#Seven: Just stands in the corner staring - also mentions everyone's sleeping habits | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feedmecookiesnow · 4 years

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Can I Stay With You?

For @hopelessly-me who asked for a Winterhawk “Can I stay with you” from the prompt list:

Not NSFW, but we’ll say 18+ just to be safe.

***

At three am, there’s an unholy sound of someone pounding on his front door. Bucky stumbles out of bed, remembering at the last second to put pants on, and wrenches it open with a very irritated, “What?”

Clint is standing there, looking just as exhausted and annoyed as he is. “Hi,” he says. “Can I stay with you?”

Bucky rubs his eyes and tries to force his brain online. “What?”

“Can I stay with you?”

He stares at Clint for a moment, then opens the door a little more and gestures to the couch behind him. Then he turns and goes back to his own room. Behind him, he hears Clint close the door with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Bucky makes a sound that could maybe be described as “whatever” and is asleep again before his head hits the pillow.

It’s seven am the next time his eyes open, He sits up fast, still covered in cold sweat from his last nightmare. Nothing unusual there.

What is unusual is the smell of pancakes drifting through the apartment. Burnt slightly, but still kind of appealing. Bucky rubs the grit from his eyes and gets up, tired and sore from sleeping wrong, and goes to investigate.

Clint is standing in his kitchen, wearing nothing but a black t-shirt and a pair of boxers with little purple things on them. Eggplants, maybe? His back is to Bucky, and he’s humming something quietly.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

Clint jumps a little, dropping one of the pancakes onto the floor. “Hi. Good morning. You let me in last night, remember?”

“Yes.” Bucky rubs his forehead. “No. Kind of.”

“There was a gas leak in my building,” Clint says. “The fire department dragged me out of bed and made me leave.”

Bucky sits at his little kitchen table and looks at the two plates set out. “Why?”

“Why did they make me leave?” Clint raises an eyebrow. “It’s a gas leak, Barnes. The building could have exploded.”

“Why are you here?” It’s not that he doesn’t like Clint, but it’s weird that he’s here. At the very least, he would’ve thought Clint would try Natasha or someone first.

“Oh.” He grabs one of the plates and starts putting pancakes on it. “Because you live closest to me, it was three in the morning, and I was standing outside in my underwear?”

Well. That’s probably fair.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Clint says. “I wouldn’t have if I could’ve avoided it.”

Bucky waves a hand. “Whatever.” He takes the plate from Clint and looks at it. “Pancakes?”

“Consider it an apology breakfast.” Clint pours him a mug of coffee. “We can eat, wake up a little bit, and then I’ll go back to my place and see if I can get in. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The pancakes are good, if not slightly burnt, and the coffee is perfect. It’s nice, actually, to sit and eat breakfast. He usually skips it---either too keyed up from his nightmares, or too busy to have real food. “These are good.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky drains the coffee and gets up for another mug. “So...gas leak?”

Clint shrugs. “Apparently. I don’t know much. All I know is that I was sleeping, and next thing I know, there was some super hot fireman standing over my bed, shaking me awake and telling me to come with him. I thought it was a dream until I got outside and saw everyone else.”

Bucky laughs. “What about your roommate?”

“Kate’s with her dad in California. She’s got Lucky too, so it was just me in there.” He looks at his legs with dismay. “They didn’t even let me get real pants. I had to walk twelve blocks like this.”

“You can borrow some of my stuff,” Bucky says before even realizing he’s made the offer. “I won’t make you walk back wearing just eggplants.”

Clint smiles slightly and nods. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

They finish breakfast. Clint insists on doing the dishes too, so Bucky goes back to his room and tries to find some clothes that’ll fit him. He finally settles on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt. “Here,” he says, handing them to Clint. “I think these’ll fit you? Might be a little short.”

“Curse of being tall,” Clint says with a grin. “Thanks, Barnes. Seriously.” He pulls the jeans on right there, almost tipping himself over while he hops around on one foot.

Bucky rolls his eyes and steadies him. “Are you capable of doing anything without injuring yourself?”

“Yes,” Clint says, sounding mildly offended. He buttons the jeans, then reaches up and pulls off his shirt, revealing a very muscular torso half-plastered with bandages and medical tape. He looks at himself for a moment, then adds, “This means nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky says, oddly disappointed when Clint puts the new shirt on. He takes the other one and tosses it in his laundry basket. “I’ll wash that and give it back.”

“You’re awesome,” Clint says. “Insults to my capabilities aside.”

Bucky grins. “Come on. Let’s go see if you can get into your place.”

They can’t. They can’t even get close to it. A main gas line has blown, apparently, and they’re not letting anyone in. The whole block is cordoned off. After an hour of fruitless negotiating, pleading, and begging, the best answer they get is “It’ll be about two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Clint throws his arms out. “But I don’t have any stuff! What am I supposed to do for two weeks, be homeless?”

“Sorry, sir,” the fire chief says. “Can’t help you.”

He walks away. Clint stares after him. “Great,” he finally says, and tilts his head up to the sky. “What did I do to deserve this, huh?”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, not sure what to follow it with.

Clint waves a hand and rubs his forehead. “It’s fine. I’ll figure out something.”

“You can stay with me again,” Bucky offers. “It’s only two weeks. We can buy you some clothes, and I’ve got an extra toothbrush.”

“No, I don’t want to be in the way---”

“It’s not,” Bucky says quickly, for some reason desperate for him to say yes. “It’s fine. It would be nice to have a roommate. For a bit.”

Clint studies him. “You sure?”

“Definitely.” Bucky nudges him with an elbow. “I expect breakfast every morning, though.”

Clint laughs. “Okay. I can do that.”

So that’s how Bucky ends up with a temporary roommate. It’s weird at first, if he’s being perfectly honest with himself. He hasn’t lived with anyone since joining the Avengers, not even a guest, and it takes him awhile to get used to sharing a space---particularly the bathroom. But other than a couple of arguments, they manage to make it work, settling into a comfortable rhythm.

Three weeks into this new arrangement, Bucky comes back from the grocery store to find Clint packing his clothes into a duffle bag. He’s wearing Bucky’s jeans again, and Bucky can’t help but notice how tight they are, riding low across his hips. “What’s going on?”

“I’m good to move back,” Clint says, grinning at him. “Building is safe for habitation again.” He hefts the bag. “I’m just using this for transport. I’ll bring it back.”

“You can keep it, I don’t care.” He tears his eyes off the jeans and looks up. “Well. Congrats on getting your apartment back.”

“Thank you,” Clint says, apparently oblivious to the disappointment in Bucky’s voice. Bucky swallows it down and helps him pack the rest of his things. When they’re done, Clint shoulders the bag and looks at him. “Well. This has been fun.”

“It has,” Bucky agrees. “Do you need help moving in?”

“Nah, I’ve interfered in your life enough.” Clint taps his fingers on his thigh for a moment, then says, “Seriously, though. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“Anytime,” Bucky says, trying to imbue the words with all the subtext he can. “I liked having you here.”

Clint looks like he wants to say something, but after a moment, he shakes his head. “I’ll see you at work?”

“Sure.”

He leaves, then. Bucky doesn’t close the door until he disappears around the corner. Then he turns to look at his apartment. It seems smaller, somehow, which definitely doesn’t make sense. It should feel bigger now that there’s not two grown men taking up space.

Maybe smaller is the wrong word. It’s not smaller. It’s empty. There’s a distinct sense of something missing. Like losing a tooth, Bucky thinks, and all he can do is probe at the blank space where there used to be something better.

“Get over it,” he says to himself, and starts picking up blankets from the couch. “It didn’t mean anything. You were just being a good friend. That’s all you want from him. You’re just friends.”

He keeps telling himself this. He repeats it all day.

He doesn’t believe a word of it.

A week later, he’s watching TV. He misses Clint’s running commentary, which usually ended with both of them laughing their assess off. It’s just not the same on his own.

His phone rings, and he answers without looking. “Barnes.”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Bucky sits up straight and mutes the TV. “Clint? What’s up?”

“Kate’s back,” he says, “and she’s having a sleepover.” There’s a distinct shrieking of laughter in the background, and Bucky can almost hear Clint’s wince. “They’re loud and they’re very girly. Which is fine, but also they’re so loud. Did I mention they’re loud? We’re talking undiscovered decibels here.”

“I think you mentioned it, yeah.”

“Anyway. Can I stay with you?”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

“Just for tonight,” Clint rushes to add. “Not three weeks again. I just need a break. They’re loud. Have I said that yet?”

Can’t you just take your hearing aids out? is the first thing that comes to Bucky’s mind, and he almost says it.

Then he looks around at his empty apartment, and the newscaster on television, and instead says, “Bring something to drink.”

“Awesome,” Clint says. “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up. Bucky stares at his phone for a moment, then looks around his apartment. It’s---well, it’s not a mess, but it’s not pretty. Not fit for company. He quickly gets up and does some frantic cleaning. He’s not sure why---Clint’s worse than he is, he makes Bucky look military neat---but he does it anyway.

He’s working on the dishes when the door opens. “Hey,” Clint calls. “Door’s unlocked, I’m coming in.”

“Hey,” Bucky calls back. He puts the last plate on the rack and dries his hands. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” Clint says, flashing a smile, and Bucky’s chest gets a little tighter at the sight. “I brought beer.” He raises a six-pack.

“Works for me.” Bucky sticks it in the fridge. “So how’s Kate?”

Clint winces. “I love her, but man, when she gets together with her girlfriends...” He shudders and drops his bag by the couch. “I don’t think they communicate with words. I think it’s just high pitched squealing noises. Seriously.” He shakes his head.

Bucky pulls two beers out and drops on the couch next to him. “Well, you’re welcome over here anytime.”

“It’s very appreciated.”

They drink beer and watch TV. It’s like how it was before, stepping back into their routine with barely a beat missed, and Bucky can’t stop himself from smiling.

Clint notices. “What’re you so happy about?”

“I like having you here,” Bucky says honestly. “It’s nice.”

Clint blinks, and then a smile spreads across his face. “Yeah?”

“I liked living with you too.” He’s already started, he might as well keep going. “I didn’t realize until you left, but it was really nice to have someone around.”

“It’s nice,” Clint agrees. “Roommates can be awesome.”

They’re quiet for a while after that. Bucky tries to think of something to say, but he can’t focus. Clint is wearing his jeans again, and they’re still too tight, and they’re still obscenely low across his hips, and the casual way he’s sitting---

“Eyes up, soldier,” Clint says, watching him, and Bucky blushes hard. Clint grins at him and sips his beer.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, face still burning. “I’m---that was rude, I shouldn’t do that.”

“I’m just teasing you,” Clint winks. “I don’t mind. I know these look good on me.”

“They’d look better on my bedroom floor,” Bucky says without thinking, and then nearly drops his beer from shock as the statement hits him a second later. “I mean---that’s not---”

Clint is suddenly very still, eyes fixed on the beer in his hand. After a moment, Bucky stops stammering out excuses, and resigns himself to dying of embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mutters again, and wishes he could just disappear into the couch.

“You mean that?” Clint asks after a moment, He turns and sets his beer down, then looks at Bucky. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugs, trying for casual and definitely not making it. “Just a thought.”

“Just a thought,” Clint echoes. “Okay. And if I wanted it to be more than a thought?”

Bucky stares at him, barely daring to hope. “Wait. You do?”

“Uh, yeah.” He sounds a little breathless, a little excited. “Have you seen yourself? Of course I want that, you’re---”

He cuts off with a surprised noise, as Bucky leans forward and kisses him. Then he loses his balance and falls backwards, whacking his head on the arm of the couch with a soft, “Ow.”

Bucky chuckles. “Can’t do anything without hurting yourself, can you?”

“Your fault,” Clint pants, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down. “You knocked me over.”

“My bad.”

They kiss again, intense and hungry and heated. Part of Bucky feels like he should take it slow, make it a little softer. But then Clint’s leg hitches over him, pulling him closer, and all coherent thought flies out the window.

They break apart with a gasp, both panting. “Think we knocked your beer over,” Clint says.

“It’s empty,” Bucky says, kissing him again.

“Good.” Clint’s hand slips under his shirt. “Off.”

Bucky tugs his shirt off and tosses it somewhere. Clint puts a hand on his chest, skimming over his torso with an appreciative touch. “Your abs are unfair,” he says, poking them. “Seriously. Like, Greek god levels of unfair.”

“You’ve got abs.”

“Not like this.”

“Do more sit-ups, then.”

“I do sit-ups!”

“Not enough, apparently.”

“You---” Clint scowls up at him, and it’s honestly kind of adorable. “I don’t need your judgement. Shut up and kiss me.”

“Sure,” Bucky agrees, leaning back down. It’s a little slower this time, a little less frantic. Bucky hasn’t done this in a long time, but he’s missed it. He’d forgotten how nice it can be to get wrapped up in this, how easy it is to get lost in the taste of someone else---

They tip sideways and fall, Bucky twisting at the last second so he takes the impact instead of Clint. “Shit,” Clint says, flushing red. “Sorry, that was my fault.”

Bucky laughs. “It’s fine,” he says. “But why don’t we take this to my room before you really hurt yourself?”

“Works for me,” Clint says, standing up. He offers Bucky a hand, and pulls him to his feet. “I have been known to fall off beds, though. Fair warning.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky says. “I’m sure I can figure out a way to keep you in one place.” He winks. “For safety reasons, you know.”

“Looking forward to seeing your methods,” Clint says with a grin, and lets Bucky tug him down the hallway to the bedroom.

***

Charity Hawktion Self-Promo! If you like the things I write and would like me to write something specifically for you, you can bid on me here! Winner will get a 5-10k word story of their choosing (possibly longer because I am a verbose motherfucker). If you can participate, I encourage you to do so, and if not, that’s okay too! Thank you for reading!

#winterhawk #cookiewrites #clint barton #bucky barnes #clint/bucky #prompts #hopelesslyme

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years

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May I have a match up with Arthur Fleck pls? I'm 29, 5'3 I work as a receptionist in a hospital. I love to bake and cook. I'm very shy and can be awkward. People usually say I'm eccentric but very sweet. I love to dance, and read books. I love to wear dresses and have a crazy sock collection. Thank you!

Arthur Fleck

You two are perfect for each other! As a receptionist, I can imagine that you get your fair share of rude people (doesn’t everyone who works in the public sector?). Arthur has a habit of stalking the people that he cares about, so when he sees someone being rude to you, he would have his eyes on you. When he can see that your face is starting to flush, he would step in with a random question, making it look accidental to the untrained eye as he nudges the rude person out of the way. He’s so protective. If he were anyone else, it would be creepy, but it’s Arthur and it’s the best he can do in the moment. You would always be the one to patch him up when he gets beaten; he won’t go anywhere near a hospital and would prefer for you to look him over, even if you know very little about medical care in this respect.

You love to bake and cook, and Arthur genuinely doesn’t eat much, smokes way too much, works way too hard and his seven different meds all put together mean that he is scarily emaciated. You would be able to get him to eat, and though he wouldn’t put any weight on because of the aforementioned factors, you would at least feel safe in knowing that he’s not wasting away. He would always sincerely compliment your efforts, and when you’re finished, he’s the one to tidy it all away. He wants you to enjoy your creations, and he wants to help you.

You’re shy and awkward and Arthur would have been smitten with you from the very first moment that you mumbled out a greeting. You’re short, too, a good half a foot shorter than he is, so this all means that he’s very protective. He won’t ever stand up for himself, he’s learned to be passive and silent, to keep his head down and let the world treat him as it always has, but when it comes to you, he can, has and will punch people out if they try to hurt you in any way.

You’re eccentric and sweet, so like I said already - you’re perfect for each other! You both have music in your souls so it’s not unusual for you to cheer the other up by dancing with them without any music. Swaying together or dancing to the soft jazz playing on the Murray show or even just doing your own little dances separate from each other; it doesn’t matter. Dancing is such a huge part of your relationship together. You’re an avid reader and often when he’s feeling down, Arthur would want to lay his head in your lap and listen to you read to him. Sometimes he would ask you what a word means, but for the most part he’s lulled to sleep by the sound of your voice, the gentle turning of pages and your hands in his hair.

You love wearing dresses and your socks, goodness. Arthur would always blush and stammer his way through a compliment, his eyes looking all over your body in an appreciative way, but he also finds it hard to look at you for any extended period of time; he’s too busy blushing and trying really hard to not get a hard on from just one look. He’s very sweet and he loves you so much that he often feels like you’re not real. You are, of course you are, and you make sure that he can never forget that. Please just love him, it’s what he deserves.

Joker

Joker is powerful and, unlike Arthur, he doesn’t work an average of 49 - 59 hours a week. You wouldn’t need to work at all if you didn’t want to, but he respects you and so he has some people hired on the down low to keep an eye on you when you’re at work. You don’t notice them at first, but slowly do you begin to notice several of those clown masks. You put two and two together, but you don’t mention it to Joker. He’s still just as protective of you now as he always been, and that’s never going to change. If anything, he’s even more protective because now he has enemies, and that can make you a target. So whereas Arthur would sometimes stalk you to and from work just to keep an eye on you (and still somehow get home before you do so you don’t suspect anything, though his unusually deep breaths can give the game away), Joker would spend a lot of time loitering just outside the hospital, just in case.

You love to bake and cook and Joker would probably get you an apron that says something really cheesy like kiss me I’m the chef and it’s not unusual for him to spin you around to kiss you, with a quiet, “if you insist” murmured against your lips. He would also crack a lot of jokes about wanting to have dessert because he’s hungry but… it’s not food he’s after. It’s you. What you do in these moments is up to you, but he almost always gets his way. He’s much more daring and outright than Arthur, and he makes sure that you know there’s a clearly marked difference between the two, though sometimes the past and the present mix together beautifully.

You’re shy and awkward and oh, Joker loves to tease you. If you ever stammer your way through a sentence, a slow, sly smirk would grow at the corner of his painted mouth, and he’d say something like, “what’s that, angel? I couldn’t hear you” and sometimes when you’re really blushing, he’d smirk and say “cat got your tongue?” and maybe crack a filthy joke. He’s really not very subtle at all. When it comes down to serious things like, like you need to stand up for yourself or speak your mind or you need to ask for something, Joker is very observant and intuitive (just like Arthur - as I said, the two can blend so easily sometimes it’s only the facepaint that lets you tell them apart) so he would be the one to do The Thing for you. He’s very protective and while he’s not too bothered about you staying with your responsibilities, he’ll still help you when it truly counts. He loves you very much in his own abstract ways.

You’re eccentric and sweet and this is really where the core of your relationship with the enigma that is Arthur Fleck has always truly been. You both love to dance, blood sings in your veins, and it’s still a vital part of your relationship for the two of you to dance together. Sometimes when Joker is just doing his eerie but elegant dancing by himself, you can only sit and watch. If he caught you staring, he would wink and go back to it as if nothing had changed, his movements stilted yet also so fluid, and sometimes he swans over and plucks you out of your seat with a quiet, “dance with me”. His firm grip really gives you no choice in the matter, though. And just like in the old days, he loves going to sleep with his head resting over your heart, your hands in his green strands and your voice creating a pleasant rumble in your chest which he so adores. When you’re feeling truly down, Joker would do the same for you, his voice soft yet also raspy, his voice high pitched as he uses different tones for the different characters. He’s always loved you so, so much.

Whereas Arthur would stammer his way through a compliment, Joker has no such qualms about it. He would smirk as you come out of the bathroom, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Is this all for me, darling?” and he’s honestly starstruck and definitely aroused; he doesn’t even bother to hide it from you. You both know what’s going on. If he has the time, he’d try to persuade you into acting on his feelings, but he wouldn’t ever force you and truth be told, he loves a good teasing. It makes it all the more delicious when things finally collide in just the right way. Joker would buy you dresses which he thinks you would like and he always gets it right. It would please him beyond measure to see you out and about in the filthy streets of Gotham wearing a dress that he bought you; it’s like a display of love to him.

#Nonnie #Requests closed #arthur fleck #joker #match up #joaquin phoenix

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bohrapbois · 5 years

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Full Marks

CHAPTER 6 Description - Ben just so happens to fall head over heels for a Mysterious Man who loves baseball and cracking terrible jokes. Mysterious Man also turns out to be the father of one of Ben’s students. Warnings - Full blown relationship Hardzello, with plenty of angst, fluff and future smut. Word Count - 1,712

The paramedics took another ten minutes to arrive, but Ben hadn’t moved much. Allen had helped him move to sit upright against the filing cabinet, and although he was breathing unaided, his chest was burning from a shortage of oxygen. Although he tired, he just couldn’t get enough air in.

He was lifted onto the ambulance trolley, kept in a sitting position but strapped down across his lower abdomen and legs to hold him upright. An oxygen mask was placed over his face, and Ben couldn’t get enough of the cold air coming in. His nose had clotted up and his mouth wiped to ensure he wasn’t breathing in any dry blood. They began to wheel him out of the class.

Headmaster May stood there waiting, tears in his eyes as he smiled softly at Ben. Someone in his family was hurt, and he couldn’t do anything to stop the pain. Annita stood at his side, holding her husbands arm in comfort. Ben raised a heavy arm to let him know he was alright. They continued down the hallway, and Ben heard a familiar voice call out his name.

Craning his neck, he saw Beth clinging to Joes neck, sniffling as she watched through tearful eyes as Ben wheeled past her. Ben felt his own eyes well up, and it wasn’t helped by the obvious tear tracks staining Joe’s cheeks.

As they went through the main door, Ben caught a glimpse of Rami rushing from the car park, probably coming to comfort his family, but what caused more surprise was Gwilym running from the same parked car.

“Ben!” The Welshman rushed to the trolley, grabbing one of the barriers as the paramedics continued to walk. Another set of eyes scanned his injuries, and Ben wasn’t surprised by the chocked gasp. Everyone had the same reaction. Allen couldn’t even stop from wincing at each wheeze.

Ben grabbed Gwil’s hand, still not willing to talk, and nodded slightly at the paramedics question if he was to travel with them. Gwil and a paramedic climbed into the back, the other paramedic moving to the front with the driver. They didn’t expect his condition to worsen suddenly, so there was no need to crowd the back.

Ben eyed the equipment shuffling to the side as much as the restraints would allow him. He wasn’t overly fond of needles or medicine, would much rather sleep off a headache or cold rather than take a pill. Ben’s heart rate increased as the male paramedic began rifling through one of the draws, not calming when Gwil held his shoulder. He sighed in relief once a heart rate armband was pulled out. The medic made swift work of getting his blood pressure, muttering to himself as he made notes when he tested Ben’s pupils.

It wasn’t long until they arrived at the hospital, and Ben was wheeled into the E.R. Gratefully, Gwilym was allowed with him as they wheeled him into a spare section, pulling the curtain around to offer privacy.

“When I got a phone call,” Gwil fell into the uncomfortable plastic chair next to his bed, “from school saying you got attacked, I was about ready to hijack a car”. Ben chuckled (which turned into a wince) at the mental image of Gwil breaking the law. “I started running there instead”. The house was close enough to Animal Ark that Gwil saw no need of an extra expense of a car to get to work, rather he just walked. “I just got to the end of the road when a car stopped next to me, and low-and-behold, Green Eyes from the other day was leaning out of his window and telling me to get in”.

Ben raised his eyebrows as he continued to stare at Gwilym. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“I don’t know how he knew where I wanted to go, but I didn’t even say anything as we sped towards the school,” Gwil fiddled with the sleeve of his jumper. The thread was beginning to become loose from his distracted habit, and the blue material took all the taller mans attention. Ben hummed next to him, eyes also focusing on the sleeve and the two sat there for a moment, comfortable with one another.

Gwil was used to Ben needed company, and understood that sometimes it worked better when they were both silent. Just having a familiar presence near him would sometimes be enough to calm the blonds nerves. Ben would take the weight of the world on his shoulders and would never burden anyone else with his own, pressing problems. If he was in a bad mood, it has been known for the blond to purposefully look for the worst to give himself a reasoning. It was bad during university, and he missed lectures and seminars due to it, and although it’s gotten better over the years, he still needs that calming mind in stressful or hurtful situations. So here they sat, two best friends on foreign ground, one in need of medical aid and the other there for support, doing what they do best: being there for one another.

--------------------

A nurse had come around and done a brief medical overlook, followed by a doctor and another doctor. They all were shocked at the scales of the injuries but were relieved at the lack of deep damage. “You’ll be fine within three weeks-” doctor Two had said, “won’t be any long term side effects”.

Ben was discharged seven hours after first wheeling through the doors after some observations and blood tests. The oxygen levels in his blood weren’t cause for alarm and the medical staff were happy for him to leave with some prescribed medication and a check up appointment scheduled for the following week.

It was only when Ben and Gwil blinked into the dark outside that they realised that they had no way of getting back to theirs. “Shit,” Ben croaked out, having begun trusting his vocal chords and throat when they had been there for hour two, and could near enough speak normally if he ignored the shooting pain of bruised muscles. Nothing louder than a stage whisper at the moment but he’d get there.

“‘Shit’ indeed,” Gwil mumbled before pulling out his phone and looking up the local taxi service. Uber and Lyft weren’t in use around these small towns, but there were plenty of other taxi services around that would be willing to come pick them up at nearing three in the morning.

Gwil wandered off a few meters as he talked to the driver and gave the address, but Ben was just focusing on how cold it was. Wearing a dress shirt was a good idea for the disaster of a parents evening but not so much for standing outside an isolated hospital in the middle of fucking nowhere. If it wasn’t for Ben’s anxiety surrounding hospitals, he’d suggest that they go and sit in the waiting room, but most of the red plastic seats of the small room were occupied and Ben didn’t feel like sitting in a room with people in pain or on their deathbeds. So, shivering outside was the option.

His taller friend returned, and gave the estimated time of five minutes to him. They both knew that five minutes was being optimistic, and they were correct, because seventeen minutes later, a little silver Honda civic pulled up in front of them and they climbed in. The driver eyed the hand-print bruise on Ben’s neck but said nothing as he began driving back to their house.

It wasn’t long before they scraped together the right amount of change (and a little tip for the late night) and climbed out the car, shivering their way up the front porch and into the familiar presence of their home. Frankie went ballistic, sprinting from Ben’s room and colliding into her owner at full speed. Ben stumbled backwards as he rushed to grab his dog launching herself up his body, and he collided with Gwil, who also then stumbled back out the house. Now holding a wiggling dog in his arms (who was both whining at the absence of Ben and the smell of him whilst also wagging her tail so much that it was hurting Ben trying to hold her), Ben turned and apologised to Gwil, who just shrugged and made his way back inside and into the small kitchen. He placed the bag of medication on the counter top, far away back that Frankie wouldn’t be able to get to them, even if she climbed up again, before making the two of them drinks. Lemon and a generous amount of honey were loaded into Ben’s cracked Jurassic Park mug, and once the steaming water was added, the two shuffled the short distance to the sofa. Found in a charity shop, like most of the rest of the furniture, the old sofa had stains and dog fur embedded deep into its material. Frankie stayed close to Ben’s side, tucked between him and the arm rest and her watchful eyes viewed Ben’s hand movements every time he took a tentative sip.

They didn’t talk about much, Gwil mentioning how Lucy was trying to convince her boyfriend to adopt the three legged, half an ear kitten which had been brought in the week prior, but mainly they watched some of re-runs of a show that neither of them cared about. The only light other than the TV screen on was of the lamp in the corner of the room, placed carefully between the TV stand and bookcase. The warm light reminded Ben of how tired he was, and with heavy eyes, an hour after coming home, Ben uncrossed his legs, wished Gwil a goodnight, placed his mug on the counter and shut himself in his room, Frankie weaving between his legs the entire time.

The blond shrugged off his shirt and dropped his slacks, toeing off his shoes and socks before climbing into bed. He shifted around under the duvet, body aching from the events, but eventually he curled up in the corner in a nest of pillows and blankets and settled down for sleep. It was only then, when he was alone, that he let the tears flow.

I’m so sorry you’ll had to wait so long but thank you for sticking around! Although I am back, I’m afraid it won’t be scheduled posting as I’m unsure when I’ll be having the free time! BUT it would encourage me greatly if you were to leave encouraging messages/reblogs/tags to remind me to keep going

#full marks #my work #my fic #hardzello #ben hardy #joe mazzello #gwilym lee #rami malek #lucy boyton #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rapsody movie #bohemian rhapsody move #queen cast

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iridecsense · 6 years

Text

parallels – m.

| forwards ↬|

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- Prologue -

✉ summary: the one where your backstory is explained.

✉ word count: 2.1k

✉ pairing: newt scamander | muggle!reader

✉ genre: action, adventure, fantasy, fiction, romance

✉ warnings: angst, mentions of death, discussion about the deceased

✉ author’s note: review and glossary link at the end of the chapter. enjoy. :)

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“Tell me what she was like Daddy.”

It was the summer of 1908. The sun shone high above you and your father’s heads. Your (h/c) hair seemed lighter in the sun’s rays. Your unkempt hair was braided into two long braids that fell over your shoulders. You were watching your father tend to the horses from the other side of the fence.

Your strapping young father stopped sponging the horse’s back and turned around. His eyes narrowed in your direction in an attempt to shield the sun’s light from his light-colored eyes.

“Who-whom was like dear?” He asked you. His surprisingly straight teeth were revealed as he smiled at you from over the wooden fence.

“Momma of course!” You giggled as you plucked and anthurium flower from the ground.

Your father let out a sigh and bit the inside of his cheek. He knew he had to talk to you about your mother—his late wife—one day, he just wasn’t expecting that day to be today. He hoped he had a few more years left before you started to get curious about your mother. He mentally shamed himself for not considering how you were affected by your mother’s passing. Of course, it would be natural for a seven-year-old to wonder about her mother!

Your father’s heart ached at the thought of you watching other children walk down the street with both of their parents while you only had him.

“Okay,” he finally said after the pregnant pause. “Why don’t you run on inside and pour us some lemonade, while I finish washing up Henry here.”

You smiled brightly and stood to your feet. You brushed off the dirt from your dress and ran towards the house.

You patiently waited at the kitchen table for your father. You swung your legs excitedly as you sipped your sweetened lemonade, your growing legs just barely scrapped the wood floors. Your father entered through the kitchen door, visibly darkened by the sun. He placed his hat on the hook next to the door and walked around the table to sit across from you. His heavy boots thundered as he walked.

Your father took his seat with a huff and leaned his back on the chair. Sweat fell from his hairline and he wiped it off. He took the glass of lemonade you had made him and gulped it down in a few seconds. You giggled as you watched him drink, some of the juice flowing from the corners of his mouth. He finished with a satisfying sigh and slammed the glass on the table. You mimicked his actions after you finished your drink. You both laughed.

“So,” he sighed. “You wanna talk ‘bout your momma, huh?” You nodded eagerly.

“I always see you lookin’ at the picture of her you keep in your pocket at night when you think I’m upstairs sleepin’,” you tell him. “I haven’t seen it myself, but I know it’s her by the way you look at it.”

Your father visibly stiffens as you mention this. You were a very observant child, intelligent too. Oh, how you very much reminded him of your mother.

“I don’t really remember her much, only little things. I remember what she smelled like,” you said. “I remember what her laugh sounded like, and the way her hands felt when she held mine. I can’t remember her face or her voice. I don’t even remember her smile Daddy.”

Your father looked at you solemnly. He slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out an aging photograph. He unfolded the paper and handed it to you. You stared at the picture. You ignored the crease marks and tear stains and focused on the woman standing in the picture with a soft closed smile on her face.

She was beautiful. That was the first thing you noticed. Her long, dark hair was half up, half down, and flowed past her shoulders. She wore a frilly silk and velvet dress that had petticoat sleeves. The dress exposed her décolletage[1] and shoulders. Around her swan-like neck were layers of pearls that hugged her jugular five times before falling around her chest.

The dress sparkled and fit her perfectly, displaying her hourglass figure. The skirt of the dress fit around her hips and fluted towards the hem; the dress flowed to the ground and covered her feet, a train of fabric flowed behind her. You felt a stinging in your eyes and quickly blinked the tears that began to form away.

“You have her eyes y’know,” your father spoke up after a while. You looked up at him, sorrow staining your adolescent face. “She had these beautiful, bright (e/c) eyes just like yours.” You smiled at the thought, imagining the woman in the picture with eyes like yours.

“Though, she didn’t have a lazy eye like you,” he joked in attempts to lighten the mood. Your eyes widened and your hand immediately flew to your left eye. “What!?”

Your father chuckled at your frantic state and pulled your hand from your face and insisted he was only joking. You frowned, stuck your tongue out at him, and called him a “mean daddy”. He laughed at this and ruffled your already messy hair.

“She was also just as smart and pretty as you,” he continued. You blushed and smiled, happy that your father believed you were as pretty as the woman in the picture.

“You have many of her habits as well. She also used to bite her lip when she was thinking or concentrating really hard.”

“Was she as clumsy as I am Daddy?” You asked, hungry for more information about your mother.

“Yes actually,” he confirmed. “She might've been even clumsier than you dear.”

You giggled at the thought of the seemingly graceful woman dropping china on the floor and tripping over her dress.

“What else do I get from her?”

Your father thought for a minute before looking up at nothing in particular, a longing look in his eyes.

“You certainly have her personality,” he claimed. “You both are very headstrong, ‘n you both love to get into trouble. You have her great sense of humor and desire to help anyone and everyone you can. You both are very caring and brave, and share the same love for nature.”

“Momma liked animals like us?” You asked excitedly.

“Well she preferred plants over animals,” he explained. “But she really loved her cat, Delphina. I sometimes questioned if she loved that damned cat more than me! Of course, she’d always say ‘yes’.” You laughed with your father.

“Did she love Delphina more than me too Daddy?”

“Oh no, of course not!” He assured you. “I don’t think she loved anyone or anything as much as she loved you.”

Your heart swelled upon hearing that. You very much wished your mother was alive so you could love her just as much as she loved you.

“Your momma would sing you to sleep ev’ry night, the same song I sing to you now; of course she was a much better singer than me.” Your father poured some more lemonade from the pitcher and into his cup.

“She would brush and braid your hair every day, dress you up in fancy-smancy, frilly dresses, and brag about you to all the neighbors,” he smiled.

“ ‘My little girl is so smart,’ she would say. ‘My little girl can play piano and she’s only three years old’.” Your father imitated your mother's voice in a very high-pitched and funny accent.

“Why did Momma sound so funny Daddy?” You asked in-between giggles.

“Why your Momma was from the Old Country darling,” he told you. Your eyes widened in wonder.

“Momma was one of them fancy people from England? Like Mr. Fillmore down the road?”

“Exactly like Mr. Fillmore,” he confirmed.

You looked back down at the picture in your hand one last time, picturing the beautiful woman in the picture holding you in her arms and talking to you in a pretty British accent. An unanswered question lingered on your tongue.

“How did she die?” You asked suddenly.

Your father stiffened at the sudden morbid question. He contemplated telling you the whole truth or waiting until you got older. He decided on a medium: he would save the nasty details and tell you in the best way he possibly could.

“Y’know how I said your mother liked plants ‘n things like that?” You nodded your head.

“Well, she liked to study special plants for…” He trailed off for only a second.

“Medicinal purposes.” You listened to him intently.

“Your mother was very gifted in making medicine. She would make medicines for people all over town. Ev’ry one was grateful for her help.” Your father paused for a moment. You could see the pain in his eyes as he recalled events he wished to forget.

“But, one day, she made a mistake. The medicine that she was making to help all the neighbors ended up being the thing that got ‘er killed.”

You didn’t quite understand. How could medicine kill someone? Wasn’t medicine supposed to help people, not hurt them? You hesitated to ask your father to elaborate on the story once you saw the stray tears fall down his cheeks. You decided to ask more questions another time. You handed the picture back to your father, who shook his head and pushed your hand back.

“Why don’t you keep it,” he insisted as he wiped the tears from his cheeks, feigning a smile. You frowned and shook your head violently.

“No, I know how much you like lookin’ at Momma’s picture Daddy. How are you s'posed to remember her?” You asked.

Your father smiled lovingly at you and reached over to pinch your cheek.

“You need it more than I do. I have a’lotta memories of your momma that I can think about whenever I miss her. I can remember her fine without that picture,” he said. “Besides, you look more like her than you do me. I can always look at you and see her.”

You hopped down from your chair and ran around the table and gave your father a big hug.

“Thank you so much, Daddy! I’m gonna keep this forever and ever!”

He chuckled and pulled you onto his lap and squeezed you tight. You fake coughed and pretended like you couldn’t breathe in his tight grasp.

“Help! Help!” You gasped. “…Can’t… Breathe… ugh.” You play dead and lay limp in your father’s arms.

“Oh no!” He yelled dramatically. “My precious daughter (y/n) has died! What am I going to do!” He fake cried as he picked you up and cradled you in his arms. He ran with you outside and spun you around. You giggled at the silly faces he made as he fake cried.

“Daddy stop crying I’m not dead! See, I’m right here!” You brought your small hand to hold your father's cheek. He smiled down at you in his arms, the sun highlighted his handsome features.

“Oh thank God,” he laughed. “I thought I’d lost you (y/n)!”

You shook your head and kissed his cheek. “You’re never gonna lose me, Daddy,” you said. “I’m always gonna be right here.”

Your father’s heart warmed at your words. “That’s right,” he said softly. “You’re always gonna be my little girl.”

“Mhmm!” You nodded in agreement. Your father left a big wet kiss on your forehead, a smile plastered on his face.

“Yuck!” You quickly wiped his kiss off, causing him to chuckle.

“Now what do you say to a rigorous game of hiding and seek in the orchard?” He suggested.

You freed yourself from his arms and jumped down to the ground.

“I will hide and you need to come find me!” You told him as you started running away.

Your father watched you run towards the orchard before halting and running back to him. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Wait,” You huffed once you came back. “I forgot to ask you a very important question!” “And what would that be?” “What was Momma’s name? So I can tell people who my parents are.”

Your father bent down in front of you, taking one knee to the ground. “Emmaline,” he said. “Emmaline Nightingale was her name before I married her.”

You nodded, a satisfied smile on your lips. You stuck an open hand out for your father to take.

“Hello there Mister. My name is (y/n) (y/l/n), daughter of Emmaline and Amadeus (y/l/n). A pleasure to meet you.” You said in the fanciest accent you could think of as you shook your father’s hand vigorously.

“The pleasure is all mine Miss (y/l/n),” your father smiled. You giggled happily and released your hand from his grasp.

“Okay Daddy, now you can count!” You turned on your heels and launched forward towards the orchard. “And absolutely NO peaking,” you yelled as you continued running.

Your father chuckled to himself as he turned around to lean on a nearby tree. He heard the rusty gate that leads to the orchard creak slam shut. He began to count to one hundred.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

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not-a-princess-but-a-queen · 6 years

Text

for @thewelterschallenge first weeks prompts Quest! Have some Alice being rescued by some Demigods!

Alice paced her small cell, muttering and cursing to herself. She had to think of a way to get out of here. As she was pacing, a shadow in her corner deepened and a young man with thick dark hair and an aviators jacket stepped out of it. Alice froze for a second before she stepped back and backed into her desk.

"Who are you?" she demanded

The man, boy really, he couldn't be more than 18, stepped forward and held up his hands in a peace gesture. "I'm here to get you out, my name is Nico di Angelo."

She frowned and loosened her stance a bit. That name didn't mean anything to her. "Why would you help me?"

Nico sighed and stepped closer to her. "Because we need you to help us, and you want to help your friends, don't you? We're wasting time. If I get caught here it won't be pretty. Grab my hand and let's go," he stretched out a hand to her and waited impatiently for her to take it.

The mention of her friends made Alice's heart skip a beat and she quickly tried to weigh her options, but she didn't really have any others so she took his hand and together they made their way through the shadows.

The feeling was clammy and made her skin crawl when they materialized in an apartment somewhere. She quickly glanced around, taking in the buildings she could see outside the windows and the noise indicated they were in New York still at least. She focused on the apartment itself as Nico dropped her hand and made to plop down on the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes and sighing. Sound from behind her had her turning to see more people entering what appeared to be a living room from the kitchen. There were three of them, two men and a woman. They were only a few years younger than her. One of them had dark black hair and green eyes, the other two were blond haired and blue eyed. They all eyed her for a minute before one of the men grinned and held out a hand.

"Hey, I'm Percy," he said. "That's Annabeth and Will. You're Alice, right?" Alice nodded and took the offered hand in a brief shake. "What am I doing here?" she asked.

Annabeth steeped forward and Will walked past them and made to kneel beside Nico on the couch, muttering to him softly.

"We're supposed to help you kill the beast and bring stop the library's rationing magic," Annabeth explained.

Alice frowned. "You're magicians?" Whatever Nico had pulled her through didn't feel like any portal or teleportation she'd experienced before.

Annabeth shook her head. "We're demigods," she explained. "We've been sent on a quest to help you."

Alice blinked, taking the knowledge in before nodding. It made sense that if the gods were still around they would have mortal children still. "OK, but we need to help my friends first, the beast will be after them."

Percy nodded in agreement. "Of course. Our group is coming over in the morning and we're going to talk info and strategy. You can stay here tonight, my mom and sister are at the beach for the weekend so you can have her room." Alice glanced around the apartment again, taking in the toys scattered around. Nico had sat up on the couch and Will had joined him. The sky outside was dark, and Alice was suddenly aware of how long it had been since she'd last truely slept. She sighed in resignation. She really hated having a mortal body sometimes.

"Thank you," she offered.

Percy shrugged and gestured for her to follow him down the hall. Percy showed her into his moms room, and lent her some cloths of Annabeth's to sleep in. She lay down on top of the covers and let her mind drift off, not fighting her bodies need for sleep for once. ..............

She woke up the next morning to voices in the apartment and stretched, making her way out of the room to them. The others were in the kitchen and it seemed they had been joined by others. There were six more people there crammed into the kitchen. One of them had long blond hair that reminded her so much of Quentin she flinched.

They heard her coming at turned to glance at her. Percy waved from where he was at the stove making pancakes. "Good morning," he hummed. "Morning," she said,

Annabeth hopped up on the counter and made room for Alice to join them. "Alice, this is my cousin Magnus Chase," she said gesturing to the young boy who looked like Quentin. "His friends Alex, Samirah, Blitzen and Hearthstone," she gestured to four more beside him. Hearthstone was clearly an elf of some sort and Blitzen looked like drawings she'd seen of dwarfs. She was surprised, supposedly the dwarves on earth had gone to a different dimension some centuries ago.

"We have pancakes and orange juice if you want any," Annabeth offered. Alice nodded and poured herself a glass of orange juice, glancing at the last stranger in the room, standing by Will. He was a older teen with thick dark curls and hazel eyes. Alice stared at him, frowning at the power coming off of him. "Who are you?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her, before lighting up with a charming grin. "Apollo, at your service."

Alice frowned, pulling a face in confusion. "But you're..." she trailed off.

Will snickered beside him, making Apollo swat at him. "I was trapped in this form for a few years, it's habit now. I can change if you'd like," he challenged.

Alice shook her head in denial and took a gulp of her orange juice. "So, not that I'm not thankful but I don't understand. Why are you guys involved now when you weren't before? I thought most of the gods don't care if we get magic back or not."

Apollo shrugged. "Most don't, but magic being gone has affected my oracles, and I just got them back. Also, the others really don't want that creature around. We've tried locking it up and it didn't work, so this time it gets destroyed." Alice nodded and sighed, running her hands through her hair. "Ok," she agreed. She had no problem killing this thing.

"First things first, the Kanes aren't going to make it they're having problems at the Nome, so it's just us. Second we need to decide who all is going and come up with a game plan," Percy said. "Rachel is out of commission so there won't be a prophecy for this quest."

Everyone nodded and they settled down to talk strategy. It was decided that Percy and Annabeth weren't needed and would go back to school once this was over, and Apollo declined to join them as well, a fact which didn't seem to surprise the demigods. Blitzen declined as well saying that he had important work to do in Boston but that if they needed him he would help. That left Nico, Will, Magnus, Alex, Samirah, and Hearthstone with Alice.

Percy nodded. "Good, seven's the usual number so that works."

Alice hummed in agreement. "Now we just need to find a way to get my friends their memories back. Then track and kill the creature."

Annabeth hopped down from the counter. "I'll start researching," she hummed. Alice grinned a bit in comradery with the young girl. "I'll join you."

Alex watched them go with a snort and a shake of her head. "Time to start another crazy quest," she muttered. "Yeah!"

Magnus chuckled while he watched Hearthstone and Blitzen join them, Blitzen translating the elfs ASL for them.

"Don't pretend you haven't been bored Fierro," he smirked.

"Shut up Chase," she muttered, and nudged him, going to join Percy for more pancakes.

Magnus rubbed the pendant around his neck and sighed, here they go again.

#the welters challenge #the magicians #PJO #alice quinn #nico di angelo #mcga #My writing

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pengychan · 7 years

Text

The Mind Cage - Epilogue

Title: The Mind Cage Summary: In another world, Stanford Pines places a metal plate in his skull far too soon. In another world, Bill Cipher is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Characters: Bill Cipher, Ford Pines, Stan Pines, Fiddleford McGucket Rating: T COMPLETE. Click here for the first chapter, warnings and links to all chapters up so far.

A/N: And here’s the epilogue - if you read the Journal, you’ll definitely know which scenario it’s based on! (If you haven’t: it’s from a parallel reality where Stan left with Jornal 1 when told to, Ford reconnected with McGucket and together they made interdimensional travel possible without allowing Bill access to their world. Happy ending for everyone… except Stan, clearly. So I had to fix that.)

***

The Astonishing Anomalies of Gravity Falls

Fiddleford H. McGucket, PhD Stanford F. Pines, PhD

– To Stanley Pines, without whom none of this would have seen the light of day.

Introduction

Nikola Tesla once said that the history of science shows that theories are perishable; with every new truth that is revealed, we get a better understanding of Nature and our conceptions and views are modified.

Much of what is written in this paper defies what most believe to be real; research on the cause of these phenomena is still ongoing. Only by keeping an open mind on the scientific evidence presented in this work, and abandoning all preconceptions…

***

Stan had seen it coming from a mile away.

The not at all subtle mention of ‘ongoing research’ was a first hint, as was Stanford’s decision to wait for McGucket to come pick his car up before publishing the revised thesis paper. ‘To discuss a few matters’, he had said, but Stan knew it wasn’t the paper he wanted to talk about: for that, a phone call would have sufficed. If Stanford wanted to wait for a face-to-face chat, there had to be a lot more going on.

The third big hint wasn’t so much something his brother did, but what he did not do. He got rid of the rather creepy amount of Bill-related stuff he kept in his basement, including a golden statue Stan would have rather melted to keep the gold; everything in any way connected to Bill Cipher had to go, and go it did. Except for the one thing his brother did not dismantle.

So really, when Stan went in the kitchen one night to find the door to the basement open and his brother downstairs, staring in silence at the deactivated portal with his arms behind his back, he was not surprised in the slightest.

“So, lemme guess. You’re thinking of firing up this baby and see what’s beyond.”

His words caused Stanford to wince and turn. He looked amazingly guilty, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar - something that had never happened when they were kids, really, because that was usually Stan’s role. And he’d never felt guilty when caught, anyway.

“Stanley, I… I hadn’t realized I had woken you up.”

“You didn’t. I woke up on my own,” Stan said with a shrug, and walked up to stand by his twin’s side. “So. Am I right? Is this what you want to discuss with Nerdy?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but truth be told I haven’t made up my mind yet. It’s… just an idea.”

“An expensive one, huh?” Stan guessed, and grinned, elbowing his brother’s side. “That’s where the money from the paper is gonna go, huh?”

Stanford’s guilty expression melted into a laugh. “Only my part, no worries. And only if Fiddleford believes what I have in mind to be feasible - only if he agrees. If he says no, then that will be it,” he said, then paused for a moment and turned to Stan. “… What do you say?”

Okay then. Stan hadn’t been surprised to find his brother there, but now he sure was. “Whoa there. Are you telling me that if I say ‘nope, don’t do it’, you’ll just scrap this whole thing?”

“I am,” Stanford said, no hint of humor left in his voice, and Stan knew he meant it.

“… Okay. I ain’t saying no just yet. What’s your idea?”

Stanford turned back to the portal. “This is a gateway to other dimensions, and in a way it feels… wrong to keep their existence hidden from mankind. I would never dare activating it with Cipher still around, but now he’s gone.”

“Yeah, but if Nerdy’s rambles are anything to go by, this thing kinda leads into the tenth circle of Hell.”

“It does, as things are. Cipher tricked me into building this portal so that it would lead into his own dimension - the Nightmare realm. However, I think that a dimensional vortex neutralizer might allow us to entirely bypass it, giving whatever dwells in it no opening to come through and leaving other dimensions accessible for us to explore.”

That sorta made sense, in a very sci-fi sort of way. And really, it sounded like an amazing chance: as kids they had wanted to explore the world, but had always been a little put off by the fact explorers had already been pretty much in every corner of Earth, leaving no unknown waters left to map. But what would it be like, to explore dimensions - and be the first ones to ever do it? Also, getting unbelievably rich and famous in the process would be a nice cherry on top of the cake of awesome.

“Oookay. Let’s say I’m intrigued. Can you build a thing like that? A neutralizer-something?”

Stanford shook his head. “No, not me. If anybody can create something like it, that’s Fiddleford.”

“Looks like we’re gonna have to ask Nerdy, then,” Stan said, then shrugged. “Okay. If he says yes, we go through it together. If he says no, we dismantle this whole thing - wouldn’t even be the first of your inventions I break, huh? - and use the money from the paper to buy, like, a research cruise ship or something. You do the research, I enjoy the cruise.”

The idea made Stanford laugh again. “That sounds tempting,” he admitted, then sobered up. “It might just be what we’ll do. Fiddleford almost lost his sanity to whatever he saw on the other side. I can’t say I truly expect him to agree giving the idea a go.”

Stan shrugged. “Hey, you never know. The guy’s got bigger balls than one would think. I mean, figuratively. Didn’t look myself. Did you?”

Stanford raised an eyebrow. “… Really now?”

“Hey, you were college roommates. Never even got a glimpse?”

“Stanley. He is married.”

“Nope. Was married. Might be your chance, Poindexter.”

Another laugh. “I’ll pretend to have never heard any of this,” he said, turning his back to the portal. “As for the project, I’ll ask next week when he comes for his car. He’s likely to bring his son with him, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat any of this in front of the child. Or at all. Let’s go back to sleep.”

Stan made a dramatic gesture towards the door. “Ladies first,” he said, earning himself light punch on the arm. He rubbed the spot, watching Stanford walk away, and grinned. Not so much because of the joke, but because he had noticed something most wouldn’t have even thought of.

As he left the basement, Stanford didn’t turn to spare another glance at the portal. It was enough for Stan to be certain that yes, if he or McGucket said no, Stanford would just dismantle the portal and never bring it up again. His brother strived to go forward, as he always had, but no longer all on his own.

Never again all on his own.

***

… The inauguration of the International Institute of Oddology in Gravity Falls, Oregon, is undoubtedly the greatest leap ever made in history - not only proving the existence of worlds outside our own, but even allowing mankind to make contact with them.

“The Dimensional Vortex Neutralizer makes the activation of the portal perfectly safe, but for time being only specialized teams of experts can travel through dimensions for limited amounts of time. We do however have high hopes that, in the future, interdimensional travel will be open to all,” said Dr. Stanford Pines, founder and CEO of the Institute, who took the scientific world by storm last year with the publication of his amazing discoveries.

According to Chief Operating Officer Dr. Fiddleford McGucket, the team has successfully made contact with a dimension known to its inhabitants as Dimension 52 during its latest expedition.

“We documented every step, and are looking forward to share all we’ve gathered in a press conference at the end of the month,” he added.

Both declined to comment allegations that one Stanley Pines, whose title and role in the Institute are still unclear, attempted to sell the Brooklyn Bridge to a seven-eyed alien lady in the course of the expedition. They also denied Mr. Pines’ earlier claims a souvenir shop and guided tours of the Institute are in the works, to the disappointment of local children.

On other news…

***

“Guys! GUYS! I found another door and it’s all brand new! He explored another dimension!”

“Cool! Let’s go now! I want to see it!”

“Wait, let me take my notebook…”

“Who’s got a camera?”

“I’ve got seven!”

“Oh! I want one!”

“No. You’d just finish all the film to take pictures of noses.”

“I wouldn’t! Liam, tell him!”

“… He’s right, actually. You do that all the time, Billy.”

“Hey! That’s not true! I also take pictures of ears! And teeth!”

“C’mon, Stanford, don’t be a stick in the mud! Let him keep a camera and let’s go.”

The new door wasn’t a long distance away; Stanley and Stanford ran all the way to it, while Bill and Liam hovered right behind them. Really, why did they even bother walking and running when they could fly so easily in the Mindscape? Stanford had said something about a ‘force of habit’, and it sounded really boring, a bit like staying in one place all the time.

Because sure, the beach was great and a lot of fun, but it was just so much better to go out and explore all of the new memories that kept popping up… especially the ones of different dimensions. So far they had met a bunch of warrior piglets with octopus arms - Stanford had gotten a really cool tattoo there - then they had found a dimension where it was mandatory to gamble. It had been a lot of fun, until they had caught him and Stanley cheating, so they had to leave really quickly. Stanford and Liam had been really annoyed at them, because they’d been only halfway through taking notes and snapping pictures of everything they could see and now they were pretty much banned from going back in that memory.

Then there had been the other one - a world called Exwhylia that had looked a lot like the Second Dimension - but they hadn’t explored that one. When Billy had found it, one look had been enough decide he would never, ever take Liam there. They would hate him there, just like at home. They would call him Irregular. And they would try to kill him, just like at home.

But it wasn’t really home, was it? Because home is supposed to be a place where you feel welcome, and Liam had never been welcome back there, not at all. No one less than Regular had been.

I’m glad it’s gone, Billy had thought when he had slammed the door shut, and right there and then it hadn’t even mattered that it was probably what the other Bill had felt like, what he had thought after destroying it. Because they deserved to be gone.

I’m glad they’re all gone. But I am here, Liam is here, and we’re free.

“Here! This is it!”

The door Stanley had led them to was made of very dark wood, with a brass plaque on it. Most doors seemed to have one: Stanford Pines’ mind was incredibly well-organized.

Dimension 52.

“What do you think is in here?” Liam asked, floating closer. His eye was wide and almost sparkling, a notebook and a pen already in his hands. Billy thought, not for the first time, that their world just hadn’t deserved him. It hadn’t deserved either of them. “Maybe a new color?”

“Hot alien girls! Or… or the Toffee Peanut Dimension!” Stanley immediately piped in.

“Eldritch abominations!” Stanford exclaimed, holding up a camera. Billy, who was kinda hoping to find a dimension of endless candy or something like it but would also settle for abominations, shrugged and hovered to the door, reaching out to grasp the handle.

“Hey, only one way to find out. Kings of New Jersey?”

“Kings of New Jersey!”

Bill pushed down the handle. The door opened, and they stepped into the unknown.

***

June 2012

Ah, summer break. A time for leisure, recreation, and taking it easy… unless you’re me.

My name is Dipper. The girl about to puke is my sister Mabel. You may be wondering what we’re doing in an interdimensional shuttle-cart, fleeing from a creature of unimaginable horror. Rest assured, there’s a perfectly logical explanation. Let’s rewind.

It all began when our parents finally allowed us to spend the summer at our great uncles’ International Institute of Oddology in Gravity Falls, Oregon…

***

(For the record: in the end, Stan totally wins the argument and there IS a gift shop in the Institute. Soos and Wendy will obviously work there. Because I say so.)

***

[Back to Chapter 14]

[Back to the beginning]

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #fiddleford mcgucket #bill cipher

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