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twilightprince101 · 4 years

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It’s been a while since I’ve drawn, much less created a new OC! But recently I’ve succumbed to Bugsnax brainrot, so introducing Brandy Brittleshoot!

Brandy is a freelance writer and editor, working on several different projects at once before coming to Snaktooth Island. Alongside decently good hearing he has an intense curiosity for the world, often experimenting with different Snakified limbs to get inspiration for his latest story! (Just be prepared if you ask them about it, you’ll be stuck there ‘till nightfall).

I also filled out an interview prompt of him under the cut from @cosmicheartz , so check that out if you’re interested and feel free to shoot any asks about them! I’d love to talk a bit more about my newest character!

Who are you?

I’m Brandy Brittleshoot, I’m a freelance writer! Editing articles, typing out scripts, writing for dating sims, I’ve done a lot!

( How long have you been writing for? )

How long? Hehe, honestly I can’t even remember. One of my earliest memories was me writing an alternate ending to a book that had a crummy finale. I was so upset and whined so loud at a last minute plot twist that my dad sat me down in front of a notebook with a pencil so he could focus on his work. Though, I don’t think he expected me to actually write something decent! Never underestimate the power of an upset fan!!

( Anything in particular you’re writing now? )

Oh a handful of things! I have like, a million story ideas sitting on the backburn, but right now? I’m outlining a story idea I got for my latest novel! The details are a little hazy right now, but it’s all about an island of shapeshifters who can change into whatever they want. But of course, in a world like that there’d be lots of chaos if there were just like, a bunch of dragons flying around everywhere (who wouldn’t want to be a dragon) so there’s the government trying to limit it somewhat and there’s this one girl who-! Oh, grump! Sorry, um, still working on that.

Why come to Snacktooth island?

Oh Lizbert’s to thank for that! A while back I helped with putting out her story about Grumplantis! She saw a bit of the work I was doing at the time and, for some reason, decided I should help her out! Still have no idea why she chose me to help edit especially considering I was writing Grumpus Croft fan fiction at the time, but to think I’d get to help publish official findings about a lost civilization!!! I didn’t even care about the money, just the thought of working together with an explorer like that is just-!

( *Ahem…* But, what about Snacktooth? )

Oh right, that! Well, long story short she thought the work I did was good and invited me to come along as a way to say thanks since she didn’t exactly have the funds to pay for my work. Obviously I couldn’t pass up an opportunity that big, getting firsthand experience with an actual adventurer! So I dropped what I was doing, packed up and came right along with her!

Thoughts on bugsnax?

Duuude, okay. So imagine me, a writer who absolutely loves fantasy, lands on this island and finds out that fantasy actually exists! And is edible!!! I get to know what fantasy tastes like!!! This whole island is walking through one big fantasy novel and I have gotten nothing but inspiration since I’ve gotten here, it’s amazing!

( What does fantasy taste like? )

Okay, it’s like--actually, hang on, it would be faster if I just read this excerpt I wrote down a bit ago instead of trying to explain. *ahem.* ‘Upon the first bite of the plump and crispy Bunger, a dazzling fireworks show of flavor cascades into my mouth and paints a nova onto my taste buds. Each crunch a new explosion, a new flavor, a new color streaming across the sky’s canvas and dazzling me like a nova-’ oop, put nova twice there… ‘-Dazzling me like a child’s first glimpse at the night sky’s expanse! A symphony of crackles for me to experience alone, and by the time the last stream of light fizzled out, I’m ready to light the fuse for an encore.’ And that was just for the Bungers!

Why did you leave town?

Hoooh boy okay, bit of a loaded question there… After Lizbert and Batternugget vanished I tried to keep calm and keep doing what I was doing, wait for them to get back. But as the Bugsnax ran out and people got hungry, it was a bit hard to keep doing that… especially with all the noise...

( You’re referring to the fight? )

More or less yeah. I could hear pretty much everything from inside my cabin: Everyone ganging up against Cromdo, Chandlo calming down Snorpy from a panic attack, Filbo doing his best to keep everything together (can’t blame the guy for trying). Good hearing is both a blessing and a curse I guess… but the worst no doubt was Wiggle.

( What was up with Wiggle? )

Well, I do like her music, don’t get me wrong. But since coming to the island I can’t exactly handle being in the same room with her. She tried getting me to write her some song lyrics for exposure, kept peeking at my writing notes to steal my ideas, and worst of all, she stress yodels. And around the time the two vanished, she certainly had a lot of time to practice. I already couldn’t handle the fighting, but her singing was the last straw, so I slipped out in the middle of the night before I had to hear another note. Erm... you don't think she'll sue me for defamation if you put this in your story, will she?

Any info on Lizbert?

Duuude, Lizbert is no doubt the coolest person I know--probably ever! It’s like she jumped right out of an action movie and I could actually talk with her! She was really nice, telling me about a lot of her previous adventures in her free time and supporting me when I was going through writer’s block. Of course, she wasn’t around too much when she was out hunting snax, but Doctor Batternugget was around!

( Did you and Doctor B.N. get along? )

Yeah Miss Nugget was really nice! She was usually quiet when Lizbert wasn’t around, but after keeping her company one day and helping her sort supplies we got to talk a lot. She even volunteered to read some of my story drafts in her downtime--without me asking first too!! Plus, she also was a good resource to go to when I was writing about… more graphic details regarding Grumpus anatomy. I know a lot of people say that they might not come back, but I know they’re out there somewhere I know it! I mean come on, an adventurous explorer and her nurse girlfriend? That just SCREAMS main character plot armor! Plus, it would seriously suck if I finally find people eager to read my work on their own, then they just vanish from my life altogether… Please be okay Miss Batternugget…

Tape’s almost dry Brandy, gotta wrap this up soon!

Oh thanks for the interview! First one I’ve ever gotten, certainly a learning experience! (Maybe I could make a story entirely using interviews, that could be cool). I’m just sorry for talking your ear off. Hey, I know you’re kind of a solo worker from watching you run around, but if you’d like I can try and help with editing this story when you head back to the mainland. Free of charge too, I know you guys at GNN aren’t exactly treated the best. Not to mention it would look really good on both our resumes if we collaborated for this kinda story!

#bugsnax #wiggle wigglebottom #brandy brittleshoot #elizabert megafig #eggabell batternugget #my writing #my writings #my oc #my ocs #twi talks #((god it's been so long since I made a new OC since Twi #Bugsnax has really helped me out in getting the creativity flowing again #also I must make this clear:#B U N G E R))

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angelic-serenade · 5 years

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✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

request: 🌟 Hellou!! I love ur work!! ❤️❤️❤️ Is it possible tó ha e a Alastor and younger(like 4 years younger) reader who have nightmares of his death sonetimes, cause she saw itt Back then, and go to big bother Alastor for comfort? 🦌

requested by: anon

a/n: okay so this was supposed to be a quick one-shot but my hand slipped and I wrote 9500+ words instead. oops. anyway, I hope this meets your expectations, enjoy!

gif, original work and characters do not belong to me

pairing: Alastor x sister! reader

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

warnings: mentions of death, bit of angst, traumatic events, toxic relationship if you squint, Alastor being Alastor but softer for reader

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

It never rained down in Hell, no matter how ardently you had sometimes wished to feel the drops pouring down your robes. Even during your longest nights, the ones haunted by nightmares and long-forgotten memories resurfacing at your weakest, it would never rain like it did in those Gothic Novels your darling brother used to read you back in the day: you were no virtuous protagonist and never would the skies cry for your misery. It was probably one of the worst downsides of being stuck in Hell for all eternity: the equally eternal blood red sky forever looming over your head, serving as a reminder of your infernal punishment.

When you'd wake up in the middle of the night, after a particularly vivid nightmare, there was no pouring rain to muffle the sound of your hopeless wailings, no thunder to distract your spinning mind from its panic. Therefore, you found yourself continously seeking comfort from the only person you held dear to your now dead cold heart: Alastor, The Radio Demon, whom you had the privilege to refer to as your darling brother (at least in the privacy of your own bedchamber) - older brother to be precise, even if only by a few years. You had always been extremely fond of your sibiling, looking up to him as a role model - definitely not your wisest decision since it had landed you among the sinners of Hell. That's not to say you had any regrets, Heaven seemed like an awfully dreadful and boring place if you were to be completely honest.

Alastor, on his part, had affectionately doted on you back on the surface, taking his little sweetling under his protective wing as if his sole purpose in life had been to take care of you. As a consequence, on more occasions than you cared to remember, you had felt utterly asphixiated by your brother's undivided attention all your life, and quarrels had been a daily occurrence whenever his protective behavior clashed with your own desire for freedom. Your lovely mother had always been there to try and defuse your heated altercations, the poor woman; your dear brother and you, however, both shared the same stubbornness and desire to prevail on others, so that whenever your strong personalities came to oppose, trouble was always certain to follow suit.

You wished you'd appreciated his concerns more when you had been given the chance. Now in the afterlife, shows of affection were hard to come by. Mayhap that had been the worst punishment inflicted upon you after death: the privilege of having your dear brother by your side without actually being able to cherish and bask in his caring regards. Mayhap the illustrious Dante had been right in his musings all along: the law of retaliation had taken away from you the one thing you had never really appreciated in life, making you realize just how much you had taken for granted. Now that your brother had become Hell's greatest menace, an overlord to make things worse, weakness in any shape or form could and would not be tolerated under any circumstance, for both his and your sake.

Luckily, no demon in the seven circles suspected that the feared Radio Demon had any siblings to begin with, thanks to Alastor's foresight.

Your identity was to be kept secret at all costs in order to avoid undesired repercussions. If anyone were to even suspect you had any kind of connection to the Radio Demon - Alastor had told you - overlords and lesser demons alike would be at your throat in the span of a heartbeat. If given the chance, no enemy of his would ever hesitate to stoop as low as to attack him were it hurt the most, where he was most vulnerable. And that chance, he was not willing to give any time soon. You both had already died once and you were not keen on repeating the experience.

So you had followed his every order ever since your fall into the pits, leading a life death away from your darling brother and his chaotic ways - the one thing he hadn't been able to prevent in life -, keeping a low profile as a common denizen of Hell. Alastor would unsuspiciously check up on you every now and then, but his visits had been as rare as it was to see an angel in Hell - seeing him once a year was truly an unfair torture. Time went by and you grew more and more lonely as you mostly kept to yourself and wasted your days away in a nice apartment away from prying eyes. You were a nobody in Hell, and that was how things were meant to be.

Things changed when Alastor unexpectedly showed up at your doorstep for the second time in a year, blabbering about the newest project he'd involved himself with. His words betrayed unusual enthusiasm, a mood you had learned to be usually spurred on by the prospect of carnage and bloodshed or his precious radio broadcasts. Whenever he came to see you, he always showered you in gifts and praise, but it had been centuries since you had seen your brother so excited over... anything, really. Therefore, witnessing his cheeriness brought a genuine smile on your face. You were a little jealous you weren't the reason why he felt so giddy, but you couldn't complain as spending time with him was the greatest gift you could ever ask for these days. So when he told you you'd be moving into this phantomatic Hazbin Hotel, where he'd be staying for a while as well, you were impossibly ecstatic. Alastor had gently caressed your cheek and, in one of his rare moments of tenderness, softened his voice as if to lull you away:

“My dear, it has always pained me so to leave you here to your lonesome, but I am certain you understand that I always ever meant to protect you from harm.”

Unexpectedly, as most of his actions were, your dear brother spun you around into his arms as if he were coaxing you into a dance - which would probably be the case, knowing him. His words were impossibly haughty now, as if a switch had gone off in his mind:

“But now sweetling, now the time has come to finally put an end to this painful arrangement. You'll be joining me at this whimsical Hazbin Hotel our dear princess is so enthusiastic about!”

You knew better than to question Alastor and his ways, so you simply nodded your approval, glad to finally be able to leave that god forsaken apartment you had been locked in for far more than you cared to admit. And so you moved to the hotel - still keeping your true identity a secret, mind you. You were introduced as one of Alastor's acquantances, much like both Niffty and Husk were. Nobody questioned your unexpected presence and Charlie (much more than everybody else) welcomed you with opened arms into her precious hotel. When you offered to lend a hand with whatever she needed, she was utterly ecstatic. All in all, you were quick to adapt to the new situation.

The new accommodation, however, brought about quite a lot of new issues as well.

Spending so much time with Astor, for one, even if pretending not to be as close as siblings should be, awakened long forgotten memories about your life on Earth, most of which you would have preferred to keep locked away. During your very busy days, you were able to distract yourself from your scattered thoughts and memories; at night, however, your subconscious relentlessly haunted you in the form of nightmares and there was nothing you could really do to prevent it.

It was inevitable that you'd start losing sleep, as the only way to evade the cage that your mind had become was not to sleep at all. Astor had grown increasingly worried about your sleep-deprived state, even if he tried not to show it, masking his concern with his usual smile and charming talks:

“You will chase away any potential patrons looking so disheveled and shabby, my dear. Charlie will surely be heartbroken.”

You wouldn't have put it past him to manipulate you through guilt, but you knew that Alastor was truly worried about your health. His gaze, cryptic to most, felt all too familiar to you, just like the expressiveness of his smile held no secrets from you anymore. Needless to say, as fond of him as you were, you tried to sleep once again.

Then one night everything changed: it had been the worst night of your undead life, and the best one too.

The deafening sound of gunshots had echoed through your unconscious mind, increasingly loud footsteps and dogs barking so loud that you subconsciously jerked in your sleep. A call to your name, desperate, hopeless and scared. You saw him, his beautiful maroon eyes that had once only pooled in fondness for you, now dark and miserable. But they held promise too, a promise to fulfill maybe someday, in another life.

“I'm sorry (Y/N)”

His smile had dropped.

So had you.

You woke up screaming, trashing about in your bed. Sweat clung to your brow, your mind in a frenzied panic searched for something concrete and real to cling to. Was your brother alright? Satan, you hoped so. He had to be, he couldn't leave you again, you had to go to him, to see him, you didn't want to lose him again, you wouldn't bear the pain - you almost tripped in the bedsheets as you scrambled to the door.

When you arrived to Alastor's door, you had yet to calm down. You rapidly knocked on the hard wood, agitation evident in both your jerky movements and shivering hands.

“Alastor, Alastor, please. Open up. It's me” you desperately whispered.

As the door gently opened, your brother stepped into the darkness of the hallway and you unceremoniously flung yourself to him, clinging to his neck as if it were your lifeline. Your tears wet his robes, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to apologize. You felt like you had almost lost him again after all those years of seclusion.

But he was alive and he was with you. That's all you could hope for and far more than you thought you deserved.

Alastor uncharacteristically started to pat your head, as if trying to console you even though he had little to no experience in that area. His movements were uncertain, but as you lifted your head from his chest to gaze into his eyes, you realized no words would ever convey as much affection as Alastor's eyes did in that brief moment. His smile never faltered - even if it had become a bit strained - but you hadn't expected it to. It made you smile through your tears, despite yourself. You realized in that moment you'll forever be the only one allowed to touch Alastor without eliciting his wrath. That fact alone enough for you to truly appreciate the amount of control he'd give up in order to comfort you. He gently brought you to his bed and sat you down next to him.

“Are you quite alright sister dear? You know, those awful tears don't suit you at all! I rather much prefer your blinding smile!”

You smiled wider this time, for him, to let him know that you were indeed grateful.

“Oh, now that wasn't so difficult, was it?”

When he kissed your forehead, you almost broke up crying once again: it had been so long since you and your brother had been so close. The gesture warmed your long dead heart and you tried to return the favor by kissing his cheek. Nobody had ever been that intimate with the Radio Demon and lived to tell the tale, but in that moment he was no demon of hell: he was just Alastor, your dear brother who had doted on you in life and kept protecting you in death too - even though his ways weren't the most orthodox.

“I missed you Al. Please, don't ever leave me again.”

“I most certainly shall not, my sweet little darling. It's a promise.”

You were glad he let you stay with him for the rest of the night. No words were needed as he brought you close and took your hands into his. You both laid on the bed, in a rare moment of peace and quiet. It reminded you of your childhood on Earth and how you'd always sneak out of your room during the night to sleep next to him - you had always been afraid of the dark after all. Only in your adulthood had you learned that there are worse things than darkness one should fear.

After eons of suffering and terrible loneliness, everything finally fell into its rightful place.

Alastor was safe and so were you.

That was all that mattered.

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

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Summon Away | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

The day has come! I am finally writing an update on the fifteenth and final chapter of Moth Work, which I wrote about a month ago!

Summon Away is probably the shortest in the book at just over 1800 words, and also one of my faves because it’s so?? tender?? I wrote it in one sitting and couldn’t have asked for a better end to this book. Here’s a scene breakdown:

Scene A:

Harrison sees Lonan for a soft moment early in the morning, free of the stress of Eliza lmaooo. They have a super tender moment, however there’s this strange tension to the point where we know something isn’t exactly right.

Harrison moves the scene along by saying he’s going to grab a pack of cigarettes from a gas station down the road. From the context, we can probably tell this is true, except he ain’t coming back. Probably the most sweepingly dramatic moment I’ve ever written and I’m here for it loool. This is my soap opera moment where Harrison essentially leaves Lonan to have his new relationship with Eliza, despite his concern, because he’s gotta make a decision that’s healthiest for him and that’s called character development folks!!

Did I break my own heart breaking up my OTP :) yes!!!

Scene B:

This is a really short half scene where Harrison locates his mother who doesn't live far from Eliza’s apartment.

Scene C:

Harrison and his mother sit outside on her balcony and he reflects on his decision to split (literally a trend that all my Fostered characters are yeeting away from each other oops) while watching people below engage in some form of a relationship with one another. So much drama!!

The chapter gets its title from a Nothing But Thieves song (why would it not at this point), Tempt You (Evocatio). I was struggling to title this chapter because I needed something that fit the vibe, and had actually tried to use the concept of an evocation to title a chapter for this book previously to no avail. However, after revisiting the Wikipedia article for an evocation, I came across the definition of “summon away”:

The Latin word evocatio was the "caIIing forth" or "summoning away" of a city's tutelary deity. The rituaI was conducted in a miIitary setting either as a threat during a siege or as a result of surrender, and aimed at diverting the god's favor from the opposing city to the Roman side, customariIy with a promise of a better-endowed cuIt or a more Iavish Tempie.

I thought this concept of “summoning away” sounded slightly contradictory (the word summon brings images of a coming forth of some sorts, while the word away sounds like the opposite at least to me am I making this more *metaphorical* than it is perhaps) and I really thought the chapter strangely fit the above definition, hence my choosing!

Excerpts:

This is kind of torture because I dearly miss writing the boys interacting as they’re not with each other in Feeding Habits the angstttt:

“What is that?” Harrison asks, pulling back a barstool with one hand, while pointing at the mug with another.

Lonan glances up, and the two mutually analyze each other. Lonan’s puckered skin, how morning makes his eyelashes papery, like wings. He wonders what Lonan sees in him—for a moment, it’s all he wants to know.

Lonan knuckles the mug over and Harrison picks it up like he’s holding an eyeball. The tea is hot, though Lonan hasn’t seemed to mind, and its flowery perfume burns Harrison’s throat. Lonan pulls the mug back to him when Harrison’s done, and takes another sip.

“I still have no idea,” Harrison says, and to his shame, studies Lonan’s face for a bite wound.

“Earl grey.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“It expired four years ago.”

Harrison gasps, and Lonan almost smiles. And for a moment, Harrison almost forgets where he is. What happened at this counter just a few hours prior. With Lonan, it almost disappears. They could be back at the cabin, needling through the woods on that first day they tried to get rid of the dark room. They could be in the water, shielding, yet simultaneously pushing each other under. They could be dancing to no music in a tiny bathroom or driving for carless miles in the tarnish of rain.

This is my very overt metaphor that I bullshitted to title this novel that ended up working being very overtly injected into this book !! :))) but imagine this part with a sepia filter and it’s actually a silent film with captions oh:

“I found this article,” Lonan says, and turns the paper over. It’s not very long, just a small corner of the entire page, but Harrison sees the title, all bolded, Summer’s Dreaded Pesk: 10 Facts About Moths. He leans in closer to read it.

The facts are almost all useless to him—that moths like sweet things, that there are thousands of species, that many don’t eat, but what sticks out to him is the last: how they’re attracted to light. Harrison skims the text with his fingernail, reads something about light traps, and tries not to think of how unfortunate it all is—to move toward light and then stop moving altogether.

He knows whatever he will say will keep him here, in this sun, on this barstool, reading the newspaper about moths, sitting next to Lonan, drinking his tea, never knowing what flavour it is. Harrison inhales, and on his exhale, unclasps the chain and drapes it around Lonan’s throat.

When the angel hits Lonan’s chest, a sound comes out of his mouth that Harrison thinks is almost animal. Harrison’s hand lingers on the back of Lonan’s neck when he clasps it, feeling the pulse of Lonan’s heartbeat, even from all the way up here.

Lonan clutches the angel when Harrison pulls back, and he doesn’t let go, even when Harrison rises.

“I’m going to grab a pack of cigarettes,” Harrison says. “Is there a gas station around here?”

“Just up the road.” Lonan’s brows furrow.

“Do you want anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

Harrison nods. Then he steps back, away from the kitchen, and slips his shoes on, one by one, more carefully than he’s ever done before. He knows Lonan looks at him. He knows what’ll be in his eyes if he looks up—and so he doesn’t. Harrison checks his jacket pocket for his car keys, and when they jangle, he turns toward the door.

“How long?”

Lonan’s voice makes him jump.

“Pardon?”

“How long will you be gone?”

Harrison frowns. “I’m just grabbing a pack of cigarettes.”

So Harrison’s reaction to everything being white and gold is my reaction to modern decoration loool this is just CNF at this point:

Harrison buys the pack of cigarettes. And then the gum. And then he finds his mother.

She isn’t hard to locate. A quick question at the checkout counter, and he finds out the apartment complex near the public garden is only a fifteen-minute drive away.

It’s just as he pictures it. A white building, with a white lobby, the bricks white, the carpets white, the tables white. In little places, there are bits of gold, in place he doesn’t think gold should be—lining the keyboard the security guard types at, on the edges of every window so it’s only visible when the sun flashes.

And at last, here’s the final paragraph of the book!!! angst!!

His mother reads. Harrison watches. A father and son down below, who take turns walking their golden retriever. A food stand vendor that hands a stack of checked tissues to a mother wrangling four small children. A couple who take photos in front of a fountain, how he can almost hear the mechanical click of their camera from fifty feet up. Something stirs inside of him, at the thought of Lonan back in that golden apartment, and he only realizes what it is much later, when his mother is heating up something spiced and leftover in the microwave. The feeling like being buried alive and wanting to do it again just so someone can pull you out. A loneliness he sucks on until his mouth sores.

And there it is!! This book has been so much fun to share with y’all! Thanks for reading these updates and for all the love for this novel. I haven’t written anything for book two in a while, and am now feeling nostalgic to do so, so keep an eye out for more Moth Work related endeavors! For now this is the end!

--Rachel

#writing #writingupdates #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #mothwork #fostered

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rosa-leche · 5 years

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In the Gentle Morning - MorkSun Ficlet

Hello lovelies, it’s that time again! Last night I reached 600 followers, so to say thank you I wrote a fic as usual. It’s morksun. Again. For the fourth time in a row. I swear I was going to write a petekao one but then my hands just,, slipped? And then this fic happened? Oops? This comes at a good time though, since dbk just ended. I really enjoyed this show and talking about it with everyone each week. 12 weeks went by so fast... Anyway, thanks again, and I hope you enjoy! Besitos 😘

Word count: 1.2k

Genre: fluff (big shock there)

General tags: slice of life, canon-compliant, mork is flustered and confident, sun is flirty and pouty, it gets a little spicy? Kinda??

Summary: a regular morning for sun and mork at the blue sky café/why mornings are sun's favorite time of day

If someone asked Sun what his favorite part of the day was, he would respond with “the morning”.

Although, it wasn’t for the sunrise, no matter how pretty the pinks and oranges blooming across the white canvas of a sky looked. It wasn’t for the melodic birdsong beginning in the early hours of the day. And it definitely wasn’t for the arduous daily routine of getting ready to open the café, squinting open his groggy eyes and running a rough hand across his tired face before hitting snooze on the alarm that was vexingly telling him to get up. Of course it wasn’t for any of these.

It was for the boy sleeping soundly next to him, oblivious to the new day. For the warmth he radiated from under the plush blankets. For his calm face, a serene picture to gaze upon. For his gently closed eyes, slightly parted lips, and quiet breaths slipping past his pink mouth. For Sun, this small moment in his day outweighed every other.

Before starting his day, Sun liked to lay in bed for a bit. Not to be lazy, but to quietly enjoy some peaceful time with his boyfriend. Propping his head up on his hand, he looked at Mork’s relaxed sleeping face, a smile gradually gracing his features. The room they shared was softly lit, the morning light streaming in from behind the sheer curtains. The golden rays danced their way across the floor and up onto the bed and blankets, delicately illuminating Mork’s uncovered head from his brown hair down to his silver hoop earrings. Sun thought he looked beautiful, in every sense of the word.

Minutes later, when Mork’s sleeping figure finally stirred, Sun bent down to brush his hair aside and press a light kiss into his forehead, then his cheek. Mork let out a small noise of content, pleased with what he was waking up to. He opened his eyes to the sight of his boyfriend warmly smiling down at him, hair askew and shirt rumpled from sleep.

Mork took in a deep breath as he moved to sit up against the wooden headboard. He put a hand on the back of his neck and stretched, rotating his arms to shake the tiredness from his body. Slowly, he turned his head towards Sun, who was still staring him directly in the eyes.

Mork moved his head down and back up, taking in the sight of his smiley boyfriend. “What?” the tone of his raspy morning voice took on hints of teasing, amused at Sun��s antics.

Sun scoffed at the question. “I can’t just kiss my boyfriend good morning?” Sun’s lips quickly turned into a pout, and he took his chin off his hand and moved to rest his head on his folded hands on top of his pillow, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Mork.

“Mmm.” Mork’s eyes looked up as he frowned and tilted his head to the side in thought. “I’ll think about it.”

“Mork.” Sun narrowed his eyes in disappointment and dropped his expectant shoulders.

Mork threw the covers off as he laughed, the sound like a heaping spoonful of rich honey to Sun’s ears. So that’s how he wanted to play. Well then. As Mork moved to get out of the bed, Sun moved faster and wrapped his arms around his waist. He pressed his chest into the younger man’s back, then slowly, deliberately dragged one of his hands across Mork’s clothed stomach up and over the back of his arm to his shoulder, where he placed his head. Teasingly, Sun dipped his hand down and trailed it across Mork’s collarbone until he had grabbed ahold of his chin.

“You don’t like my morning kisses?” Sun playfully asked. Mork was trying his best to answer, but he was a bit distracted by one of Sun’s hands lazily swiping a thumb across his chin and the other gathering up the material of his shirt, then slipping under the cloth, pressing a palm into his smooth, peach-blushed skin.

“I…” Mork couldn’t find any words. It was hard to, since Sun’s hand was slowly working its way up to his chest from under his shirt.

“You…?” Sun’s grin was downright mischievous. The hand moving up under Mork’s shirt had paused, and was currently drumming its slim fingers against his bare skin. The other hand moved up and to the side, past Mork’s temples and into his hair, forcing Mork’s flustered face towards his playful one.

“…like…” Mork’s whisper was so quiet that it barely registered in his ears. Sun’s face suddenly turned a bit more serious, his hands stopping their rhythmic motions. For a moment, neither of them moved, their unblinking eyes focused on each other intently.

“You like… my kisses?” Sun shifted his body to sit up, pulling his legs in and folding them so his knees pressed into the mattress beneath them and around Mork’s sides. The corners of his mouth turned up and his excited hands roamed Mork’s figure, one reaching up and the other down, both under his loose shirt.

Traces of sleep still coursed their way through Mork, so maybe that’s what kept him there on the bed, vulnerable to Sun’s gentle, curious touch. Or maybe that’s just the excuse he was telling himself.

Mork lost himself a little under Sun’s hands, the contact leaving shadows of warmth wherever they went. Seconds passed where Mork’s eyes had fluttered closed and his head tilted back, close to Sun’s shoulder. A few more seconds passed and suddenly the alarm was going off once again, the snooze feature having run out of time.

Mork’s eyes opened rather quickly, and all of a sudden he was pulling Sun’s hands out of his shirt and standing up. As he made his way to the dresser for a fresh set of clothes, he spoke to Sun, who had turned the alarm off but still sat on the bed.

“Yeah.” It was a simple sentence, but it had a profound effect on Sun.

His feet were on the floor and in front of Mork faster than he could blink, his hands sneaking themselves onto Mork’s hips, who had just barely gotten one of the drawers open.

“I could give you more than a kiss.” It sounded like a question more than a statement, for it was more of an offer than a proclamation.

Mork simply grabbed his clothes and shut the drawer, then turned around to face Sun directly. He said nothing, but his eyes and actions were conveying a novel’s worth of words. His right hand found its way to Sun’s on his hip, and he lightly brushed over his knuckles with his thumb, ghosting his touch across the skin. He moved his hand up to tug on the hem of Sun’s shirt, his eye contact never breaking.

And then Mork was moving past Sun with a wicked grin on his face and a laugh falling from his lips, leisurely making his way to the door to shower.

And then Sun was ripping open a drawer for clothes, not even bothering to close it properly before rushing after Mork with an amused smile.

Yes, mornings were definitely Sun’s favorite.

#dark blue kiss #dbk #morksun #rosa-leche writes #thank you so much everyone!#feedback and comments are always appreciated!

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ghostofstudentspast · 4 years

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Congrats on 50!🎉 💖 Male HP ship please? ISFJ female. Introverted but social and talkative. Intellectual-nerd and social advocate. Insomniac-trouble sleeping, gets anxious&overthink but doesn't ever give up&optimistic. Dorky,awks&silly-like to laugh(esp at own jokes)&make others laugh. Sassy-lovingly teases/roasts. Speaks mind&stands up 4 others. Super supportive. Affectionate&loves hugs/cuddles. Emotional&cries easily b/c I care so much. Likes: karaoke, eating/cooking,&board/video games. Tysm!

*not my gif*

I ship you with Remus Lupin! Your optimism is exactly what our Remus needs in his life!

- You meet during one of your sleepless nights. It just so happens that Remus suffers from insomnia as well, a side effect of the lycanthropy. It gets especially bad nearing a full moon and he just can’t help but get out of bed and roam the castle.

- He uses the map of course, never getting caught. This is how he stumbles upon you late one night. It’s not rare to see students sneaking around at night but your name pops up consistently and he’s a curious guy.

- Finding you alone at the very top of the astronomy tower with a fluffy blanket, a book and a tin of biscuits was not exactly what he was expecting. You’d been kind of lost in your own mind but a chat with a cute boy didn’t seem like such a bad alternative. So, you offered him a biscuit.

- It became a ritual for the two of you, Remus would seek you out a couple of days a week and you would provide snacks. You quickly noted he particularly liked all things chocolate and made sure to slip some extra in your bag for him.

- He in turn started to bring you some of his favourite books, having in depths discussions about your favourite parts and the symbolism behind certain phrases. It was nice to be able to geek out with someone about a mutual topic.

- One of these night he brought you a book about werewolves, it was an instructional book. Previously he’d always suggested novels and works of non-fiction so you read this one expecting the same. When he broached the topic with you later that month he was reserved and drawn back, less like the talkative boy you’d come to know.

- He asked you what you thought about werewolves, if the text had changed your opinion. “It’s just like a sickness, no one gets a choice in the matter. My opinion hasn’t changed, i’m just more informed now!” your response drawing Remus back out of his shell with a smile.

- When he eventually did tell you, he knew you wouldn’t mind. That you’d be compassionate and understanding and that you’d always bring him extra chocolate after a full moon. You started showing him more physical affection too.

- If he had a new bruise you’d hug him, if he had a new scar you’d gently trace it with your finger, and when he’d show up looking exhausted you’d make room in your blanked and huddle up with him.

- When he showed up with two violently red claw marks from his jaw to his opposite shoulder you cried, squeezing him with the biggest hug. That night was the first time you kissed him, not out of pity but out of love. For this boy who had shown you all the kindness but offered none to himself.

- Things got easier with you by his side. You were there to hold his hand and make him laugh and shine your positivity on him. He started to call you his sunshine.

- He was quick to draw you into a hug, his head resting perfectly on yours. You’d happily mess with his hair and call him nicknames that no one understood but the two of you. You made each other better and happier!

Oh man, you can really tell how I feel about Remus by how much I wrote 😬 oops!

Request are still open!

#harry potter #asks #ship request #harry potter ship requests #june’s 50 celebration

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sundaynightnovels · 5 years

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chinese mythology AU: the moon rabbit

so @insearchof-solace gave me this prompt a while back and i was immediately inspired and.... wrote nothing BUT i kept wanting to write it (that’s fair enough, no????) && now that i’m finally up to writing it, my word doc is acting up on me and i was ready to throw in the towel but i was like

well. i write a whole bunch and don’t edit my work anyway, so how about i try something different and write it right now, spontaneously, on this post here? are you nervous? i’m rebellious and low on energy and don’t have enough mind to be nervous so yea, i’m gonna give it a go. so there’s no like introductory post on how long it’s gonna be or what is it about or how vastly different it is from the actual mythology (very different, probably) like always, this is an AU of my wip like all things out of season, i.e. using its characters and whatnot. so yea. a little background: the moon rabbit is, well, a rabbit. who lives on the moon. it’s usually like seen pounding something with a mortar and pestle that the chinese (the moon rabbit exists in a lot of other asian mythology but i’m using the chinese one for this because, well. it’s a chinese au piece) assumes is the elixir of life, and is usually portrayed as being a companion of chang’e, the moon goddess. but who knows? will there be a companion here?? i don’t know. what i do know is that i’ll be personifying the moon rabbit, so yea. i won’t be describing an actual rabbit with rabbit limbs and features per se here, but something rather human. here it goes: edit: after writing, it seems a lil philosophical and kinda gloomy. not my usual light-hearted thing, so be warned!

The moon is round tonight. Well, that’s no different from usual -- it is round every night, there’s no way it can suddenly change its shape beneath his feet, but well. He supposes, for the mortals down there, the moon is round tonight. Below him, flickering lights dance like waves cascading over one another; they sputter and glow within their paper walls, orange and red and yellow and even purple. Laughter weaves its way between hooked arms and raucous chatter, explodes as someone butchers a poetry recital and recedes when a performance begins. He sits there, on the edge. The stone is cool in his grip, familiar and worn; it sets a rhythm alongside the pounding beats and traditional tunes of the music below. Each time, a push and a twist, a push and a twist. By the time applause breaks out, the herbs have already been ground to dust. He’s used to the smell; they prick at his nostrils and lingers in the air, but his nose always aches and the air around him is always heavy anyway. He’s used to it. Sometimes he wonders. Of course he does, he’s had more than enough time, so much that he doesn’t care to notice about the flow of the ages, passing so quickly beneath his feet that if he merely blinks, he thinks he might miss civilisation’s end. Not that it matters to him, of course. Eras come and go, mortals live and perish. And all that eventually remains are the ghosts of memories that have come to pass. Echoes, rather -- not ghosts. Ghosts are too corporeal, nearly substantial in their remembrance. And memories are fickle beings. They shift and change with age and perspective, warp with desires and denials; the more someone strives to recollect, the more they rebuild and break down the past, the less firm the foundation. The less solid the form. What’s left is merely an echo, a lingering afterthought. Something not as significant, yet remains hovering in the atmosphere like a miasma suspended over a grave -- doomed to haunt for all of eternity. Mortals are all chased by their echoes. And he wonders, of course, what his might be. If he were to be mortal. But of course, he isn’t. And that is a useless thought to contemplate on, for something that he cannot and will not be. He keeps pounding away. His moon is always round, after all. - The smoke is thick, almost viscous somehow. It snakes up into the air, wiggling and struggling, fighting to get out. It happens, occasionally. Though perhaps that might not be the best descriptor. Occasionally to him takes place over a rather large span of time, anyway. It doesn’t matter. The mortals move away, backs resolutely turned. Some are crying. Some press their palms tight and hold them close to their hearts, letting hushed words slip into open air. Others, younger ones, so tiny he can barely see them from where he sits, look confused. It’s bright again, but not like before. The flames are ravenous and fierce, hungry and unrelenting; they chase after the paper offerings and tear apart the paper house, eating and swallowing till there’s nothing left. The smoke dies down; it’s a little easier to breathe. He thinks. He doesn’t quite know. A physical release might not be quite the same as an emotional one. What he does understand, though, is that everything comes back to dust. You bring nothing with you when you’re brought to life, and you carry nothing away in your death. It is a cycle. It will eventually happen again, he doesn’t know why they grieve. He is no expert, of course. He continues to pound away at the mixture for an immortality elixir. - She’s here today. The moon is a large place, and they don’t often cross paths. He feels like it’s been eons since he’s last spoken. It might have been. She doesn’t speak. She sits at the edge and peers down. Though there can be no sign of age on the smooth lines of her face, she somehow looks weathered. Old and beaten. Tired, from an eternity of existence.

He clears his throat; it is resounding in the silence. “Hi.” “Hi,” she replies. She used to be mortal. She used to love and be loved. But it’s been ages. There’s no one there for her now. He sits beside her and doesn’t speak, just pushes the bottle towards her and looks at his hands. The skin is peeling and his palms are bruised. He is immortal, yet still they are bruised. It is an odd spectacle. He curls his fingers around them and squeezes. He stares at her and he wonders. If she’s a beautiful immortal worshiped by all and he’s her humble companion praised in textbooks. Or maybe she’s an idol for virtue and he’s one for diligence and utility. In reality though, he thinks it might be something else instead. That she’s a mortal stuck in a cage and that he’s her captor. Or that they are both trapped in a never-ending circle that chases after itself, sitting on the edge and trying to break the trajectory. Maybe it’s better not to think at all. After all, the moon will always be round. She will always be told in stories, celebrated in festivals. And he will always be here, pounding away for all of eternity. Memories will live on forever, anyway -- even if they are merely echoes. Especially if they are merely echoes. They are meant to live forever.

---------------------- okay! i don’t know why this ended up so depressing. like i said, i really didn’t plan anything. and i don’t know what this means. maybe it’s a deliberation on immortality VS mortality and how hou yi has maybe got the right idea the whole time? (okay, explanations about certain myths below.) or maybe something about myths being glorified and immortalised and wondering how that might go about in actual reality. or maybe that people should be given decisions about their own lives and not forced into a routine by fate i don’t know okay don’t question me i don’t think when i’m writing it also kinda, sort of, reflects a little about the beginning of my wip? alright so a few things:

the moon rabbit is.... dun dun dun!! i’m sure some of y’all have guessed! it’s shou!! (that’s why it kinda reflects the beginning of my wip a little bit)

and the female is obviously... dun dun dun! chang’e!!! and she is!!!! well, this might be a little harder to guess but it also does reflect a little bit of her past / backstory in the companion novel. anyway!! it is... zhen!!

basic background on the mythology of chang’e: she is married to a man named hou yi, and back then there were like, 10 suns on earth and everyone was suffering because it was hella hot and hou yi, being a great man and a saviour of the broken (oops, mcr reference), he shot down 9 out of 10 of the suns. he was rewarded with an elixir of immortality, but he didn’t want to take it because he wanted to be with his wife. anyway something happened, bla bla bla, in order to protect the elixir from some bad guys, chang’e downed it herself and became immortal, and she decided to live in a place where she’d be closest to her husband -- which was incidentally the moon. and mid-autumn celebration is kinda celebrated for her too. okay, it also celebrates a bunch of other stuff, but for chang’e as well!

the first part he’s watching the mid-autumn festival celebrations, traditionally celebrated with people holding a bunch of lanterns on the 15th day of the 8th lunar month, which is when there is a full moon (just fyi, the 15th day of all the lunar months tend to have a full moon)

the second part he’s watching a funeral procession (kinda more like a buddhist one, where you burn joss paper and paper ingots and paper houses etc.) not really in detail but yea

the phrase that i used ‘In life you carry nothing, and in death you bring nothing’ comes from this actual chinese thing that you say ‘生不带来死不带去’ which means the same thing

ALRIGHT. uhh. hope y’all enjoyed?? tagging my tag list @cabaretofwords @inked-waves @latechickadee @kidsarentallwrite @insearchof-solace @kaigods @inkpot-dreamer @pen-for-sword @thedreamsofthesky @cheap-pins

as usual y’all are free to drop me prompts any time alright!

#writeblr #writing #like all things out of season #AU: chinese mythology #snippet #writing snippet #writers on tumblr #my writing #my wip #my OCs #character tag #shou #zhen #chinese mythology #the moon rabbit #chang'e

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queenmorgawse · 5 years

Text

transmigration for dummies

chapter three. mdzs scum villain au. read on ao3 + end notes. credit to @lee-luca, esp as another bit of the comic is mentioned here. previous | first | next

One hour, thirty minutes and two hundred rules into his punishment, Jingyi is as bored as he’s ever been in this life. To top it all off, the System isn’t responding to any of his pleas for company, only responding with oops ): something went wrong when he tries to ping it. Back home, this is about when he would have given up on homework and started scrolling through his Twitter feed instead, but there’s not much he can do without his phone.

Ugh, he’d kill for one of these crappy McDonalds games. Even a Kinder toy would make him happy right now. Instead, he doodles on his torn-up first drafts, on which the ink made blots from his clumsy first attempts to imitate the original text’s elegant calligraphy.

He silently adds bic pens to the ever-increasing list of modern appliances he misses.

When badly-drawn stickmen get boring as well, he starts to think about the original Lan Jingyi in his life. Maybe that’s how it works, after all. Mom sure would love someone who’d actually go to bed early when she tells him to. On the other hand, once he got over the initial shock of modern Jingyi’s life, he’d probably find it pretty dull. High school isn’t about to compare to flying swords and cultivation, that’s for sure.

Opposite him, Sizhui is bent over his own stack of scrolls, poring over rows and rows of tiny characters and absent-mindedly running his fingers along the lines. From the way he hums to himself when he thinks Jingyi is too busy copying to care, he guesses they’re music sheets of some kind. Unlike Jingyi, he looks like he’s actually engrossed in what he’s doing.

Too bad. Jingyi’s reached that point of boredom at which he needs to talk to someone or else he’ll implode. ( Still, he promises himself he’ll stop if Sizhui shows even a hint of genuine annoyance. )

“Hey, Lan Sizhui ⎯ can I call you just Sizhui? Um, sorry I got you stuck here.”

To his relief, the other doesn’t look irritated, just surprised. “Sizhui is fine,” he ventures after a few seconds. A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good. I was afraid you were still mad me, you’ve been so awkward all day...”

Wait, what? Who’s angry at you? Someone who kicks kittens for fun, probably.

Oh right, me. Maybe he’s the one whose brain needs a reboot. How does he explain that it’s not him who’s mad? Hell, he doesn’t even know what the original is supposed to be mad about. For some reason, it feels weird to ask, just because it seems important enough that admitting he forgot would be insulting.

“Anyway,” Sizhui continues after coughing into his sleeve, “it’s alright, you don’t have to apologize to me. I’ve got to go over these before tomorrow’s lesson anyway, I might as well do it here.”

“Inquiry?” Jingyi ventures, maybe-maybe-not because it’s the only title he clearly remembers from the ones canon mentioned.

“Oh, no. Asking very specific questions is still a bit out of my reach, but Fa...Hanguang-jun wrote down a list of phrases for me, so we’re going to try them tomorrow.” His face softens at the mention of Lan Wangji. If this was a fic, this would be when Jingyi keels over and presses his face into a pillow for a little while.

The chat devolves into musical cultivation. Jingyi muddles his way through it the best he can, feeling like he’s bullshitting an essay out loud, but Sizhui doesn’t seem to find his vague answers all that off-putting. He still pointedly glances down at the stack of unfinished notes on the table from time to time, but since Jingyi’s calligraphy has been getting worse and worse the less attention he pays to it, maybe it’s for the better.

When dinner time rolls around, they eat their bowls sitting on the steps leading up to the Library Pavilion, after Sizhui rightfully points out Lan Qiren would have their skins if they spilled even a drop of sauce on the sect’s precious texts. Gradually, Jingyi feels himself relax.

“So, are we chill?” he asks between two mouthfuls of rice.

Sizhui just stares at him.

Right. No slang. “...I mean, we’re doing good, right? We’re friends?”

Something complicated passes over Sizhui’s expression. It’s too fleeting for him to catch more than a glimpse of it, especially as it’s overridden by his usual calm smile before Jingyi can shove another rice ball into his mouth, but he could swear the other winced.

Well, ouch. It must show on his face, because Sizhui suddenly looks alarmed and adds : “Yes, yes, we are!” Another smile. This time, Jingyi can definitely see the strain. “We’re friends. You don’t have to doubt that.”

“Oh. Great!” Jingyi resists the urge to reach out and gently punch his shoulder. Who knows how it’d be perceived. “We’re gonna spend a lot of time together, if I’ve got to keep copying rules, so...I wanted to make sure.”

【OOC behavior detected : contradiction of backstory despite hints : -20 points. Current balance : 65 points. 】

Shut up! I want him to like me!

“We’re friends,” Sizhui repeats one last time, like he’s trying to convince himself. Then he reaches for Jingyi’s shoulder and gives his robes a tug. “We should get back in there. Two more hours before curfew, you can still get a few lines in. I won’t distract you.”

“Ugh.”

Jingyi makes a face. Sizhui laughs, and the tension from earlier dissolves. “Come on. The more you get done, the faster it’ll be over.”

It turns out they’re both severely underestimating the number of rules Jingyi can break without realizing, and therefore the amount of time they’ll be spending here.

Despite these setbacks, over the course of the next handful of weeks, Jingyi adapts to his new life the best he can. He finds out, with much relief, that even though he can’t access the original’s knowledge and memories, training since childhood pays off even after a body swap. He doesn’t have to think too hard about sparring, just keep a firm grip on his sword, and his muscles can apparently do the rest with minimal effort on his part.

It only works with the actual fighting, though. After going to bed feeling sore all over for a week straight, Jingyi gives up and gives the cold springs a shot. It freezes his limbs off, but the ache gets better after that. It even gets him about a dozen points, which he adds to the rest, gained through menial tasks across the Cloud Recesses and some well-timed mischief.

He also likes to think he gets some progress done with step one of his grand plan to survive this novel. There’s no undoing years of being a pain in everyone’s ass in a matter of weeks, but Jingyi still gives it his best shot - peppered with tasteful cursing at the System when it deducts points for actually following the rules or, you know, not being a dick to everyone he talks to. As a result, he goes from mostly being avoided by the other disciples to tolerated, even if no one but Sizhui goes out of their way to talk to him or invite him to join in on...whatever fun they have.

Jingyi doubts he’s missing out on much, at least where the Lans are concerned. But rumor has it some of the guest disciples snuck out into Caiyi to try some of the local wine, and he’s jealous of that, which is kind of irrational. He doesn’t even like the taste of wine that much, and besides, that may be too much of an infraction for a raised Lan, however prone to rule-breaking said Lan is supposed to be.

( He really can’t afford to slip up again. When he dared chop a solid forty centimeters off his hair after struggling to run a comb through it for the fifth time that week, the System’s alarm blared so loud he almost had an out of body experience. He’d felt the hundred points shaved off his score, though, even if he’d managed to negotiate half of them back. That was the spiritual equivalent of having a car zoom past right as you were about to cross the street, and Jingyi’s in no hurry to do it again...but with that said, it feels great not to have to deal with a bird’s nest every time he wakes up. )

Of course, he can’t just get comfortable with his new daily routine. Something has to happen. This time, said something takes the shape of a summon from Teacher Lan. Jingyi drags his feet over from the Library Pavilion and away from his sixth copy of Gusu Lan rules. His wrist is still complaining every time he bends it a little too far. Fuck corpse powder, it’s carpal tunnel that’s going to do him in.

Speaking of copies, maybe he shouldn’t slump this much. He’s fairly sure there’s a rule for that somewhere in the two thousand and nineties.

Given the circumstances, Jingyi fully expects another lecture from Lan Qiren the moment he sets foot in the communal hall, but quickly readjusts his expectations when he spots the small crowd of disciples gathered around their teacher. Most of them are familiar faces by now, except for the girls, who for some reason live in a completely different part of the Cloud Recesses. Still, he recognizes Lan Fan, the shimei who looks like she could bite your head off but actually gave him some pretty helpful tips on sword stances the other day, Tao Ming, the boy who’d seemed vaguely suspicious of him that first day, and of course, Sizhui in the forefront.

Lan Qiren narrows his eyes at him as he hastily joins the rest of the group. “Late again, Lan Jingyi.”

“Sorry, Teacher. This disciple was busy copying rules when he heard.”

A few of his companions snort, the noise quickly disguised as a sudden and collective bout of coughing. Jingyi can’t blame them ; if he’d heard the same words everyday for weeks on end, he’d be laughing too. Lan Qiren gives a long-suffering sigh, but whatever he’s about to tell them must take precedence, because Jingyi gets away with what might otherwise have been considered cheek.

“Madam Mo of Mo Village has sent us a request for assistance.” Given their teacher’s expression, he might as well said that she’d beaten down their door in the middle of the night and let a donkey loose in the courtyard. “From the servants’ description, it shouldn’t be anything more than a few walking corpses. Nothing a group of juniors cannot handle.”

Yeah, right. Despite knowing he’s supposed to let canon run its course, Jingyi still feels a twinge of apprehension. Why, you ask? He can answer that in two points.

Things Jingyi knows : mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.

Things Jingyi doesn’t know : how to kill zombies with swords.

In theory, he did spend the last few weeks training, and he didn’t slack off either, thank you very much. Doesn’t mean he’s ever gone up against a corpse before. He’s a coward, okay? Horror movie night was hell, back in his own world. He’s in no hurry to experience it in real (?) life.

“Lan Sizhui will lead the group,” Lan Qiren continues. “I expect all of you to keep your behaviors appropriate and not bring shame onto our sect.” To no one’s surprise, Jingyi thinks, and throws the interested party a small smile. To his surprise, Sizhui blushes and looks down at his boots, looking both embarrassed and pleased. It’s an unfairly cute look on him, but again, most of his looks are.

Right on cue, the System wheezes to life like it just crawled out of a computer from the nineties.【Beginning stage checkpoint mission assigned. Destination : Mo Village. Mission : ensure the protagonist, Wei Wuxian, makes it to Mount Dafan to meet love interest Lan Wangji. Please click to accept.】

Jingyi mentally slams the Accept button.

Ding! 【Mission successfully accepted. Please read the file carefully for mission details and make appropriate preparations. We wish you success. 】

OOC function, here he comes!

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #lan jingyi #zhuiyi #transmigrator!ljy #kim's fics

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lordsicheng · 6 years

Text

Anonymous: Pt. 1

c: Jung Jaehyun, oc, others

g: mystery, romance, slight thrill (?)

s: a freelance writer slash igconito internet sensation, Jaehyun dives into making anonymous love letters midway his career– only to make one that could turn him into someone he doesn’t think he is

w: 2k~

a/n: in the middle of writing this I think I could say this is slightly inspired by the Netflix show “You”, which I totally am obsessed with omg but I made sure the writings I made of this are not plagiarism to the original plot! I also am a little bit late because I was gonna post this on his birthday but meh :/ this serves as a bit of a comeback from me on writing (I wrote this in two hours oops) so yeah enjoy!!

It was just another day for him as like the others. He wasn’t expecting anything special in particular, but he ends up getting a different order than usual at one of his favorite breakfast places only a block from his home. He looked at the other people inside the restaurant, no reaction in particular by the fact that majority of them inside came as couples, some as quads, and a few as close-knit families. He didn’t seem be fazed by the fact that he was the only one that was alone on a table.

In fact, he felt more comfortable that he didn’t have any company with him.

“Here you go sir; three layer pancakes with cranberry syrup and blueberry bits, less butter, and tall broad Arabica coffee.” the waitress smiles warmly as she served him his order, looking at him as his eyes feasted on the meal set in front of him

“Thank you. Compliments to your cook.” he smiled politely to the waitress as he looked up

“You come here quite often and order the same thing. I was surprised you ordered something different—a mix of sweet and slight bitterness thanks to the beverage.” she commented

“Today’s a special day.” he grinned, slowly putting on a napkin and grabbing the utensils from the side

“Oh, right. Valentine’s. Perhaps you were able to score a date today, no?” she teased, almost as if she was flirting but also slightly discouraged if it were true

“Well, everyday should be Valentine’s day. Love should be given in any form anyone could.” he paused, sighing slightly before looking up at the already confused waitress, smiling yet again before continuing

“It’s my birthday.”

To Jaehyun, his birthday was just like any other day—living alone in one of the most populated cities in the world whilst being a freelance writer was what he always wanted. He wasn’t particular about his future and to his luck, his parents let him choose his own path. Although he was given a chance to travel many times during his youth, he felt at home whenever he was in his hometown. In fact, he chose to stay instead of grabbing the opportunity of studying in one of the most prestigious universities in America.

Eyes fixed to his laptop screen, he scrolled through the rush of emails he had received from his boss and fans of his freelance writing. He was hesitant on opening some, who just wanted to either greet him or ask for a commission.

“Thank you, but inspiration is hard to catch nowadays.” he said to himself as he read through a letter of a man asking for a commission for a write-up

And of the many writings he had made, he chose to have a different pen name or even went on anonymous. His talent involved being igconito in many other forums whilst giving advice about romance, often using his common pen name, “Jeff Valentine.”

His phone suddenly rang and he looked at the screen before grumbling, rolling his eyes as he just decided to answer it without any hesitation.

“Yes?”

“Jaehyun, hey, I need your help.”

The frantic voice from the call didn’t particularly daunt him but rather amused him as he knew this particular person would only call him on his birthday for one reason

“Mark, I told you I didn’t want a party for my birthday.” he chuckled

“W-who says we were throwing you a party?” Mark, a close friend of his, stuttered slightly

“I don’t know, maybe your Instagram story about a Valentine-themed party with a huge photo of me at the back that you forgot to filter for other people to see except, well, me?” Jaehyun spoke sarcastically, already feeling Mark’s nervousness about the surprised being messed up thanks to him

“Shit.” Mark cursed, internally slapping himself as he let out a sigh

“Look, I appreciate that a lot. But I really am not interested in parties.”

“Dude, just once, I swear! We really tried to make the best surprise but I really blew it… If you can’t go I swear they’re gonna find out I messed up again like last year!” Mark pleaded

“Mark, you sent the texts to all of your friends about the surprise party. And that obviously included me.” Jaehyun stood up from his seat, walking around his room

“Please? Just act surprised at least since you know I slip up a lot.”

Jaehyun thought for a while and decided, that even though he really wanted to be alone on his special day, he chose to just celebrate it with friends since he knew the others were just as ‘lonely’ as him during Valentine’s day

“Fine.”

“Great! Really means a lot man. There’s gonna be great food, great ambiance, I invited some girls—“

“Whoa, wait. Girls?” Jaehyun furrowed his brows, cutting Mark off

“I mean… don’t you think it’s time, man? Last time you dated someone you completely cut them off and they ended up dating someone who looked just like you.” Mark reasoned

“I’m not interested in dating, Mark. I don’t even know where you’re getting all these girls?”

“Thanks to me and some connections, we’ve got a couple coming over. Let’s see if one of them hits the jackpot—aka, you, Mr. Valentine.” Mark laughed as he sat on his sofa, Jaehyun feeling a little bit iffy about his plan

“I’m only going for the food. Text me the address and time, I have to do some work and run errands.” Jaehyun grumbled yet again, sitting back on his computer chair

“Errands? It’s your birthday, though?”

“Errands as in shopping, my friend. Now, text me the details and I’ll catch you guys tonight.” Jaehyun dropped the call without even hearing Mark’s last words, putting his phone next to his laptop as he leaned back and let out a sigh of exasperation

He looked to the side and noticed the sun was slightly showing, though it was the middle of winter in transition to spring. He thought that maybe if he took a couple of hours for a walk he’d be more inspired to do anything on his birthday. He immediately grabbed a coat and hurried out his apartment towards the nearby park that was near the river

“Winter, winter. Looking at all these couples make me slightly bitter.” he thought to himself the moment he realized a lot of the people around the area were couples

However, to his luck, he saw someone by the benches sitting alone whilst holding a romance book. To him, this was probably typical for most singles—reading an idealistic novel as they fantasize about their fairytale romance waiting to happen even up until they reach 50. He just shrugged and continued on his way, until he saw that particular person stand up and walk rather in a fast pace towards the other side of the park. As much as he wasn’t interested in their own business, he slowly decided to follow suit as he thought it was probably just some nasty breakup about to happen

To his dismay, he realized he was brought back to his apartment building—even worse, on the same level of his own place.

“No way.” he mumbled, standing by the stairs that was far enough from where the person had stood

With a few hard and loud knocks on the door, it swung open and he saw a man, probably around his age, dragging around three luggage bags as if he were to fly off to another country of some sorts

“Great, now you’re just gonna leave?”

“I have no choice, y/n! You’re having too many idealized expectations of me and I’m getting sick of it.”

“Sure, leave! Valentine’s is all about being left alone.”

“Who gives a fuck about Valentine’s, y/n? It’s always Valentine’s in your head!”

Sheesh, talk about a nasty break up, as Jaehyun would’ve imagined in his head as the man leaving with his bags got into the elevator quickly. Jaehyun, on the other hand, decided to look down and walk towards his own place, only a couple of doors from the stairs.

He took one glance at that certain person again and noticed them sobbing, slowly walking into the apartment before heading inside his own. Feeling a little bit guilty for eavesdropping, he thought, why not give a small note for them on this particular day?

As much as he wasn’t a fan of the idealistic thoughts of romance itself, he just decided to go on with it because of impulse and head on to his laptop to think of a write up. But what was he supposed to write? A love story? A poem? Some sort of weird quote about love?

That’s right, he was likely gonna go for an anonymous love letter.

Besides, they’ll probably not notice or just think of it as a prank, eh? Valentine’s day is actually full of pranks as he remembered, as many as those done on April Fool’s day.

Cracking his knuckles before writing, he paused and realized again that he wasn’t sure on what to write.

“Roses are red… Violets are blue…. If you were a booger, I’d choose you?”

Meh.

That was already cheesy to some, but that was just plain disgusting to him.

He thought again and felt like it should be sincere and well thought out. He decided to open up his emails in case he was able to think of something, but then he realized he had opened an email from earlier and decided to read it again

“Mr. Valentine, I need your help.

I saw one of your advices from the Romance Realm forums and I wanted to email you personally, if you don’t mind.

I need to come up with a letter for my crush. She is in love with the thought of romance but doesn’t seem to think of it realistically. I want to make a letter that makes her realize that I will be able to give her that realistic romance she deserves rather than the idealistic one she can’t grasp on.

A reply would be nice. Thanks!”

It must’ve been fate that he decided to do this one good deed just to cheer up someone. So alas, he thought of something quick the moment he remembered the term, ‘idealistic romance, and grabbed a pen and some special paper he had saved

Besides, this was his hobby and talent. It wouldn’t kill anyone if he tried to do this, right?

A little over thirty minutes and with penmanship worthy enough for its own font, Jaehyun grabbed a light scented, special envelope made for letters sent during Valentine’s. It was like giving a letter to a young love yet again to him as he sealed it with a sticker rather than anything.

He got out of his apartment and walked on over to the person’s front door. As he looked down, he noticed a mat on his feet and decided to put it below, making sure there was a slight peep of the envelope on the side. He suddenly heard the knob of the door about to click open, making him immediately retreat before getting caught—and to his relief, he wasn’t.

The person behind the door then walked out and immediately saw the different contrast of colors from their mat and the envelope that was peeping on the side. They crouched down to see it and immediately got a whiff of a mix of vanilla and rose that seemed to entice their sense of scent

Without hesitation, they walked back inside and closed the door behind them.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, was spying from his own place as he made sure the door was unnoticeably opened at its slightest inch, grinning and closing the door as he sat on the floor in respite.

To him, it was just some fake letter to make up someone’s day.

To the other, it was one that could liven up their dreams of a fantasized romance.

“It’s just like any other day, but today’s just a lil bit special, no?”

#jung jaehyun #jaehyun #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #jung jaehyun scenarios #jung jaehyun imagines #nct #nct 127

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akastarlords · 7 years

Text

her officer, his lady

wheezes. this chapter took me a bit, cause i hated everything. but soon i found myself not entirely loathing each word i wrote. also. props to lucy for getting me on the ball with this, cause honestly besides life getting busy, i got stupid lazy. oops, i will try not to do that again! since this is based off a romance novel i’m gonna do my best to not rely so heavily on cliches but i’m not straying entirely away from them ja’feel?

2/?

With a long sigh, Claire tugged off the satin gloves from each hand. The night air cooling her heated skin, and flushed cheeks. It had been a strenuous task to slip away from the party. Different guests, all friends or acquaintances of her grandmother’s, stopping her for a chat or to ask too many personal questions for Claire’s liking.

‘When will you marry, Ms. Dearing? You’re nearing twenty after all!’ Then they’d laugh as if it were simply all in good fun. Claire would smile back, quietly wishing them all a safe passage to hell.

Music carried from the house and to the garden where Claire hid away. She could still hear chatting and the clinking of champagne glasses, and then the shuffling of feet on the gravel beside her.

Owen stopped next to her and tilted his head. “Guess my invite was ‘mysteriously misplaced’ for this one as well, huh?” He asks, slipping in Nana Dearing’s favorite excuse. Claire rolls her eyes.

“You aren’t missing much.” She shrugged her shoulders a bit. “It’s the usual crowd. Greedy bankers, crooked politicians…” She listed. “Oh, and Nana’s gossip ladies from church.”

Owen nodded. “Sounds about right. Glad to see that you made it out alive.” He added. His arm weighed down a bit as Claire wrapped her own around it. She tilted her head up and flashed him a smile that made Owen feel like his knees would give out.

“Of course, I did.” She said, hugging his arm. Leaning up on her toes, she met him halfway and felt his lips press gently to hers. It’s what they’ve done for years now, in secret.

No matter what Owen did, Claire’s words still clouded his thoughts. Even after going through gun drills over and over with the new recruits, barking out nearly a dozen orders he could still hear her voice.

‘I was going to Dallas to be married.’

It shouldn’t matter to him what Claire was doing, or even who she was going to be rightfully married to. Hell, he’d may even sigh a breath of relief once she was gone, but in the back of his mind, the thought of Claire leaving him again and marrying someone else made his blood nearly feel like fire.

“You look like someone just about pissed in your coffee.” A voice calls, and Owen didn’t even have to bother to turn to see who. He swears under his breath and keeps his focus on the marching recruits.

“Shut the hell up, Faraday.” Owen grunts. Faraday, a second lieutenant and Owen’s best friend, as well as a major thorn in his side, only just saunters around and glances over Owen. The instant he grins, Owen felt an urge to punch it right off him.

“Heard you got hitched. Did one of those traveling ladies make an honest man outta you?” Faraday asks, ignoring the way Owen scowls at him. “What’s her name?”

Owen shakes his head. “One, it ain’t your damn business, and two, it ain’t any of your damn business.” He answers firmly.

“So, it is lady troubles.” Faraday nods. “Where is she?”

Owen rolls his eyes heavenward and lets loose a long-suffering sigh. “She was invited to lunch by Morris’ wife.”

Faraday chuckles. “She’s won over Morris already? You gotta let me meet your wife, Grady.”

“No.” Owen snaps back quickly. This was becoming too much. “She won’t be here for much longer, so don’t get use to the idea of me remaining in holy matrimony for too long.”

At that, Faraday��s brows lift. “What are you…”

Morris’s voice booms and both men freeze to attention “Faraday. Grady.” He stops before the two, his lips pulled into a deep frown. “Faraday, I know there’s a post that you should be present at.” He remarked sharply. Faraday swallows, and his eyes found interest in ground.

“I suppose there is, sir.” He replies.

“Grady.” Morris turns his attention to Owen. “March your team around the outer perimeter, now. Be back by sunset. A man should be able to have dinner with his wife.” He orders. “Claire will be happy to have you home in time for that.”

Owen holds in a sharp breath at Morris’ last words. With a final dismiss, Morris marched away.

Faraday’s head turns to Owen slowly. “Wait…Claire?” He asks, surprise lacing his tone. “Is it that Claire? Shit, Grady.”

“Just shut up and get to your post.” Owen grumbles, turning away and following his recruits.

The sun was low, and casting colors of pink and purple. A sight often clouded by smoke and smog from the factories back home. But here, Claire could even see the stars begin to peek out early against the darker shade of the sky.

She glances to the table and makes sure that everything is in its place. A small meal of leftovers from lunch, parts of a roasted chicken, steamed vegetables and even two slices of chocolate cake. Morris’s wife was more than happy to keep giving Claire whatever food she could carry.

But she knew she couldn’t rely on the woman’s kindness for the entire time. At some point, Claire would have to make due herself, just until she was sent for…

She looks back to the window, and more stars have come out. It was also then that the doorknob rattles before opening. From head to toe, Owen looks every inch roughed up. But there’s water dripping from his hair and chin, as if he only just splashed a handful of water on his face in an attempt to wash himself up for dinner.

Claire looks over him and tries to find the words to say. She knew she wouldn’t outright admit the worry that had begin to grow in her when he didn’t arrive when Morris had promised. Neither would she admit the relief she felt just now seeing him there.

“Sorry.” He says, ending the silence between them. “There was a camp of outlaws not too far out that we came across. We lost track of time…” He trails off and pauses, feeling the water dripping down his head, and wipes his face. “I, uh…would’ve cleaned up better.”

Claire shakes her head. “It’s quite alright. I understand that’s your duty as a Captain.” She says, giving him a small smile. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“I always am.” Owen replies.

Claire pauses slightly, but squeezes past the bed and dresser, coming around to the table. “Hungry?” She asks, not looking at Owen. “Mrs. Morris practically provided a feast.” She says.

Owen only nods, and reaches over, pulling out the seat for her. Their eyes met for a few heartbeats before Claire sits down, scooting herself in. “Thank you.” She whispers, peeking up to watch Owen take his own seat.

They say grace quickly and begin to eat. It’s more civil than either of them thought or imagined it would be. Far from the last time they had spoken to each other.

Owen chews on his food, his eyes moving from the plate and to Claire. Her hair was shorter than when he left Boston, but not by much. Still the same brilliant red and curls all neatly pinned to the side. Her face still soft, but most of her freckles faded…

A glimmer catches his eye. Around her neck, a silver chain hung there and on it, a ring.

He might as well have swallowed a rock instead of food.

“That from your fiancée?” Owen asks, before he could even stop the words from leaving his mouth. Claire pauses, her fingers wrapping around the ring, and gives only one short nod.

Again, he speaks without thinking. “I didn’t see you wearing it before…” He points out. Claire sighs and sits up straight, setting down her fork.

“It was in my purse. I just remembered I had it in there. I did not want to be flashing it all around while traveling.” She replies, praying that this would be where his questions and suddenly realizations would end. But knowing Owen, it was only just starting.

Owen sets his own fork down. “Pretty damn nice ring, too.” He muses and sits back in the chair. “Am I allowed to know who that was from?”

At that Claire squeezes the napkin on her lap tightly and takes a breath “Nathanial.”

“Nate.” Owen deadpanned. “Nate Lewis.”

He really didn’t have to ask any further, the exasperated look on Claire only confirms it. She was going to marry Nate Lewis. The stuffy and pretentious son of a wealthy banker back home. Owen recalled the memories of the scrawny boy that would tail after Claire and himself as children, often boasting about his family’s money and stature. He recalled the way that Nate’s eyes would linger on Claire as he tried to persuade her to join him for the day…Owen could also remember shoving him into the mud.

“He has been courting me for the past two years.” Claire informs. At that Owen snorts.

“Oh, has he now? It’s just recently become mutual on both parts rather than just on his?” He asks. A bit more sharply than he intended. Claire’s eyes narrow.

“I’m feeling tired now.” She says curtly. Flinging down the napkin onto the table, she shoves the chair back. “I’d like to go to bed.”

Owen moves his arm and motions to the bed just inches from the table. “No one’s stopping you, future Mrs. Lewis.”

Claire stiffens and stomps a foot. “That’s just like you, Owen! You just can never just be civil or act decently!” She accuses, pointing a finger at him. “That’s…why I am I even bothering with this?” She shakes her head. “Ass.” She bites out at the last second.

Owen scoffs, grabbing a piece of chicken, biting into it roughly. “Princess.” He gets out between chews. Claire makes a very unladylike face, grabbing pillows and sheets from the dresser.

“What’re you doing?” Owen asks, watching her as Claire began to work.

Tossing a few pillows onto the tiny couch beside the window, Claire begins to tie a long sheet from corner to corner of the wall. “We may be ‘married’, Mr. Grady. But like hell I’m sharing a bed with you.”

Owen lifts a brow and shakes his head, finally stopping his mouth from moving before he could think over his words. What he wanted to say surely would have Claire put him in the ground.

“That couch isn’t comfy.” Owen says, standing. Claire shoves the sheet aside and gives him a look.

“Who said anything about me sleeping on the couch?”

Owen pauses. His lips turning into a frown. “Oh no. You’re the one who doesn’t want to share a bed, you can sleep on the couch.”

Claire settles onto the bed with a sigh, and pauses, bouncing a few times. The sound of creaking springs fills the room. “What kind of bed is this?”

“One for us common folk.” Owen retorts. “Keep that up and the barracks will think we have a great marriage.”

“Shut up.” Claire hisses, though the color on her cheeks betray her. She points to the couch. “I’ve done it up quite nicely for you.”

Owen grumbles under his breath, passing through the sheet. “I should be so damn lucky.” He snarled over the top of the sheet. Claire says nothing and lays down, curling up, listening as Owen shuffles around. Grunting as he tries to get at least a comfortable position to rest in.

“Hey.” Comes his voice after a few minutes. Claire sighs and turns over, lying on her back.

“What is it, Owen?”

Owen grins. “So, what will you be doing about a change of clothes for tonight and the time you’re here?”

He hears her gasp and sit up quickly on the springy mattress. “Damn it!”

Sleep is elusive to both of them. Owen felt his eyes close hours after midnight and Claire just minutes after. The blaring bugle awakes them both at the same time.

Claire can barely tell where she is, as she follows Owen into the mess hall for breakfast. All around soldiers both young and old are speaking loudly and laughing. The pungent smell of strong coffee and burnt ham fills her senses and makes her sick.

“Sit here. I’ll go get some food.” Owen points to an empty spot at the table. Claire drops down, her eyes drooping shut. “Don’t go to sleep, these boys will swipe the food from right under you.” He warns. Claire wants to tell him she doesn’t care if she misses a meal, as long as she could just get one more hour of sleep.

A plate is set before her and Claire’s eyes open wide. A piece of burnt ham, a runny egg and a glob of…whatever, something that had a greyish tint. Her mind went back to Illinois and her hand comes to cover her mouth, holding in a gag.

“Eat up.” Owen says, sitting down by her. “I talked to Morris. Mrs. Morris will be happy to have you over today. Says she’ll also help you out with the dress issue.”

Claire pushes the plate away a bit, only for Owen to bring it back, glaring at a younger cadet that began to reach for it. “She will? She has some spare dresses?” She asks hopefully. Owen chuckles, picking up a tin cup filled with the better smelling coffee.

“I didn’t say anything about spare dresses being handed out, now did I?”

“Ouch!” Claire gasps. She shakes her hand and presses her finger to her mouth. The sewing needle remains pointed up in the mess of fabrics. Her shoulders slump. Three hours and she had made no further progress on this dress than stringing together the starting piece.

“No need to rush, dear.” Mrs. Morris encourages. There’s a kind smile on her round face. “We have all day.”

“I’ll be lucky if I sill have my fingers by the end of it.” Claire huffs, looking at the tips of her fingers. Red and a bit swollen from being poked so much by the sewing needle. She sighs and shakes her head. Oh, Nana must be rolling in her grave. She never allowed her granddaughters to touch anything close to labor work, which included sewing. Even cross-stitch was borderline. Claire barely held a needle and thread in her life.

“How’s Owen?” Mrs. Morris asks. “He’s such a fine young man, I can only imagine him as a husband.”

Claire stops her work and looks to Mrs. Morris as if she had sprouted a new head. Owen? A fine young man? “How do you know Owen besides from…um being part of your husband’s army.”

Mrs. Morris looks to her. “Oh, dear. That boy is almost like a son to me and Mr. Morris. When he first joined up, there was something different about him.”

Where they talking about the same Owen here? Owen Grady, brash, arrogant, and a loud-mouth? Claire stares at her, probing on. “How so?”

“Ah, well. Mr. Morris has this thing. Where he invites the most disciplined and trustworthy cadets to dinner. Owen happened to be one of them.”

No, this couldn’t be the same Owen. Mr. Morris went on. “He was the only decent one. Kept his mouth clean of vulgar talk, offered to help me with the dishes and cleaning, and took off his hat for dinner.”

Claire snorted. “Is that all?”

“I’m sorry, dear?”

“Nothing.” Claire says. She glances out the window, outside she can see a platoon marching by. Beside them, Owen calling out orders and commending them. The same Owen that Mrs. Morris had described. “Nothing at all.”

#clawen #claire x owen #owen x claire #also name drop of a character but they are not actually that character!#i just wanted a sorta shout out name so #her officer his lady

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smallsisnotthrowingawayhershot · 7 years

Text

The Cellar

#the kind of fic you write in the notes section of your phone #that's 90% for me #Good Game #rylex #ashlex #ashland #fic

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thelastspeecher · 7 years

Text

Stan-at-Home - Chapter 5: Responsibility; Recovery

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 AO3

It’s finally here! The next chapter of “Stan-at-Home”, my fic that takes place in an AU where Stan is a stay-at-home dad. And as I was writing this chapter, I decided that, even with these super-long chapters, I can’t tell the story I want to tell in just six of them. So as of right now, this fic will have seven chapters. We’ll see if I write too much and I increase it to eight. Anyways, in this chapter, Ford gets high, there are multiple surprise visits, and brain surgery has side effects. Enjoy.

“Ugh.” Ford groaned without realizing what he was groaning about. He was in a room, somewhere. His surroundings were blurry, so he didn’t have his glasses on.

And…I’m not wearing underwear. Ford groaned again. What happened? Where am I? There was rustling to his left. He winced as someone carefully slid something onto his face. The room became clear. My glasses. Okay then.

“Howdy there, sleepin’ beauty,” a voice said quietly. Ford turned his head carefully. He frowned at the woman sitting by his bed. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her. “Stan actually just left to go pick up the kids.” She cocked her head. “Everything all right, Stanford? Doc said the surgery went well.”

“Angie!” Ford burst out suddenly. Angie jumped, startled.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing, I just- I remembered who you were,” Ford mumbled. Angie raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Ya forgot me, huh? At least ya figured it out.” She leaned forward and adjusted one of Ford’s pillows. The paperback novel that was sitting on her lap slid off. “Oh, shoot,” she said in a good-natured tone, picking the book up again. Ford looked at it with interest.

“Is that a Star Trek novel?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” Angie replied.

“I didn’t take you for a Trekkie,” Ford remarked. Angie chuckled.

“Don’t think ya can call me that. I only ever seen a few episodes of the show. Mostly just read the books.”

“Why?”

“My older brother, Harper, he works in movie special effects. I like them sci-fi things, mostly ‘cause of the biological implications of ‘em. But I can’t watch a good old-fashioned space shootout without hearin’ Harper’s voice in the back of my mind, blabbin’ on and on ‘bout how they did it.”

“He works in Hollywood?” Ford asked, surprised.

“Yep.”

“Did he help with anything I might have seen?”

“Oh, definitely,” Angie said, grinning. “Ya ever heard of Indiana Jones?”

“No. There’s no possible way that your older brother worked on Raiders of the Lost Ark,” Ford said immediately.

“He did. His name’s in the credits. Harper pointed it out to me.”

“But that’s- your brother worked on a Spielberg film?”

“Yep. Got headhunted to work on the next one, too.”

“Holy-” Ford shook his head. “That’s incredible. Why did Fiddleford never tell me?” The lighthearted smile on Angie’s face slipped away. “…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s- it’s fine, Stanford,” Angie said in a falsely cheery voice. She bit her lip and looked down at her lap, carefully smoothing the fabric of her purple skirt. Ford rubbed his eyes. The room was fuzzy again, but this time not in sight. Rather, it was fuzzy in feeling. He could have sworn his body was lighter than usual, and a question he’d wanted to ask for two weeks suddenly didn’t seem inappropriate.

“I’ve been wondering,” Ford said. “Back when we met with Dr. Carmichael the first time, Stan said something.” Angie frowned.

“He was fairly quiet, though.”

“True. But when she asked him if he had any sons, he said ‘Not right now’.” Ford looked at Angie. “Are you going to have any sons?”

“Is this yer way of askin’ me if I’m pregnant?” Angie asked. “‘Cause I ain’t. Not that it’s really yer business, anyways.”

“No, I wasn’t talking about right now. I mean, in the future, will you?”

“Whether or not I have a son is a bit out of my control,” Angie said. “I know Stan would like one. He’s got grand ideas ‘bout baseball and other stereotypical father-son things. Which is, frankly, ridiculous. There’s a 50% chance that if we did have a son, he’d be more McGucket than Pines, and wouldn’t be a fan of baseball and grillin’ and whatever dads do with sons in movies.”

“You’re dancing around the topic,” Ford said. “I can tell because I do the same thing.”

“Fine, I suppose I’ll tell ya what Stan ‘n I have planned, even though ya don’t need to know,” Angie said shortly.

She didn’t need to be rude about it.

“We’re plannin’ on at least one more kid. Not fer a couple years, though. We want the girls to be in kindergarten before they get a lil sibling. And if that goes well, havin’ a fourth, when the third one is ‘bout two or three.” Angie idly picked at her nails. “It’s a couple more kids ‘n I planned on, but Stan loves bein’ a dad so much. And I love havin’ a big fam’ly.” She rolled her eyes. “And even though the girls were a bit rough on me fer the nine months they lived in me, it wasn’t as bad as I was worried it’d be.”

“Yes, so, what is it like to be pregnant?” Ford asked. Angie eyed him.

“Them drugs are somethin’ else, huh.”

“I do feel a bit strange,” Ford conceded. “You didn’t answer my question, though.” He paused. “But maybe you did. If you’re willing to go through it two more times, it can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Angie said, shaking her head. “Spoken like someone who won’t ever have to worry ‘bout bein’ pregnant. It ain’t no walk in the park. I mean, I couldn’t exactly take walks in the park when my feet swelled up.”

“Really. What else did the pregnancy do to your body?” Ford asked. Angie looked at him, perplexed.

“Stanford, yer my brother-in-law, yes. But that don’t really give ya authority to know my medical history.”

“We’re family,” Ford cajoled, the words slurring together. Angie adjusted his pillows again. “You can tell me.”

“I can, but I won’t. Anyways, seems like yer ‘bout to pass out. Get yer rest, Stanford. If yer still curious ‘bout pregnancy when ya wake up, I’ll fetch the books Stan was given by my older brother.” She stroked his head. “Sleep well.”

-----

“Annnnd…done,” Stan said as he wrapped a hair tie around a clump of dark brown curls. “You’re all ready to go, kiddo.” Daisy, who had sat patiently on the floor while Stan braided her hair, jumped up eagerly. She kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Daddy!”

“You got it, sweetie,” Stan replied, poking her nose. Daisy giggled and ran off to play building blocks with Danny and Tate. Stan leaned back on the couch with a sigh. “Ford, those pain meds kickin’ in yet?” he asked idly. There was no response. “Stanford?” Stan looked over. Ford was sitting at the kitchen table, staring intently at a blue sippy cup in front of him. He reached out a hand to touch the cup, seemingly engrossed by the cartoon characters decorating the sides. Stan raised an eyebrow. “Uh, Ford, that’s Danny’s drink, y’know. If ya want juice, you need to get your own cup.”

“Mm,” Ford mumbled, not looking away from the cup, which was half-full of apple juice from breakfast. When Ford didn’t say anything, Stan prompted him.

“Do you want juice, Ford?” After a moment, Ford shook his head slowly. “All right. If ya do, lemme know.” The phone rang. Stan stood up, groaning quietly. He walked over and picked up the phone. “This is Stan speakin’.”

“Stanley, did Stanford ever get ahold of you?” Ma Pines asked abruptly. Stan blinked, startled.

“Uh, yeah, Mom. He’s actually gonna be stayin’ with me for a bit.”

“Okay, good. He called me to get your number, but never followed up. And you never called to tell me anything about him, either. I got worried!”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Stan mumbled. He cleared his throat. “Actually, uh, I was about to call ya.”

“Don’t lie to your mother.”

“No, I really was!” Stan protested. Danny looked up from her blocks to stare at him. Stan winced, suddenly realizing how juvenile he had just sounded.

And in front of my kids and nephew…oops.

“What would make you suddenly wanna pick up a phone to call me?” Ma Pines demanded. Stan rubbed the back of his neck and turned away from his daughter’s judgmental gaze.

“My, um, my wife said I should,” Stan muttered.

“Your what?”

“My wife. Her- her name’s Angie.”

“You got married?! When did that happen?”

“1978,” Stan replied quietly. There was a pause. “Uh, Mom?”

“You got married four years ago and didn’t tell your mother?!”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

“You didn’t invite me!”

“I didn’t want Pops to see the invitation and come,” Stan said quickly. “So I told Angie that you, uh, you weren’t around.”

“‘Weren’t around’? Stanley Pines, did you kill me off?” Ma Pines asked, in a low tone that suggested she was barely keeping her anger under control.

“…Yeah,” Stan said reluctantly. “And, uh, also my- my last name isn’t Pines anymore. I took Angie’s last name,” he added quickly.

“Huh.” That last tidbit of information seemed to take Ma Pines by surprise, calming her anger for the moment. “Well, that’s certainly something.”

“The reason behind it is…complicated. But Angie had no clue you were around, or she woulda called you by now. She- she wanted me to say that. She even wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.”

“Hmm.”

“I think you’d like her. Angie’s, uh, her family calls her a firecracker.”

“She’d have to be, to be able to handle you.”

“Yeah…” Stan looked down at his feet. “There’s one other thing I need to tell ya.”

“And what would that be?” Ma Pines said cautiously. Stan winced, well aware of how poorly his mother would take the news.

“You’ve got two granddaughters,” Stan said. He fought the urge to go hide in a bomb shelter somewhere.

“What?!” Ma Pines yelped.

“Twin girls. Danica Viola and Daisy Leigh. They’re about three years old now. Funny story, actually, Angie was still goin’ to college when she got pregnant, so her kids went to her graduation. Well, they’re her kids but they’re also mine. I helped make ‘em,” Stan said.

Stop, Stan. You’re rambling.

“Danica and Daisy.”

“Yes.”

“You waited until my granddaughters were three to tell me about them?!”

“I-”

“Your address hasn’t changed since we last spoke, has it?”

“No, I-” Stan felt someone tug at his shirt. He looked down. “What is it, princess?” he asked Danny. Danny pointed at the front door, which was wide open.

“Uncle Ford’s gone,” she said quietly. Stan’s heart stopped.

Ford’s gone. He’s a grown man that had brain surgery two weeks ago and is on a serious pain med high. Shit shit shit.

“Uh, Mom, I’m gonna have to call you back,” he said into the mouthpiece, his voice shaking slightly. “Gotta situation over here.”

“With twins, there’s always a situation,” Ma Pines said idly. She hung up the phone. Stan blindly slammed the phone in the general direction of the hook for a few times before he got it right.

“Good eye, Danny,” Stan said. He fought back his panic and scooped Danny up in his arms. “Daisy, Tate, come on, we gotta get shoes on! We’re gonna go on a Ford hunt!”

-----

Angie opened the door to the room they set aside for children separated from their parents at the zoo. Jim, one of the people who worked admissions, walked over to her quickly.

“I got a page sayin’ I needed to pick someone up?” Angie asked. Jim nodded.

“Yeah, uh, this guy’s your brother-in-law, right?” Jim said, pointing to a man sitting on a bench. Angie sighed.

“Yes. That’s him.”

“So do you wanna take him home or…?”

“I’ll call my husband in a minute. Thanks, Jim,” Angie said. Jim nodded. Angie walked over to Ford and took a seat next to him. “Stanford?” Ford looked at her, a wide grin stretched across his face.

“Hello, Dr. McGucket!” he said in a very loud voice. Angie stifled a groan.

“Did ya take yer meds today?” she asked. Ford nodded. “And after ya took yer meds-”

“I left!” Ford said cheerfully. He scoffed. “I don’t need to be nannied by my twin brother. Especially given that he’s the younger one.” Feeling something tugging her pants leg, Angie looked down. She blinked at the goat chewing on her slacks.

“Stanford, do ya know this goat?” she asked slowly.

“Yep! Rented him.”

“Why?”

“Well, Apple is clearly not a dog,” Ford started. “For one thing, he knows about my connections with Bill. This is excruciatingly obvious.”

“How do ya know, did Apple tell ya or somethin’?” Angie asked idly. Ford frowned.

“No. I didn’t ask. I should ask.”

“No, ya should go home.” Ford shook his head. “Stanford, ya can’t stay at the zoo all day. Why did ya come here in the first place?”

“So that the goat I rented could meet the other goats!” Ford chirped. Angie frowned.

“What?” she asked. Ford looked around carefully and then leaned closer to her.

“I’m here to free the other animals,” he said in an exaggerated whisper. Angie stared at him, perplexed.

“With…the goat?”

“The goat is my accomplice.”

“Uh-huh. I’m goin’ to call Stan. He’ll come pick ya up.” Angie stood up. Ford tugged at her shirt desperately.

“Don’t leave me alone with them!” he said. Angie looked at the people he was pointing toward. She sighed.

“They’re ‘bout six years old. I highly doubt they’ll mug ya and steal the goat, darlin’.”

“You don’t know!” Ford protested. Angie groaned.

“Just stay put while I call Stan! Then I’ll come and protect ya from the children.”

“And the goat.”

“Yes, I will protect you and the goat.”

-----

“How did your dog even reach the shelves?” Ford asked. Now officially a month post-operation, Ford’s pain medication had decreased to a more manageable dosage. He was relieved to have his mind clear again, even if that meant he had to pick up some responsibilities. For example, he was keeping an eye on the three children while Stan cleaned up the bathroom.

“It’s a weird dog,” Stan said with a sigh.

“Not only did it dig through the bathroom trash, but it somehow knocked over all the shampoo bottles.”

“Don’t need a play-by-play, Sixer.”

“I’m just impressed by your dog’s appetite for destruction.” The doorbell rang.

“Ford, get it, would ya?” Stan asked.

“On it.” Ford got up from the couch and opened the door. He was face-to-face with two men, both of whom had very large noses. The shorter one squinted at Ford with gray eyes.

“Yer not Stan,” the stranger said.

“Uh, no. May I ask who you are?” Ford asked. The man opened his mouth, but before he could speak, he was interrupted by a shout.

“Unclute!” Daisy shrieked happily, running past Ford to grab onto the man’s leg. The man chuckled.

“Hey there, munchkin,” he said, crouching down, picking her up, and standing again. He poked her belly. “Gosh, yer bigger ‘n bigger each time I see ya.” Daisy tugged on the man’s dark hair.

“We gotta new uncle!” she said exuberantly. She pointed at Ford. “He’s our Uncle Ford!” The man smiled at Ford.

“Howdy, the name’s Lute, the feller standin’ by me is my older brother, Harper.”

“So this is the mysterious ‘Ford’,” Harper said. He pushed his rectangular glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Howdy.”

“Uh, hello.”

“Who is it?” Stan called.

“Two men named Lute and Harper!” Ford replied.

“They’re Angie’s older brothers, let ‘em in,” Stan said. Ford stood to the side. The brothers filed in. Harper made a beeline for Danny, who was building a very complex vehicle with her Legos.

“Howdy, kidlet,” Harper said gently. Danny beamed at him and, like her sister, embraced her uncle’s leg. Harper laughed. “Yer just as clingy as yer ma used to be.” Danny squeezed her uncle’s leg tighter. Ford could see the family resemblance between Angie and her brothers. Not only did all three have the same nose, but they had similar cheekbones, and Harper’s hair was the same color as Angie’s.

“So, Ford, I heard ‘bout who ya are,” Lute said. Ford turned. Lute had put Daisy down and was now staring at him, his arms crossed. “Yer relation to Tate, fer one thing.” At the sound of his name, Tate looked up from his picture book.

“Uncle Lute?”

“Oh, hey kidlet. Didn’t see ya there,” Lute said. Tate shrugged. “Don’t worry, you ain’t in trouble. Yer dad is, though.”

“Okay,” Tate said, turning his attention back to his book.

“In my defense-” Ford started.

“Don’t care,” Lute said abruptly. “Ya didn’t contact yer college roommate fer so long. That’s yer own dang fault. So is not tellin’ his fam’ly what happened to him.”

“Look, I-”

“Don’t bother arguin’ with Lute,” Stan said. He walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. “Lute’s too dang stubborn to change his mind ‘bout anything.” Stan smiled at his brothers-in-law. “Hey, Lute, Harper. Good to see ya again.” Lute frowned at Stan.

“I ain’t happy with ya either, Stan.”

“Neither of us are,” Harper said. “Ya lied to our baby sister.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly.

“Yeah, I know I did a pretty shi- cruddy thing,” Stan said. “But at least she knows now.”

“The only reason she knows is ‘cause yer twin brother showed up out of the blue,” Lute pointed out. “Ya weren’t even plannin’ on tellin’ her! Is the Pines fam’ly just full of- of dishonorable men?”

“…‘Dishonorable men’?” Stan asked. “Now I’m too amused to be scared of ya, McGucket.” Lute crossed his arms.

“What else am I s’posed to call the two of ya?” Lute asked.

“To be fair, our older brother Shermie is, by all accounts, a decent guy,” Ford put in. Lute raised an eyebrow.

“So he must’ve taken up all the decentness when he was born then, huh?” Lute said. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Look, I get that you guys are upset,” Stan said. “But we’re brothers now, right?”

“Right,” Harper said after a beat.

“Maybe cut me a bit of slack? And I guess Ford, too. He didn’t know about Tate.”

“He should’ve,” Lute said immediately.

“I’m not disagreein’ with ya,” Stan said.

“Thanks, Stan,” Ford muttered. There was a clatter from the kitchen.

“No, Gompers!” Danny said, detaching herself from Harper’s leg. She padded over to the goat, who was digging through the trash it had just knocked over. “Bad goat,” she said, patting him on the back. Lute and Harper stared.

“The goat’s new,” Lute said idly.

“Yeah,” Stan said, walking over to the latest mess to pick it up. He shoved the goat’s head away from him. “Ford rented it when he was on a pain med bender. Somethin’ about proving Apple’s a chupacabra. Of course, since Apple’s a dog, not a Mexican demon, nothin’ happened.” Stan glared at Ford. “Then Apple and the goat had to go and become friends, so the kids freaked out when Angie and I tried to return it.”

“Uncle Ford got upset, too,” Daisy said helpfully.

“Oh yeah. We had to buy the darn thing so that the literal children and my adult twin brother wouldn’t cry,” Stan finished. Ford flushed.

“Stanley, please.”

“Hey, Daisy’s the one who brought it up. You got a problem, talk to her,” Stan said, setting the trashcan upright again.

“Uh, pain med bender?” Lute said slowly.

“Uncle Ford’s brain was broked,” Danny supplied, now hugging Gompers. “Doctors fixed it, but he was a bit funny after.”

“Stanford, you had brain surgery?” Harper asked. Ford nodded.

“Yes. Nothing too concerning, although it was decreasing my quality of life immensely,” Ford said. Stan scoffed.

“‘Nothing too concerning,’ he says,” Stan muttered under his breath.

“If you’d told us, we would’ve been easier on ya,” Lute said.

“…Oh,” Ford said, unsure of how to respond.

“When Uncle Ford ran away, he got ice cream without us!” Daisy said.

“Well, that’s just rude,” Lute said to his young niece.

“Yeah, Ford escaped when I turned my back for two minutes,” Stan explained. “He bought an ice cream cone, rented a goat, and went to the zoo.”

“Why would ya bring a goat to the zoo? Zoo’s already got those,” Harper said, taking a seat on the couch. Lute joined him.

“The goat was my accomplice in freeing the animals from the petting zoo,” Ford said. He let out a small chuckle, remembering the blissful ignorance of his scrambled mind. “It all made perfect sense at the moment.”

“It always does,” Harper said sagely.

“So how long are you two gonna stay?” Stan asked as he finally finished picking up the scattered pieces of trash. “Ya have to stay for dinner. Angie’d be upset if she missed ya. But if you wanna stay overnight, you’ll have to camp in the living room. Ford’s got the guestroom.”

“Oh, no, we were just plannin’ on comin’ down fer a friendly scoldin’ and yellin’ session,” Lute said breezily. “Don’t want to impose.”

Apparently the McGuckets have a different definition of “friendly” than I do, if scolding and yelling qualifies. As though he could read Ford’s mind, Lute turned to Ford.

“Now, this is a friendly session, trust me. If it weren’t, you’d prob’ly be in tears.”

“After the things I’ve seen, not much can bring me to tears,” Ford remarked.

“Aside from separating a goat and a dog,” Harper said, raising an eyebrow.

“In my defense, they had befriended each other. What sort of monster would break apart such a lovely relationship?” Ford replied. Lute and Harper both chuckled. Stan caught Ford’s eye and winked. Ford knew what Stan would say later.

“See? Ya freaked out over Tate and the McGuckets. But ya didn’t need to. They’re good people, and even you can be a charmer when ya try to.”

-----

Ford handed Tate his backpack.

“I’ve packed some pictures I took in the field, as a treat,” Ford told his son. “Not- not the edible kind of treat. Please don’t eat the pictures.”

“It’s okay, Dad, I know,” Tate said calmly. He cocked his head. “What are they of?”

“Our, ahem, mutual friend,” Ford said with a wink. Tate’s eyes widened.

“Bigfoot?”

“The one and only. Well, actually, there is more than one bigfoot. There are whole societies of them, and Gravity Falls has one in the nearby mountain range.”

“Wow. Will you take me there? Please?” Tate begged. The doorbell rang. Ford smiled.

“If your mother gives me permission to take you next summer, or even sooner, absolutely,” he replied. Tate beamed. The doorbell rang again. “I should get that. It’s your mother, no doubt.” Ford walked over and opened the front door. Jenny McGucket smiled politely.

“Stanford. You look well.”

“I feel better than I did last time we spoke.”

“Clearly,” Jenny said. She peered past Ford. “Tater Tot! You ready to go?”

“I need to say goodbye to folks first,” Tate said, running out of the living room. He zipped into the girls’ bedroom, where Stan was helping Danny and Daisy get dressed.

“Did Tate have a good time?” Jenny asked Ford.

“I believe so. He’s quite the smart boy.”

“Yes, he is. I’m awful proud of him,” Jenny said. “The two of you got along all right?”

“Yes, we did. And actually,” Ford said, deciding to be upfront, “I’d like to talk custody with you sometime.”

“Custody?”

“When Fiddleford returns, I assume the two of you will maintain primary custody. But I’d like to have Tate during the summer, at least,” Ford said. “The lion’s share of my research is done then, and Tate has shown a vested interest in my work.” Jenny bit her lip. “What? I thought you’d be happy that I’m trying to be an involved father.”

“Oh, I am. It’s just that…I’m not sure if you’re ready for it quite yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“You watched him for about a month and a half. And you had help, from Stan and Angie, who both have more experience in childcare than you do. On your own, in a different state, for three whole months? I’m sorry, Stanford, I just don’t think you can handle it right now.”

“Tate is-”

“Very well-behaved, particularly for a child of his age. But he’s still a child.” Jenny smiled apologetically. “Maybe we can begin the custody conversation after Fidds comes back. It’s just- Stanford, were you ever left alone, in charge of the kids, during this entire time? Even for ten minutes?”

“…No,” Ford conceded.

“I’m sorry to hit you with this right now,” Jenny said quietly. “So soon after your surgery.”

“It’s been seven weeks; I’m not an invalid anymore,” Ford said, bristling.

“All right,” Jenny said after a moment, in a decidedly neutral tone. “Tater Tot, we have to get going!”

“Coming, Mom!” Tate called, running back to the front door. “Dad, I need to say goodbye to you, too.”

“Oh. Of course.” Ford crouched down for a hug. He squeezed his son tightly.

Don’t think about how long it might be before you see him again. Don’t do it.

“Goodbye, Tate,” Ford said quietly.

“Bye, Dad.” Tate broke off the hug and beamed at him. “Next summer, we’re gonna go find bigfoot, right?”

“We’ll see,” Ford said with a weak smile.

“Bye, Stan, thank Angie for me, will ya?” Jenny called.

“Yep!” Stan shouted back. Jenny and Tate left the house, Tate making a small wave at Ford as he walked away. Ford closed the door and leaned against it.

“Damn,” Ford whispered.

I can’t believe I’ve grown so attached to Tate, given the short amount of time that I’ve known him. Maybe Fiddleford will be able to convince Jenny about the custody arrangement. …No, that won’t happen. Not after what I did. Ford’s musings were cut short by his nieces rocketing down the hallway, shrieking at the tops of their lungs.

“Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!” Danny and Daisy yelled, racing through the living room and into the kitchen like twin tornadoes. Despite himself, Ford cracked a half-smile at their innocent enthusiasm. Stan followed his daughters at a more languid pace.

“Okay, gremlins,” Stan said, picking up his daughters and putting them in their chairs. “Breakfast, it is. Today is Leftover Wednesday. On the menu, we have leftover hashbrowns, leftover pancakes, fruit, and toast. What’ll it be?”

“Corn stuff,” Daisy said promptly.

“Did I say corn stuff was on the menu?” Stan asked.

“…No.”

“It’s Leftover Wednesday,” Stan reminded her.

“Leftover corn stuff,” Danny suggested.

“There’s never any leftover corn stuff. You monsters eat it like a plague of locusts,” Stan said, exasperated.

“What’s that?” Daisy asked. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s when a bunch of grasshoppers eat all the crops and don’t leave anything behind,” Stan explained.

“I’m not a grasshopper!” Daisy protested.

“No, you’re pickier than one. If you two don’t make up your minds soon, I’ll choose for you,” Stan said.

“Fruit!” Danny yelled.

“Cakepans!” Daisy shouted. Stan winced slightly at his daughters’ loud voices, but carried on.

“Hot or cold?” Stan asked.

“Cold,” Daisy said.

“Got it. An order of fruit and an order of pancakes comin’ up,” Stan said. Ford, who had been watching the exchange idly, frowned.

Hmm. That’s certainly an idea.

“Uh, Stan?” Ford said, after Stan had given his daughters their breakfasts. Stan walked over.

“Yeah?”

“Could I- could I babysit the girls sometime? So that I have more experience in taking care of children.”

“This is a joke, right?” Stan said. “Sixer, leave the comedy to the pros.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“You really wanna babysit my demon spawn?” Stan asked. “You’ve been around, you know that the two of ‘em are hel- heck on wheels.”

“Yes. I’ve seen the chaos they seem to court, but I’ve also seen the methods you use to calm them down,” Ford said. “Anyways, isn’t it my responsibility as an uncle to help supervise?” Stan eyed him.

“I’ll talk to Angie about it,” Stan said after a moment. “Right now, go do your physical therapy.”

“Very well,” Ford said.

It’s not much, but given how protective Stan is of his children, it’s a start. Ford walked into the kitchen and took a seat next to Danny, who beamed at him. Stan placed a sheet of paper and a comically large pencil in front of Ford.

“What’s the task for today?” Ford asked, carefully picking up the pencil. He frowned at the tremors in his hand, which were not brought on from caffeine. Rather, decreased mobility and usage of his dominant hand was one of the surgery’s side effects, along with slurred speech. At his six week follow-up appointment, Ford had mentioned to Dr. Carmichael that, despite no longer using the pain medication, it seemed like he still was experiencing the medicine’s sedative abilities.

“You’ve had this since the operation?” Dr. Carmichael asked.

“Yes, from the pain medication,” Ford replied. Dr. Carmichael shook her head.

“No. These symptoms are from the surgery.” She took out a piece of paper and began to scribble on it. “I’ll recommend you to a physical therapist and speech therapist, who will likely give you exercises you can do at home.” Dr. Carmichael handed the paper to Ford. “These are temporary, but only if you go through the therapy.”

“Understood.”

“You’re doing a drawing today,” Stan replied.

“What am I drawing?”

“As many plants as possible,” Stan said.

“Daddy! Gotta go!” Daisy shrieked suddenly, rocking back and forth in her chair. Stan’s eyes widened.

“All right, kid, let’s do this,” Stan said, picking Daisy up. He ran to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Stan returned, holding Daisy again. Ford looked up from his shakily-drawn lilies.

“How’d it go?” Ford asked. Stan beamed.

“Daisy’s gettin’ closer to losin’ those nasty diapers. Aren’t ya?” he cooed at his daughter. Daisy giggled, clearly proud of herself. “Can’t wait until I’m done with ‘em.”

“You’ll be dealing with them again, though,” Ford pointed out. Stan frowned.

“What?”

“Don’t you and Angie have plans for more children?”

“Well, yeah, but not for a while, Sixer, geez. Don’t scare me like that. I thought you found a positive test in the trash or somethin’.”

“Unlike your dog and goat, I don’t dig through the garbage,” Ford retorted, returning to his drawing.

“Yeah, and whose fault is it that I have a goat?” Stan said. The doorbell rang. “Saved by the bell, Poindexter.”

“Sure,” Ford mumbled. As Stan went to get the door, Ford focused on his exercise, carefully etching out a lopsided daisy.

“Pretty,” Danny said quietly. Ford smiled at his niece.

“Thank you, Danny.”

“My goodness, Stanley, why is your hair so long?” a familiar voice said. Ford’s heart leapt into his mouth. He turned. Standing at the front door was someone he knew very well. Stan seemed shell-shocked; he took a solid two minutes to croak out his startled response.

“M-Mom?”

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