little cocoon of comfort they were completely oblivious to their teams calling there names more and more frantically. Completely oblivious to the game of hide and seek the situation had descended into, completely oblivious to Harrys natural annoyance as the director asked him for the whereabouts of the two stars - as though Harry was childminder to the pair of them.

It was Nelli who found them first. She’d and Ellie and Tom’s manager had all been recruited by Harry as part of the man hunt. Both girls, having seen first hand the state of the two this morning, were fairly certain they’d both crashed out somewhere. So Nelli, already with a sneaking suspicion, opened the door gently, her figure blocking the majority of the light from seeping through to the dimly lit inside. The sight she was met with had her actually pouting at the cuteness - and yes its a cringey word but also the only one appropriate.

Between bedding down and barely an hour later the two had managed to become impossibly tighter pressed to each other. Y/n’s face was pressed into the crook of Tom’s neck and his arms seemed to have pulled her on-top of him almost completely. Her left leg was hooked under his right, which was then sandwiched by his left too. They both looked so pure and innocent and god did Nelli know they both needed any extra time they could get.

Nelli cared a lot about Tom, she’d been working with him from the beginning, from the child star days to now. She cared about him like her very annoying surrogate son and she wanted to see him looked after. She also so completely wanted the two stars to stop pining after each other. Because frankly it was getting a little frustrating for everyone else. 

So she chose to tactically forget about her discovery, sneaking a photo on the sly before silently pulling the door closed and leaving them to their sleep. 

[entitynumber5]

omg Hannah!! if you feel so inclined, maybe "things you said when you were crying" for jonmartin? no pressure tho ily

aaaahhh thank you so much for this prompt, friend!!!!! i’m sorry it’s been a while!!! i really hope you like this!!!! ily <3

Content warnings: illness (they both have the flu), depressive episode (mentioned), Martin’s mother (mentioned), the Lonely, disassociation, swearing, compulsive behaviour, self-depreciation. 

things you said when you were crying

Perhaps it’s testament to how wonderfully mundane their lives have become, that Jon’s first thought when he wakes is: Martin’s doing the god damn laundry. 

It’s not an unreasonable assumption. Martin had spent the annual leave he’d taken to align with Jon’s reading week nursing Jon through a nasty bout of flu. During the three worst days, when Jon was barely conscious, he hadn’t seen Martin sleep or eat or leave their bedroom except to linger by the landline—a sign perhaps that Martin had caught what Jon had earlier than he’d let on, since they rarely used the relic—and debate calling the out of hours service. Jon had just about weathered the worst of it when Martin was properly struck down, requiring another week and a half and counting off work. Of course, that didn’t stop Martin’s restlessness even as the flu drained everything from him. He would lie on their bed, pale and panting, barely awake, bordering delirious—and still mumble to Jon that he’d do the laundry in a minute, don’t worry, I’ll get it done soon, I’m sorry it’s such a mess, I’m sorry. 

So Jon doesn’t mean to be angry, when he wakes up to an empty bed after an evening of Martin’s temperature finally staying below 38. It’s not even Martin he’s angry at, not truly.

Perhaps their lives aren’t mundane after all. Is it mundane not to be able to leave an overflowing laundry basket eleven days into the flu? Jon doesn’t know, or Know, but he has two theories: 1) Martin’s mother, the spectre to his half-formed anger. And 2) the state he recalls finding Martin’s flat in after leaving the Lonely, but before they’d set off for Scotland, and how neither of them had said it but Jon recognised well enough what a depressive episode looked like.

Jon reaches for his cane, folded and ready against the bedside table, and gently leverages himself up so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. The change in elevation makes him dizzy, and he lets the cane ground him, digging into the carpet between his feet, as he breathes. It’s been nearly a week since he’s had a fever, but the flu has caused a flare-up of his pain and fatigue. His department are letting him teach remotely through the rest of November. Martin’s boss had been sympathetic too, when Jon phoned in for him, although there’s not much a paramedic can do from afar and Martin is insistent he’ll be back by the end of the week. In four days. Jon rolls his eyes pre-emptively at the conversations he knows he will have with Martin about who had it “worse”, as if it matters. 

After the static has cleared from his vision—always an uncomfortable comparison, and he shoves down the panic that bubbles inside of him at the thought, because Martin needs him—Jon stands. He goes through the same process, leaning on his cane, breathing, waiting, until he feels steady enough to make his way into the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” Jon asks from the kitchen doorway, unable to keep the disapproval from his voice, when he finds Martin crouched in front of the washing machine.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Martin shoots back. The sarcasm of his reply is lessened significantly by how out of breath he sounds, and the way he’s clinging to the countertop above the washing machine with one hand while the other is splayed against the tiled floor like a shaky tripod—a pose that hints at an attempt to stand, aborted halfway through.

Jon sighs, biting back an unkind retort: exactly the opposite of what you should be doing. He allows himself to think it without trying to push it away in sudden, desperate shame, like he’s been practicing with his therapist, until it no longer sits so bitterly on his tongue. 

“Come back to bed, Martin,” Jon murmurs, “Please.” 

Martin sighs too. It sounds stuffy, almost crackling with the way the flu still clings to his lungs and throat. “I—I’m not sure that I... can.”

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but Martin interrupts: “I know, I know, I shouldn’t be—and my fever’s probably up again and—and I—”

“Martin,” Jon cuts in, as gently as he can. 

“Fine. Fine. This can wait to go out on the—” Still breathless, still barrelling through his justifications, Martin uses the hand on the countertop to pull himself upwards.

It goes terribly. Jon isn’t sure what forces are at work—gravity, exhaustion, pure bad luck, all of the above—but Martin is barely up for a moment before his legs fold, and he’s down again. Jon can’t move fast enough to stop Martin corkscrewing in an odd, 180-degree motion so that he all but ducks beneath his own arm, twisting it in his socket in an attempt to continue clinging to the counter, and knocks his spine against the harsh, circular face of the washing machine with a resounding thud.

“Fuck. Ow,” Martin groans, his voice slurring slightly, “Tha’s embarrassing.”

Jon tries to follow Martin, to kneel beside him on the tiles, but Martin snaps: “No! No, Jon, p-please don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Jon hovers, one hand fluttering uselessly near Martin’s hair while he clings to his cane with the other. Martin breathes, and breathes, and breathes—the sound heavy and laboured in a way that breaks Jon’s heart. It takes some time for him to steady himself, and then lean almost imperceptibly towards Jon. Jon lets his fingers brush through Martin’s hair, not caring, in the moment, that neither of them had showered for what feels like weeks. When the knuckle of his forefinger brushes across Martin’s temple, down his cheek, Jon feels the heat sitting on his skin again, the climbing fever.

“Oh, Martin,” Jon murmurs. 

“I hate this,” Martin says, his voice quiet and sharp and bitter.

“I know,” Jon soothes, brushing his knuckle once again over Martin’s flushed cheek. “I know.”

Martin closes his eyes and leans his head again Jon’s knee. It’s the sort of exhausted display of love and trust that Martin rarely allows himself, unless he’s feeling truly unwell. Jon places his hand on the crown of Martin’s head and leans on his cane and waits for Martin to be ready once again to talk or rest. 

Until very quietly, Martin begins to cry. 

“Oh,” Jon murmurs, almost to himself. 

Martin’s breath trembles, in what Jon knows is an attempt to hold back the tears, to pretend it’s nothing. He hides his face from Jon when he cries, even now, after all this time. A long-learned shame that always finds its way back into their house, no matter how many times they’ve turned it out and barricaded the doors. 

“Martin,” Jon says, quiet but firm, “Please come back to bed.”

There is a long, breath-held moment when Jon thinks Martin is going to refuse, to insist. So painfully stubborn, his husband. Jon braces himself for it. But Martin just nods ever so slightly against the soft plaid fabric of Jon’s pyjama bottoms.

It takes some time, and a great deal of false starts, to get Martin back on his feet. He’s wearing fluffy socks—Jon remembers putting them on for him, when he’d been shivering even in his sleep—that slide on the kitchen tiles, and Jon’s fighting against his own dizziness, which comes and goes in waves when he changes position, to lend Martin purchase. At last, they’re both standing. And although it likely doesn’t help much, Martin lets Jon slide his arm around Martin’s back as he guides them towards the bedroom. 

The bedside lamp is on its dullest setting on account of Martin’s persistent illness, and there are blankets and tissues and medicines thrown at random intervals around the room. Jon leads Martin towards the bed, not letting him stop to correct the mess, to try and restore some order to it. If this is how their lives have to be for the next few days—or weeks—so be it. Jon won’t sacrifice Martin’s recovery for this.

“Sit down,” Jon tells Martin, right before Martin gracelessly throws himself onto the edge of the mattress, listing towards the—thankfully padded—headrest.

Martin is still crying, but in that slow, distant way that makes something deep in Jon ache. It’s almost like the tears don’t belong to Martin. Like he is crying them on behalf of someone else. He stares across the room, half sprawled on the bed with his socked feet languid against the carpet, as the tears fall uninhibited down his face.

Carefully, Jon leans down just enough to pick up Martin’s legs, one at a time, and lift them onto the bed. He’s out of breath by the time he’s managed to get Martin lying down fully, still leaning against the headboard and staring vaguely at the wall opposite the bed. There is a picture hanging there, of them both outside the courthouse where they’d gotten married, but Martin seems to be staring through it.

“I’ll be right back,” Jon promises. He doesn’t know if he’s reassured or terrified that Martin simply lets him leave, barely reacting beyond the briefest twitch of an expression.

In the bathroom, Jon fills up a pint glass of water and wets a soft green flannel beneath the tap. He takes a moment to breathe, to drink some water as well, to swallow some ibuprofen for his aching joints, before he carries his small gifts back into the bedroom.

Martin is exactly where Jon left him. Jon sits next to him on the bed, and when Jon hands him the large glass of water, Matin takes it instinctively. But he doesn’t drink from it, holding it in his hands as if it is yet another thing that doesn’t belong to him, that he will carry unflinchingly for the time being—like the tears. Like the pain.

“Please drink the water, love,” Jon says. He touches one of his hands to Martin’s, where he’s holding the glass, and Martin’s eyes flicker briefly to his. Jon nods in encouragement.

With trembling hands, both closed around the large glass, Martin lifts the water to his lips and drinks. He doesn’t manage much—a few sips before his mouth tightens with nausea, and he has to lower the glass and breathe. But it’s a start.

“That’s good, Martin,” Jon soothes, as he takes the glass from Martin’s hands and places it on their bedside table. “Do you want to lie down?”

“Jon,” Martin tries to say.

“Shh. It’s alright. Lie down, just like that, that’s it.”

Martin reclines against the pillow, restlessness warring against exhaustion, until he looks almost settled. Jon tugs the blanket from the end of the bed and covers Martin with it, smoothing down the edges with extra care. Martin watches him, turned slightly on his side so he can look up at where Jon is still half-sitting against the headboard.

“I hate this,” Martin chokes, and blinks fresh tears down his cheeks. “I feel like—like everything is wrong.”

“In what way?” Jon asks gently, keeping his eyes on Martin as he reaches for the wet flannel sitting on the bedside table next to the three-quarters full glass of water.

Martin closes his eyes. “I’m so—I’m so tired, Jon.”

Jon lowers the flannel to Martin’s face, wiping first beneath his eyes, where some of the tears have collected and soaked into the begging of his laughter lines. “I know.”

Martin’s face crumples with something like grief. “That’s just it, though. This is—it’s nothing. Nothing compared to—to what you... And I’m just—making more of it than it needs.”

“Martin.”

“This isn’t—before, with Mum, I’d just—I’d keep going because—”

Martin frowns, sentence finishing abruptly. Jon pushes down the urge to correct, to intervene, and instead, with every ounce of patience and love he feels for Martin in this moment, continues to draw the flannel over the planes of his warm, weary face.

“I can’t stop,” Martin whispers at last, opening his eyes. “If I stop, then I’ll—I won’t ever start again. Like with the—the Lonely. Every time you reached out, I knew if I just stopped even for a moment, I wouldn’t be able to go back, and it would all fall apart. I’m not meant to stop. I can’t. I’m not resilient or, or the kind of person who can get knocked down and get back up again. It’s just—it’s keep going or...”

Jon drags the flannel along Martin’s jaw, down his throat, wiping away the remaining tears where they mingle with fever sweat. He focuses entirely on his task, a perfect excuse to carefully consider his next words. A separate part of his mind is processing that his theories had been right, in some way, and how he aches for Martin—the predictability of it doesn’t ease the pain. But Martin needs something other than that right now.

“Martin.” Jon starts, of course, at the beginning of all things. With love. With a reason. “There are moments in life when sometimes we need to stop. Think about it like... like an orchestra. In an orchestra, there are times where an instrument, or even an entire segment, will be given a break within the music or by the conductor—because it’s needed and it’s necessary. The performance is better for it. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Martin blinks up at Jon, slow and exhausted but comprehending. Jon continues his task, wiping the cloth across Martin’s forehead now.

“You are the most resilient person I know, Martin. I would be lying to you—and I think you know that—if I said I’d never seen you get knocked down. But I have watched you get back up again and again and again,” Jon continues. “If this time, it takes a little longer—if this time, you’re not sure when you can begin again—that’s alright. You deserve rest. You have nothing to prove, except perhaps that you can stop—or pause, if it’s easier to think of it that way—and the world won’t collapse around you.” Jon removes the flannel from Martin’s forehead and replaces it with a gentle kiss. “I won’t let it.” 

Jon lets his lips linger before he lowers his head onto the pillows to face Martin. Martin is still crying, eyes bright with tears and fever both, but there’s something less dejected in his expression. Something less lost.

“I’m sorry,” Martin whispers, “For the crying, and—”

“There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“Not even the laundry?” Martin’s voice is so small, still trembling with tears. But there’s the briefest glimpse of a smile at the corner of his chapped lips.

“Not even the laundry,” Jon agrees, although he puts on a begrudging front.

Martin closes his eyes and leans forward, so that his and Jon’s foreheads are touching in the small gap between their two pillows. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“And I—I want to believe you.”

Jon feels himself smile, and he hopes Martin knows it is all for him. “Thank you.”

Jon knows they will talk about this again. He knows this will be something understood and folded into the fabric of their lives slowly, piece by painful piece. But for now, as he watches Martin’s tears slowly ease, replaced eventually by sleep, and as Jon himself begins to follow, he thinks at the threshold of his dreams that next time might be just a little bit easier. A little bit kinder. And that is always enough.

[janekfan]

ooooh..... difficult anniversary and/or you’re not human anymore bingo prompts for jarchivist obliteration?

AAAA This took so long! I am SO SORRY!!! <3 <3 <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31123295

Jon was used to hurting.

Used to hiding.

Which is why he didn’t notice. Didn’t understand what was happening to him and more importantly why.

A panic attack here. A bad day there. A cold, maybe? Until the scars on his skin from the worms and the corkscrew and the scratching woke one day as though they were fresh and new. His skin crawled, the slightest touch filled him with revulsion and, lord, he had to keep it together because Martin would almost certainly overreact and Jon hated, hated to be the source of his worry.

So he would ignore it as usual.

Whatever it was would pass. And he could avoid being the center of attention for this thing that was out of their control. He’d read the Lord of the Rings. He knew about the less romantic side of anniversaries. What was one more thing for him to overcome?

It didn’t stop them from hurting like the day they were drawn on his body and while the rents in his skin looked the same as they ever did, he nearly bloodied himself after a particularly wretched nightmare with his frenzied clawing.

And it passed. The burning, bleeding, boring sensations disappeared and Martin hadn’t suspected a thing. Okay, that was a lie. But he seemed mollified enough when Jon wrote it off as a tough week at university.

“I’m just tired, habibi.” He forced himself to reach for Martin’s hands, sighing in gusty relief when everything was normal and allowing himself to get wrapped up in warm arms.

The mark left behind by the Distortion ached deep and throbbing and somehow also elsewhere. It was a phantom pain traveling the myriad corridors of his veins, his arteries, his nerves and when he couldn’t rid himself of it in any conventional way, he waited. It would pass. It would. Just like the last one. This was just pain. He knew pain. Was fast friends with it by now and this was nothing like his worst days.

“Jon-darling?”

“Mm?” He was flipping through the pages in a book, not too fast, not too slow, not really reading anything, trying to pretend that everything was normal when his foot cramped up like he’d been bitten. He was practiced now in not looking; there wouldn’t be anything there anyway. His skin might as well have been a great big door and the only way through to the other side didn’t involve knocking.

“You look pale.” Ah. Well. Pain like this would do that to a man.

“Just a little sore today, love.” It wasn’t a lie. Jon set the book aside, not bothering to mark whatever random page he’d landed on, and threaded their fingers together.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into carrying the shopping.”

“What are you talking about? I always help carry the shopping.” Despite his chronic conditions, Jon pulled his own weight.

No, stop. Of course you do and you have nothing to prove, especially not to Martin of all people.

“You’ve been run down.”

“I have not!” Martin fixed him with a stern look and he cowed under his scrutiny. “Perhaps a bit, but you know how these things go.”

“I do. And I can’t help but feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.” Here it was. Martin’s overture, his olive branch. His invitation to come clean and tell the truth and avoid his wrath when he found out later. But Jon never was a quick learner of these social lessons.

“I’m fine, hayati.” Jon soothed, tipping Martin into his newly throbbing shoulder. “I’m fine.”

The next three hit him like a lorry, nearly as hard as they had a year ago and nearly all at once.

His burn scar, just like the worm scars, felt blistered as badly as the day he’d taken Jude’s hand, and he shook violently at the onset of it, thankful he was squirreled away in his office at the University and not crying into Martin’s shirt even if that’s where he’d prefer to be but Martin hates burns.

Hates how they look, how twisted and ugly they become when they scar.

Burns made him upset. Burns made him sick.

He hates them. Hates them. And while Jon was reasonably sure Martin would never turn him away when he was hurting like this, the fluttering undercurrent chanting what if wouldn’t leave him be.

So Instead he sniffled away in the dark, wrist pressed between his knees in a vain attempt to stop the shaking while he tried to remember how to breathe.

It was dark when he slipped into bed beside Martin, dead asleep after a run of night shifts. For a frantic moment Jon wanted to shake him awake, beg for reasurances, for relief, but it would ruin this. Martin looked so peaceful, face relaxed in repose, cheek soft when Jon pressed his trembling lips there.

“Jon... ?” Washing out on a swirling tide his voice was fuzzy, thick with exhaustion, and the hand that brushed the small of his back lingered only for the time it took for him to drift back under. No. He’d wrought enough damage here. Better for Martin to rest without worry. He shouldn’t have to deal with Jon and his problems. Especially when they would be arriving like clockwork for the rest of his life. Jon pressed himself against Martin’s warmth, trying to soak it up, stop the shivering. How could he be so frozen when his whole right arm was engulfed in flame? Silent, he let the tears come, closing his eyes against a burgeoning dizziness he knew would only grow worse.

Be quiet. Just be quiet. Don’t disturb him, you mustn’t. You’ve nothing else to give except more burdens that aren’t his to carry.

The ceiling was spinning so fast above him; lights, cast shadows, cabinets whirling, reeling, spiraling so much he’d be sick with it any minute. The vibrations from Martin’s pounding footsteps resonated through the whole of him, pulsing, in time with his uneven battering pulse.

He barely remembered the actual fall, just the terrifying sensation of being weightless and the fear welling in his throat like coagulated ink. Forever. He’d be falling forever. Nothing to hold. To grab. To slow. To Know.

Endless.

His scream wrenched away from him in the rushing winds filling up his ears, stealing his voice, his breath. No one could hear him in this place. Martin would never know what happened. That Jon was eaten up by the sky. Surrounded infinitely on all sides by a sea of simultaneous nonexistence and brutal presence. Jon’s awareness whittled down only to the pull of gravity in all the wrong directions.

“Jon!” A bleary shape manifested above him, blocking out the worst of it. Hands, gentle, probing, searching subconsciously for breaks, contusions, his training winning out over the panic Jon could just make out in the set of his mouth. Fingers ran soft through his curls, seeking out any swellings and Jon winced when he found one. Must’ve struck his head on the way down. Those cool hands settled, cupping his face, and twin thumbs brushed over his cheeks. “You’re warm, love.” A murmur, almost to himself as Martin puzzled.

“B’bit of, of vertigo, s’all.” Uncoordinated, Jon’s arm struck out as he tried to reach for him and landed on his wrist. “Tryin’...nnh.” He gripped Martin like a lifeline, slamming his eyes shut against the need to be ill.

“You’ve clocked yourself.” Fair enough. “But I think you’re alright. Think you can move?” With no other option than to speak lest he set it all swirling again, Jon whimpered. “Okay.” With one more pass through his hair Martin stepped away and soon enough had Jon settled as best he could on the tile, tucked beneath a blanket with a cold pack pressed to the back of his neck. Relief came gradually and Martin’s unasked questions lingered on the edges of their companionable silence. “Better?”

“Mm.” Despite the hard surface applied to every pressure point, Jon was falling asleep cocooned in the safety of Martin’s soothing company.

He wouldn’t be able to keep this up

Martin teased him mercilessly about the loss of his voice and Jon let him have it if it kept him from noticing how sore his throat really was. He wanted to tell him that it was Daisy’s mark, to cry and come clean and beg Martin to stay.

But that wouldn’t be fair. Jon had to be a whole person in this relationship and stop relying on Martin to pick up the slack. He would figure this out. He’d prove his past didn’t control him.

After he could get out of bed.

And here was what he’d strived to avoid. Finally laid low.

“I worry, Jon. You know that.” That was the problem. Martin was already going to be late to work from all his fussing. With the scrap of voice he’d gained back he protested in a hoarse whisper, syllables squeaking past what felt like a shredded voice box and listened to Martin call in again. He had to be better than this but he was overwrought, dangling at the end of a very frayed rope. This marked a sharp decline and Jon was sure it hadn’t escaped Martin’s notice that they were coming up on the date he’d more or less died. He could barely rouse himself in the mornings for school, drifting through lessons and relying more on his TA than he’d like. More than once he’d splurged on a cab, not sure if he’d make it on the tube and Martin’s fretting and worry and distress only made Jon more secure in his conviction. If it was this bad already, how bad would it become if he knew the reason it was all happening? They were supposed to be free of this. Jon wasn’t supposed to keep doing this to Martin.

Melanie’s scar throbbed, chipping away at any scant reserve he had left and ruthless with its aim. It was worse than Daisy’s even though he could understand both motivations. Daisy was putting down a monster. Mel was striking out at someone trying to help, driving home with the scalpel that no good deed goes unpunished. Rationally, he knew he’d deserved it. Too bad it didn’t dull the sting of it all really.

“Darling? Sweetheart?” Jon forced his eyes open, gasping when it sent the dark room to pirouetting, his stomach to churning, staging a mutiny against the scant meal he’d forced on himself not too long ago. Anything he’d gained in their short reprieve had long melted away under the stress. “I’m here, what’s wrong, love?”

“Nnothing…” he regretted the word as soon as it passed his lips.

“You’ve a fever so high it woke me. That’s not nothing, Jon.” Mercifully, he gave him a moment to gather his thoughts, catalogue how much more of this he could take before it broke him. Burned hand shaking, Jon clenched his fist which didn’t help the pain rocketing through his arm and into his heart, but steadied him.

“Jus’a, a bit of a flare up.” Those sometimes came with fevers.

“Oh, love. Why didn’t you say?”

Because it was a lie. Because I didn’t want you to worry. Because I never want to see you upset over me. Because I’m not worth it. Because if it’s always going to be like this--

“Din’t want you to, to…” The cramping agony slurred his voice badly, stringing syllables together with an uncooperative tongue was too much effort. “Nngh.” Dazed and groggy, Jon shut his eyes tightly, trying to focus on Martin’s soothing touch stroking over his face. Like a coward, Jon let sleep rescue him from the truth.

It was the flesh that gave him away.

Woke him screaming; hot and twisting in agony with Jared’s phantom fingers dug into his rib cage. More fingers clamped onto his shoulders, shaking him, a distorted voice calling, shouting his name over and over and over.

“Jon!” Martin was little more than a blur, obscured by tears, and Jon’s panic was reflected straight back at him. “Where does it hurt?”

“Wha…?”

“Where, habibi? Left, right? Please, Jon.”

“Not...not. S’not--” He couldn’t get the words to come, to admit after so long what he’d kept poorly hidden.

“Not what?” Frustration bled sideways into his words and Martin gripped him harder as though he might tear the answers out of him.

“Real.” It burst from him in a raw, somehow soft explosion. It wasn’t. Not really. The wounds were long healed over.

“Looks plenty real from here, Jon.” He batted away questing fingers.

“No. No.” There was no way he’d be able to explain through this piercing agony, the literal holes invisible in his skin.

“It’s the fears, isn’t it? Your marks, your scars.” Martin already knew judging by the disquiet in his tone. This was merely confirmation.

“Yes.” He sobbed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was hurt in his voice, sadness and betrayal, alongside the ire.

“I thought, I thought--” Jon couldn’t breathe, panic and pain stealing the very air from his lungs. This was only going to get worse. After all they’d done, he’d done--how was he still a monster?

“Shh, shhh, thought what, love?” Martin held him carefully, mindful of all the ways Jon hurt, ticking off fears and scars on mental fingers, trying to figure out how long he’d been hiding it. How long he’d been suffering alone.

“Supposed to be, god, supposed to be safe, free of this.” He was trembling now, with chills or anxiety or both, gasping for every sip of oxygen and swallowing seawater for his trouble. “Can’t, what if--?” Choking himself off, Jon strangled. Martin stayed silent, rocking them both gently, back, forth, soft, slow, calm, calm, calm, and when Jon finally spoke again had to strain to hear him over the echo of a hammering heart beat. “Every year?”

Every year.

He couldn’t Breathe.

Everything was close. So close, too close, and he was crushed under the implications.

“Jon?” Now he was heaving for it, fast and deep, and while Martin could feel the strain it was to breathe he knew it wouldn’t be long before Jon lost consciousness altogether. “Hey, hey, listen, hayati, slow down, sloow down.” Jon’s entire body lifted when Martin inhaled, and again, and again, until he picked up the thread and made more than a half decent attempt. “Okay, there you are, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. So well.” Time passed in measured breaths, so much so that Martin had begun to think Jon had fallen asleep when:

“You’ll leave.��

Soft and shattered. All the fear that he’d piled onto the pain flowing out of him, a dam burst and broken.

“I won’t.” Jon’s movements were hard-won but he managed to shift himself enough to face him. His expression was firm.

“You, you can’t be stuck taking care of an i’invalid again, Martin. I won’t. I won’t have it.”

“Ah. You won’t have it.” Martin scoffed. “And what about me? When do I get a choice?” Jon, eyes wide and dark with exhaustion and pain, looked at him as though he’d grown a second head, perhaps a third.

Or like Martin was a predator and Jon was prey, cornered and hurting.

“You shouldn’t want this.” Me. “This, this burden. This trap!”

“You’re not some sort of trap!” Martin could see the moment Jon decided to change tactics, to try and convince him otherwise, win the game. Too bad for Jon that Martin knew him better than he knew himself.

“You want this don’t you?” He sneered, so convinced, and while once upon a time it would have made Martin wilt and retreat, now he was familiar with Jon’s lashing out. Sorry, Jon. “I won’t be another reason for you to martyr yourself.”

“And I won’t be scared off by your nasty attitude.” Softening, he reached for Jon’s trembling hands, running his thumbs methodically over the backs of them. “I won’t. Together. Right?”

“Martin.” His name broke open on a sob. “I don’t. I don’t want this for you.”

“Tough.” Smothered, Jon’s next words died in his throat, a fledgling bird crushed before it could take flight. “You don’t get to choose for me, even to protect me.”

“Every year--”

“We don’t know that. Not yet.” Martin eased him down. “You aren’t a burden. You aren’t trapping me here.” He kissed away the tears, the hopelessness, even as Jon shook his head nigh delirious.

“I am, I am.”

“No, love. What you are is worn out and hurting.” Martin teased out Jon’s tangled curls, stroking his fingers through them and watching him relax as much as he could at the moment. “What you’re going to do is let me take care of things. Of you, Jon.”

“Don’deserve you.” Fresh tears welled in half lidded brown eyes, slipped into the fly aways at his temples when they closed. “Never have.” Martin stood, pressing lips to his hot brow, intending to gather up anything he thought might help.

“We’ll talk when you’re feeling better.” Jon nodded and Martin turned to leave, stopping when he found himself caught by quaking fingers tangled in his sleeve.

“I, I love you.” Contrite, whispered and awaiting rejection. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, darling.” Martin leaned down, thumbing away new tears. “I know, I know and I love you too.” He stole one more shivering kiss. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

[morganaspendragonss]

holly, for sad angst prompts: “ do you know how hard it was to let you go? ”

tarlos, maybe one of them has to rush into danger? >.>

crack and crumble, it's all too much

so...not exactly what you asked for. i hope you like it anyway my love 💚

@911lonestarangstweek day 3 - j is for...jump

thanks to @noxsoulmate for the beta

title from humpty by mitski

ao3 | 2k | suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, canon divergence, hurt tk, worried carlos, hopeful ending

TK used to be afraid of heights.

No, not heights.

Falling.

As a kid, he was terrified of falling, even if it was only off the playground equipment in the local park. He’d have no problem climbing up; the issue came when he got to the top, when he would freeze up as he stared down the two metre drop to the sawdust ground. The other kids would get annoyed, pushing at him until he almost, almost, fell—but then, at the last second, when TK was tilting on the edge, his dad would be there to catch him, lifting him up before he ever had a chance to fall.

His dad was always there, never failing to scoop him up in his arms, never failing to save him.

Until he did.

And, oh, how TK fell.

He learned to love the rush of it, that swooping sensation in his stomach as he took just enough pills to push him off the edge into oblivion. It was...beautiful.

TK didn’t know what he was ever afraid of.

And then, he fell too far. And he learned.

Heights haven’t bothered him for years now—no more than the healthy amount, anyway. He’s even managed to find some kind of pleasure in them, in the feeling of his feet leaving solid ground, always with the knowledge that he’ll touch down safely soon enough.

The team call him crazy for enjoying it, but TK has so little happiness in life these days. He’ll take whatever he can get, artificial and temporary though it may be.

He wishes he was feeling something now. He’d give anything to not be feeling the overwhelming empty that’s slowly been consuming him for months—even fear would do at this point.

But he’s staring down a drop that will kill him if he lets it, and he feels nothing.

Idly, he wonders what brought him here. Nothing had happened tonight—or, nothing out of the ordinary—but, somehow, he’d known. Known that it was time; that tonight was the night.

That, if he didn’t do it now, he never would, and he can’t just keep existing like this.

So.

A rooftop. An unknown fall. And a choice.

Fight or flight; stay or go. Legs swinging over the ledge, TK’s hands tighten on the edge of the roof, and he doesn’t know if it’s to push himself over or hold himself back.

(and, does it even count as jumping if he just...lets it happen? if he just leans a little too far forward and lets gravity do the rest? tk thinks it probably shouldn’t, but that’s what they'll call it anyway when they find his broken body splayed on the concrete below.

he jumped, they’ll say, which is wrong because that implies that tk was an active participant in all of this. really, he’s just too tired to try anymore, and if his body is going to slip off the edge of a building, then who’s tk to stop it?

but it’s semantics, nothing more. it’s not like he’s going to be around to correct them anyway, and maybe it’s better for them to think he chose this. that he wanted this, instead of just not wanting to exist. maybe)

Either way, he’s a coward. The only difference is that, if he jumps, he’ll be a dead one and everyone will know it; if he stays, he’ll be a living one, and holding the shame of it all inside him.

He already knows which idea he prefers.

TK has lived with his own cowardice for too long already—ever since he got shot, it’s been festering in him, growing and twisting with each passing day.

It’s jumping every time a car backfires or a damn plate shatters.

It’s telling Carlos that, if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll never contact TK again.

It’s putting on his firefighter’s uniform day after day after day, despite how ill it now seems to fit.

TK hasn’t been brave a day in his life, and he knows that it’s time to put an end to it.

His hands, still resting on the edge of the roof, press into the brick a little harder, and his body inches forward. He’s barely holding on now; shifting so his grip, latched onto the roof side of the ledge, is the only thing keeping him up here.

And— There it is.

The swooping in his gut that used to scare him, and now thrills him.

TK closes his eyes, taking a moment to bask in it. After all, it’s going to be the last thing he ever feels.

Except he takes too long.

Suddenly, the ground beneath him is lit up with flashing blue and red, and when TK opens his eyes, he can just about make out the numbers 126 on the responding fire engine. It makes him recoil, sliding back to relative safety on the ledge as panic flares up in his chest.

Nonononononononononono—

It’s not supposed to be like this.

They’re not—fuck.

And TK really must be a coward, because the knowledge that his family is waiting at the bottom for him to come down—whether that’s by the fast way or the slow one—brings all his forgotten fears roaring back.

Do they even know? Do they know it’s him who’s sitting on the edge of life and death? TK can’t figure out which one would be worse—not knowing and finding out when his body breaks in front of them, or knowing and watching him fall anyway.

Working it out is a lost cause, he figures. Maybe they’re equally as bad, but he shouldn’t care. He can’t, if he’s going to do this, and he was so sure that he was, but that was before the 126 showed up, before—

“TK?”

The universe must have it out for him, because TK knows that voice. He doesn’t turn, just sighs and slumps dejectedly, wearily replying, “Hey Carlos.”

“Hey,” Carlos says after a beat, voice quiet like he’s talking to a spooked animal. There’s a scared waver to it that betrays his mask of professionalism, and TK almost can’t handle the guilt it brings. “We’re pretty high up, huh?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act all nice and innocent. You know why I’m here.”

“Actually, I don’t.” There’s no hint of accusation in Carlos’s voice, but he has dropped the soothing tone, which is something. “Maybe you could fill me in? I promise I won’t say anything—I’m just here to listen.”

TK knows what this is, too. It’s not that he’s been here before, exactly, but he’s been in similar enough positions to recognise the talk for what it is. But… The thing is, he kind of doesn’t care. He wants to talk; for some reason, he wants to tell Carlos everything that’s been piling up and up for months, and has now led him to this roof.

“I’m not moving,” he says first, in case Carlos gets any ideas about what this means.

“That’s okay.”

It’s not, but TK doesn’t bother calling him out. He drums his fingers on the ledge, staring vacantly at the drop, keeping his silence for a few minutes. It surprises him when Carlos keeps his promise, and the quiet is almost peaceful now.

“Remember I told you about my relapse? It was—It wasn’t just a relapse. I overdosed after I proposed to my boyfriend and instead found out that he was cheating on me,” he says eventually. “I should have died that night, but my dad saved me and made me move down here with him. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t fight him; I was too tired to care. It was like I told you—everything was grey and I just… I guess it never got better.

“I mean, there were moments, sure. But then I got shot and everything just fell off the rails for me. I’ve been going through the motions for months now and it’s not getting better and I’m sick of trying. It’ll be better for everyone if I’m gone, including you and including me.”

“Why’s that?” Carlos asks, the question almost startling TK.

“For me?” he starts, huffing a breathy laugh. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I barely want to get out of bed, so this is a definite improvement. My dad won’t have to keep cleaning up my messes, the team won’t have to deal with—with me. Everyone will be better off.”

“What about me?”

TK stiffens, almost turning this time. “What are you talking about?”

“I won’t be better off without you,” Carlos says, ignoring TK’s answering scoff. “I’m serious. I… After the solar storm, do you know how hard it was to let you go? It killed me, but I did it because I thought that was what you needed.

“I don’t know if you thought you needed it too, or if it was just you trying to push me away, but that doesn’t matter now, alright? There are people who love you, TK, and we all just want to help you.” He pauses and TK hears him sigh shakily. “Letting you go was damn near impossible for me the first time, but none of us want to try doing it for good. You’re wrong about us, okay? You dad, the team...me—we won’t be better off without you.”

TK squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as tears spring up in his eyes. Guilt twists uncomfortably in his gut and his head is a mess, his mind at war to work out what he wants.

“You’ve probably seen that the 126 are here,” Carlos continues. “Your dad and a couple of the team are waiting on the stairs to get you down, and if you come back with us, we’ll do whatever it takes to get you help, in whatever way you need. Please, TK. Come down.”

TK shudders, squeezing the roof again as his body wracks with sobs. He feels sick when he considers the drop, considers the fall, and it’s like his fear, newly revived, is now anchoring him to the roof. He knows what will happen if he lets himself fall, and he doesn’t want to die like this.

Not now. Not yet.

Slowly, he nods, and Carlos must understand as TK hears him talk quietly into his radio. The next few minutes are a blur, tears slipping freely down his cheeks as more people—his family—join him and Carlos on the roof.

“TK,” his dad’s voice says, steady despite everything, “I’m going to come to you now with the rescue harness, alright? Don’t worry, it’s just me, I swear.”

He hears one set of feet slowly come across towards him, and then feels the presence of a body at his back as his dad kneels behind and to the side of him.

“Hang in there,” he says softly. “I’m just going to slip the rescue harness around you.”

A wave of nausea washes over TK at the thought of being touched, and he shakes his head. “No, please, don’t.”

“I have to, TK,” his dad says. “I’ll be careful and it’ll just be for a second, then you’ll be safe. I’ve got you, son.”

TK swallows once, twice. He learned a long time ago not to trust those words, especially not when they came from his dad, but this time—this time—he wants so badly to believe. He takes a few deep breaths, then nods, squeezing his eyes shut as the harness is secured around his body.

“Good, that’s good. Now we’re just gonna scooch back a little ways and we’ll be home free.”

TK closes his eyes as they inch their way further onto solid ground, keeping going until they must be at least five feet from the edge and his dad pulls him into a crushing hug.

“We’ve got you, kid,” he’s whispering in TK’s ear. “We’ve got you.”

TK blinks through blurred vision, gaze going from his dad’s worried face, to Paul and Marjan standing a few feet away, and then to Carlos, a small, sad smile on his lips as he looks down at him.

And, just this once, TK decides to believe.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Monday, 15:18

Song: The Neighbourhood - Reflections

The clock at the front of the lecture hall is too far away for Sander to actually hear its ticking, but it feels like it’s louder than the tapping of his pen where he’s drumming it against his notebook. This is propped open with only a few lines of actual notes and a lot of doodles, with a quick, ragged sketch of Robbe on the bottom half of the page. Sander sighs quietly to himself as he fails his futile attempt to listen to the professor, and goes back to the drawing to add on some extra shading and more careful detail.

This is so much easier to get caught up in. Time disappears when it comes to art or Robbe, so combining the two is similar to falling into a black hole. The gravity of it is so strong, making it impossible for Sander to escape as time stops and everything else ceases to exist. He gets eaten up in it, lost until the point where everything whites out but the scratch of pen on paper and the familiar shape of Robbe’s eyes. There is no talking or ticking to make him want to peel his skin off (or at least fidget about in his chair).

It’s not the best plan, however, because he zones out a little too completely. He doesn’t realise that the class has ended until a girl clears her throat next to him, standing in the aisle and waiting to get past. Sander whips his gaze around and notices his other classmates already filing out of the room.

He flushes, muttering an apology as he quickly gets to his feet and presses back to let the girl and her friend slip past him. She glances down at his notebook as she passes and her lips quirk in a knowing smile, but she merely says, “Cute. Nice work on the lips.”

Sander’s blush deepens, but he returns her smile and manages to thank her quietly before she slips away. Her friend raises her brows and smirks at him, but doesn’t say anything as she follows. He lets out a breath and slumps back against his now folded-up chair, taking a moment to collect himself. He snatches up his bag and hastily stows away his belongings, only taking time to carefully close the notebook and tuck it in between the others in his bag. He trots down the steps and almost makes it to the door without any further embarrassment, and then the professor is calling his name.

Lars Coomans isn’t Sander’s favourite professor, only because he teaches art theory rather than anything practical. Sander doesn’t mind learning about history when he finds the subject interesting, but that only happens about twelve percent of the time. (Again, this isn’t Lars’ fault.) The man is not his favourite professor, but he might be one of his favourite people. He’s a tall man in his late forties with a tiny bald patch on the right side of his head and a soft voice. He’s relatively laid back and certainly kind.

For this reason, Sander doesn’t even feel the need to groan as he hangs back, even while the last stragglers shoot him curious looks on the way out. Lars waits until they’ve left to smile at Sander and lean back against his desk, head tilted as he considers his student.

Now, Sander begins to feel a bit nervous.

“How are you, Sander?”

The question is kind, careful, and it baffles him. He knows that all of his professors are aware of his illness, but none of them make a habit of checking up on him. They’re aware, from when he misses a week or two of classes or, on the rare occasion, needs to ask for an extension on an assignment. They’re aware, but beyond that, it doesn’t come up. No one makes a fuss about it and he’s grateful. And maybe Lars isn’t, either, maybe it’s just his kindness sprouting in the start of the conversation, nothing more than a mere courtesy. But the searching way he’s looking at Sander makes him hesitant, and he clasps his right hand around his left wrist and shifts on his feet before clearing his throat. He decides to take the casual route. “I’m fine, how are you?”

Lars seems to relax, lips quirking further for a moment before he shakes his head and waves a hand. “Oh, good, good, thank you. No, I’m not trying to be nosy, I just ask because you didn’t submit your assignment before noon today.”

Sander blinks. “Sorry?”

“The papers that were due this morning?” Lars blinks back, tilting his head. When Sander continues to stare at him blankly, he offers, “On the renaissance?”

Oh. Sander’s mouth opens and closes for a moment before he finds his voice. “But that’s not due until Friday evening?” It comes out as a question as his brow furrows in confusion. He’s sure the two assignments weren’t due in one day, and he frequently checks his calendar. He’s lost, and he’s beginning to panic slightly.

“No, it was due today,” Lars says softly, searching again as he crosses his legs at the ankles and taps the edge of his desk. “Daems has an assignment due on Friday, I believe, you have him, don’t you?”

Realisation hits abruptly. “Fuck,” he breathes, raising a hand to cover his face. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know—I must have mixed the dates, put the classes in wrong.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But Lars just nods, his whole posture softening in understanding. “Alright,” he sighs. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, it’s an easy mistake. Can you get it to me by the end of the day?”

Sander swallows. “I haven’t started it,” he admits. He’d started doing the research, but he didn’t even have enough of that yet. He would be lucky to finish that by the end of the day, never mind the paper itself.

“Okay, well, you thought you had until Friday.” Lars rubs a hand over his chin and finally just shakes his head. “Alright. I’ll put you down for an extension until the time you thought it was due. And at least you don’t have the other one to worry about now, since I’m assuming that means you submitted it this morning.”

Relief flows through Sander in streams, but the banks are prickled. He purses his lips tightly and squeezes his wrist. “Lars, I just fucked up. I don’t have a good excuse, I don't want any pity.”

“No,” Lars immediately protests, pushing away from his desk to stand closer to Sander. “It’s nothing of the sort. No pity, or special treatment. You explained you made a mistake and I’ve no reason not to trust you.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re one of the best students here, Sander. I know because I pass that work of yours on the street every day. Even someone that good has to slip up sometimes, hm?”

Sander can only stare at him, feeling his cheeks warm again. He ducks his head, embarrassed at the compliment and the thought of his professor seeing the magnitude of his sappy love on a regular basis.

Lars only chuckles, bumping Sander’s shoulder. “I know I’m teasing, but I mean it. You’ve never even asked me for an extension before. I know you weren’t just slacking off. It feels bad, I know, but it’s not a big deal, kid. Just brush it off and then get it done, alright?”

Sander considers him. Then with a deep breath, he nods and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Don’t stress.” Lars squeezes his shoulder, then waves him away. “Come find me or email me if you have any questions, okay? Now go on, no need to hang around an old man any longer.”

Sander huffs, but offers him one last nod and grateful smile before making his way out. As soon as he’s passed through the door, he falters in his step and his eyes close, anger towards himself returning with a vengeance. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? How has it taken this long for that to happen?

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment, willing the frustration away. It doesn’t work entirely, but he manages a few slow breaths and collects himself enough to leave. He doesn’t think too much about where he’s going, just follows the feeling and lets his feet carry him to his bike, then pedal automatically through the streets.

The garage comes into view, and Sander tucks his bike away before rapping his knuckles against the door, not having to think about the familiar knock beyond muscle memory. His feet are tapping on the ground, and he does his best to shake the nerves out of his skin as he waits.

He’s not in full panic mode yet, not really. The only thoughts he can conjure are more swears and variations of stupid, stupid, stupid. He needs something distracting enough to quiet these rants down, but mindless enough that he can attempt to sort his thoughts out.

This is part of the reason he can’t go to Robbe, no matter how much he wants to. Robbe will be too kind. Too soothing. He’s the only one ever able to fully drown out Sander’s thoughts enough so that he stops being unkind to himself.

He doesn’t want that, at the moment. He thinks he deserves this more.

This being the frustration that leads him to bang the rhythmic code on the door once more when he doesn’t get an answer.

“Woah,” a familiar voice interrupts. “You’re not usually the kind who breaks in by knocking the place down.”

Sander turns slowly on his heel to face Adi. The man (as Sander considers him, because he is actually three years older and holds genuine wisdom on occasion) is staring him down in amusement. Quite literally staring down, as he has a good few inches on Sander, but he often leans back and slouches his shoulders to make up for it. He’s only about as tall as Jens, really, but he’s broader and looks overall bigger and more intimidating.

Robbe might be tiny next to him, and Sander might find it adorable, but Robbe is also completely unfazed because of long-time exposure to Jens.

Which is only mildly disappointing. (Robbe is extra adorable when he’s both dwarfed and flustered.)

“Sorry,” Sander says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t think that there might not be anyone here. I should’ve texted you first.”

Adi just huffs and moves to open the door, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, that would’ve been easier on your hands.” His own light-brown hand is slender and quick as he unlocks the door, movements as automatically familiar as Sander’s when he’s drawing.

They don’t speak even as they make it inside. Adi traipses around quietly to turn on lights and check up on everything, weaving between trucks, and Sander moves through to the back of the room to the piece he’s been working on. He throws his bag down and immediately crouches to examine his paint cans, eyes flickering between them and his work as he debates where to pick up again. Adi joins him after a moment, but still hangs back, leaning against the wall behind Sander silently.

Sander thinks this is probably why Adi might actually be his best friend, because he has known Adi even longer than his group from the Academy and Adi understands him just as well as Lucas.

“I fucked up,” Sander says eventually, so quietly he’s unsure if Adi hears him over the spray of the can. He’s ready to repeat himself in the responding silence, but then Adi is standing at his side.

Adi tilts his head. “Not with Robbe.”

“No,” Sander agrees, and finds some relief in it. At least it isn’t Robbe.

“Another friend?”

“School.”

“Oh. Bad?”

Sander lets his hand fall to his side and sighs. Adi is calm and curious but not comforting, nothing more than a steady presence next to him. It allows Sander to reorder his thoughts into something he can actually articulate. “No, it’s not even a problem, really. I just made a mistake and it’s pissing me off.”

“But it’s not a disaster?” Adi tilts his head further.

“Probably not.” When Adi only continues to stand and look, he heaves another sigh. “I mixed up the dates for two assignments and submitted the wrong one today, meaning I missed the actual deadline for the other. But he’s just giving me that time as an extension, because apparently I’m a good student. Can you fucking believe that?”

Adi’s lips finally quirk, his amusement returning at Sander’s incredulous, exasperated exclamation. “No, I can’t, actually. But then again you’re kinda art obsessed, so maybe.”

This time Sander blows out a breath that can’t really be considered a sigh, with the farting noise that accidentally accompanies it. He wipes a hand over his mouth as if it will erase the sound while Adi barks a laugh.

“So you’re just pissed because your brain did you dirty,” Adi summarises.

Sander grimaces, but nods. “And wondering how it’s taken this long for me to fuck up like that.”

“Maybe because you’re not a fuck-up.” Adi raises a brow pointedly, but Sander simply waves him off. The sentiment is kind, but it doesn’t change the fact that he fucked up. Then Adi adds, “And anyone can get their wires crossed like that. You’re not that unique.”

It draws a snort out of Sander against his will. It doesn’t matter that he knows what Adi is really trying to say, hears the reassurance and reminder tucked within the words; the blatant dry tone it comes out in startles him enough to set it off. Adi’s forming grin doesn’t match it and makes it easier for Sander to see through him, but he’ll let him away with it this once.

He knocks his paint can against Adi’s shoulder. “Thanks.” It’s much more clearly genuine than Adi had been, and more than Sander expected himself to give, but he does feel better and he appreciates it. It doesn’t matter that ‘thanks’ is as difficult as ‘sorry’; that just means Adi will know he means it.

Sander is sure of it when Adi simply nods in response, turning to examine Sander’s artwork rather than put pressure on him to figure out his expression. He watches on as Sander gets back to work, and eventually shifts to lean back against the wall. “Things are good with Robbe, then?”

“Yeah, always.” Sander smiles, unbidden, at the simple mention. He doesn’t feel the need to be embarrassed about it, even when Adi huffs.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow,” he notes, and Sander pauses. “Any special plans?”

Sander stays still for a moment, and then shrugs, putting his arm into motion again. He hasn’t thought about it. He might have been avoiding thinking about it. “Unless it’s a surprise. I know I’ll see Robbe, but that’s it. I do that everyday.”

“You not hanging out with all of them? What about Gilles and his gang, and Lucas and whoever?”

Sander’s mouth twitches, but he quickly schools it away. “I’ll see the guys at uni and maybe Lucas if we go to the flat or I pick Robbe up at school.”

He can just see Adi in his peripheral, and catches his thoughtful nod and careful bite of the lip. “Right, right. You ever planning on bringing him here again?”

“Robbe?” Sander asks, just to be a little shit.

“Fuck, no. I love him, I do, but he’s hardly an artist. Nah, Lucas.”

Sander brings Lucas at least twice a month, and Adi knows it. “They’re all busy with school. Final year and all that.”

“Yeah, but he’s applying to the Academy right? So, technically, this is like studying.”

“Do you want to see Lucas again, Adi?” Sander asks, mustering as much mock-astonishment into his tone as he can.

He receives a scoff for his efforts. “You know it’s not like that, you fucking asshole.”

“Good, because you know, he has a boyfriend, Adi.”

“Who happens to be Robbe’s best friend and your kind-of friend, yeah, yeah, I know. I also happen to be straight, dickhead.” He cocks his head at Sander and his lips slip into a smirk. “While you also have a boyfriend, and you’re whipped as hell for him, and yet look who you still came running to to kiss your boo-boos.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sander says this time, tossing the now-empty spray can at him. Adi dodges with a startled noise followed by his low, booming laughter, and Sander just shakes his head and marvels at his quiet mind.

~^~

previous/next

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

JATP ROUND TWO FICS!

We received seventeen (17!!!!!) Fics for the Second Round of the JATP TROPED Event! These fics were fluff-filled and super fun, and we loved to see how you all challenged yourselves with the theme, tropes, and pairings!

Please try to read as many fics as you can! Take some notes, leave some kudos/comments for the authors, and help us vote on the winners!

Voting will be open until May 14th at 11:59pm EST! Vote here:

https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/BZ3W5FT

Please rank ALL the fics in each question based on the USE of each trope, the theme, the fics overall, and the two bonus polls (best setting + most unique pairing)! Your #1 spot should be the best answer and your last spot the least likely answer for the question. The Best Overall Poll will determine who will be writing in the Final Round! We ask that you please rank EVERY fic, so we can avoid technical difficulties! A reminder that you must include a Tumblr or AO3 username/URL, and you may only vote once, we will NOT count multiple votes by the same person.

————

Okay, Campers, Rise and Shine! (Rated T) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: When Reggie launches a particularly ill-advised prank war at HGC Ranch, Luke's fully prepared to take it in stride.

When the days start looping, though, he begins to suspect that this might all be a little bit above his head.

In other words, he's at least 78% sure that the time loop isn't a direct result of Reggie's pranks.

Maybe 77%.

Oh, well.

At least he's not in it alone.

(The Groundhog Day meets Gravity Falls meets Summer Camp meets The Author's Own Distaste For Prank Wars AU that no one asked for. Ever. At all.)

Starting To Forget (Just What Summer Ever Meant To You) (Not Rated) [Flynn x Carrie]

Summary: Last summer didn't end on a positive note for Carrie Wilson - she and her girlfriend broke up on the last night of camp, and she's been miserable since. But it seems that the universe is intent on having her fix that this summer. Even if that means she has to live through the same day over and over and over again until she does.

Creative B.S. Was No More, Was No Less (Look Around, You're Gonna Miss What You Found) (Rated T) [Alex x Luke, Flynn x Reggie]

Summary: The midnight men move again

Don't know when

Best friends forever

In trouble again

Here's to you, here's to me

Over the rafters and we're free

--- Over the Rafters, Rick Schiffman

***

Alex and Luke go undercover on a mission to a summer camp in order to find a talisman that could endanger the camp and all the kids. While there, they bond with the kids and make peace with the fact that they broke up.

While Alex and Luke are away, Flynn accidentally fucks with time.

bitch but like romantically (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie]

Summary: The dining hall’s exactly the same as it has been for two mornings now, and Flynn doesn’t hesitate to poke Willie twice on the nose and whisper “pancake” on her way past their seat.

His eyes widen and he whips his head around to follow them, excitement glimmering in their eyes.

“Really?” they blurt. Flynn rolls her eyes and nods.

~

or: flynn gets stuck in a time loop. {for troped jatp round 2}

down by the bay (Rated T) [Alex x Willie]

Summary: Over time, Camp Phantom has simply become known as a selective summer camp: one that took only the kids that Caleb saw promise in. And Caleb wasn’t exactly lying. He really did take only the ones he saw promise in, he simply looked for different traits than others might.

For example, say, hypothetically, a boy who could see the future. Or, hypothetically, a girl who could interact with ghosts. Or, hypothetically, a boy who could summon objects to him with a simple thought. Or, and this is completely hypothetical mind you, a boy who could manipulate time.

Those might be some traits that Caleb saw promise in. Just, like, as examples.

Time will tell (But only if you do it right) (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie]

Summary: Carrie had been acting a little off for a week or so, but Flynn was pretty much known for seeing something in nothing, and that was probably what they were doing then. If something was going on, Carrie would tell her eventually.

OR

Who knew all it took was a little bit of miscommunication to mess up time itself?

and so it begins (Rated T) [Bobby x Reggie]

Summary: It’s the first day of their second week at Camp Carolling (they’re spending an entire month, and they’re getting paid to be there!) when Reggie gets a little lost in the woods. During this misadventure into the woods, he finds an egg shaped rock, an inhabited cabin that may or may not be riddled with signs, and something that might be magic. He probably doesn't get paid enough to discover magic.

or, when they were thirteen years old, four boys met at camp carolling and eventually became a band that almost became something legendary. now, all four boys are coming back as counselors, three boys in one band and one boy in his own solo act.

so begins the reunion, though it doesn't go how any of them imagine.

Porcupine Day (Rated T) [Bobby x Ray x Rose]

Summary: It’s been fifteen years since Trevor broke up with Ray and Rose and they’re... not fine, but managing. But when Trevor to adds insult to injury and buys the camp across the lake from the one they once owned together, the two camps become locked in a bitter rivalry. With neither side willing to set aside their pride and work out their issues, the universe decides to settle their fates itself.

Day After Day (After Day After Day) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie]

Summary: When Alex met Willie just after their senior year of high school, they spent a wonderful three months dating before their relationship ended in a blaze of glory. Now, four years later, they meet again as counselors at a summer camp. The only problem? Alex keeps reliving their first day together. The day that Luke had declared "Prank Day."

This is not how Alex pictured his summer going.

clocks move faster (it's all we're after) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: Julie likes it when her friends are happy, so when she realizes she's stuck in a time loop, she uses her knowledge to make sure everything works out for everyone... except she conveniently forgets to factor herself (and Luke) into the mix.

Touch of Magic (Not Rated) [Alex x Luke]

Summary: When everything stands in Luke and Alex’s way of getting to be with the people they love, they have to repeat the day over and over until they can get the happily ever after that they want.

The play's the thing (that goes wrong) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie]

Summary: Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day for Macbeth, but not so for Alex and the production of Hamlet that he is directing and starring in. And while he's stuck repeating the day of the performance over and over, mishaps of all kinds befall the cast.

anything, anything (for another run with you) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie]

Summary: The moment Alex steps foot in Camp Greenwood, he knows that this summer is a bad idea.

He knows it as soon as he sees tan skin, long hair, and a tie-dyed crop top at the check-in table.

Willie.

-

the camp counselor/exes/prank war/time loop fic of your dreams (unless you read all of the other troped round 2 fics lmao)

there’s a glorious sunrise, dappled with the flickers of light (Rated T) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: What comes next happens in slow motion. Luke’s foot catches on the last rung of the ladder. Julie watches as he stumbles a step forward, barely catching himself before falling on his face. The ladder clatters to the floor below. The trapdoor, no longer propped open by it, falls closed with a loud thunk, the lock clicking into place. They’re stuck.

“Luke!” she exclaims loudly. “Look what you did!” Julie drops to her knees in front of the trap door, desperately trying to fit her fingers between the wood and the stone to pry it open again. Of course it doesn’t work.

“What?” he snaps back. “I wouldn’t be up here in the first place if it weren’t for you trying to fuck us over.”

or: ex-best friends Luke and Julie, working as camp counselors at rivaling camps, find themselves stuck in a time loop

the daughter of apollo (Rated T) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: (the JATP x Camp Half Blood AU that nobody asked for)

maybe the world isn't ending (maybe it's been postponed) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: Alex runs his fingers through Willie’s hair. “I think it’s best to just leave them to their own prank war at this point. Let’s not forget that time Julie put hot sauce in the coffee pot and my mouth was on fire for an entire hour.”

“You’re exaggerating, Alex-”

“I most certainly am not,” Alex cuts Reggie off.

“Or how about the time Luke tried to put glitter in Julie’s bed,” Carrie joins in, “but got my bed instead? I can appreciate some glitter, but even I know when enough is enough.”

“Suffice it to say,” Willie finishes after they’ve passed around a dozen or so more memories of pranks from the summer, “we’re all done being your collateral damage. Whatever Julie has planned for you tomorrow, Luke, you’re on your own.”

-

It's the last day of camp and Julie has one more prank planned for Luke. He just doesn't know what it is.

Here We Go Again (Rated T) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: Julie blinked as she stared at the place Euterpe had disappeared. What did that even mean? What journey? Old places and lost faces? What was she talking about? But before she could dwell on the questions swirling around in her mind, the sky full of stars began to move, shifting in place and descending until they were all around her. Julie felt her feet leave the ground as she rose up and up. One star in particular was burning brighter than the others, growing bigger in front of her.

It grew and grew, until the light was blinding and Julie had to throw a hand up against the harsh light. She closed her eyes as the light surrounded her and then she was falling. Falling down, down, down.