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hollow-of-falling-stars · 7 years

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Markisona Origins: Wilford Warfstache

Chapter Two and a Half: Care For an Interview?

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Gray blurs, words words, is someone talking? Famous Slender Man... Once... Feared... Existence, Registered Sex Offender... Exclusive interview.. Epiphany of Evil... Ridiculous mustache... ADDICT Shapes were moving, sounds blurred together, too fast too bright stopstopstopstopSTOP-

Time came to a halt and re-winded, blurs became focused and sentences reformed into sounds that actually made sense.

He sat across from a faceless man -Is it just blurry still, or does he actually have no face?- who was wearing a frankly ridiculous wig, and a mustache to match.

Good evening everybody, my name is Wilford Warfstache with the AFC News, and I’ve got an exclusive chance to sit down with the world famous Slender Man.....

Wilford... Warfstache? Haha, okay... I’m a... Journalist? Who is this “Slender Man?”

If Wilford had a body, he likely would have flinched backwards when the wave of information slammed into him like a semi truck. But Wilford didn’t have a body, nor did he know what a semi truck was, though he assumed that it had to be rather large and heavy in order for such a comparison to come to mind.

Slender Man? You mean that weird tall thing from the games? Yeah, he’s a stalker, he’s killed soo many people. In game obviously. Yeah yeah, we know, Geez, no need to jump in all the time. Whatever, apparently he kills adults and places their ORGANS in bags, but he leaves them in the body? Forget that, have you seen his tentacles? SOO CREEPY. What’s creepy is that he BEFRIENDS children, why does he do that? what do you think he does to the kids? Dunno, the lore never said...

Wilford wrenched himself away from the voices, instead focusing on the scene playing out before him. He had just accused Slender Man of being a child molester. If the voices are anything to go by, then he probably IS a child molester... Gross. Hold up, what even is Slender Man? Why am I interviewing him? You’ve heard the theories right? Uhh, I’ve heard one? Pretty sure it’s called The Tulpa Effect... What’s that? What’s a tulpa? The basic explanation for tulpas would be imaginary friends I guess, but they’re a lot more complicated than that. Tulpas originate from Tibetan mythology, something like an extra body or whatever that you can talk to to “access the spirit world”. Sounds like a load of bull to me. Wait, I thought that they were created singularly? Like, one person creates them for themselves or something? The Tulpa Effect refers to when a group of people generate enough belief to make something fictional come to life! It’s just a theory though, no scientific proof...

Well THAT seems important, I ought to remember that.

The scene was coming to a close now, he was facing a camera and describing how not to end up like Slender Man. It was strange though, that he couldn’t control his own limbs or mouth. Not that he wouldn’t have done what he had already, but it was a little strange to wake up to no memories but still hold a successful interview. I suppose that means that I’m going to be a great journalist! I wanna meet the guy who hired me...

The last thing he heard himself say was F*** off, Slendy! Warfstache don’t take no shit from nobody! Then it was dark.

Everything was dark; one that felt like a crushing, agonizing weight that made his head spin. If he could hear, smell, taste, and (actually) feel this terrible darkness as well, that’s how he’d describe it, it just consumed all of his senses. It felt like it lasted for hours, days, years? Wilford didn’t know, but it was terrifying. He couldn’t see or hear anything, he didn’t know if he was completely numb or if his nerves were on fire, he felt pain everywhere and yet he felt nothing at all.

Then came the light, a pretty pink, like cotton candy... Or bubblegum. It embraced him like a mother wrapping their frightened child in a blanket, warm and soothing. He wished that that feeling would never leave.

It lasted forever in a second, because the darkness came back, but he could still feel the warmth of whatever that light was. Blinking away the spots covering his vision, Wilford looked around.

It was mostly black, with slight gray lines detailing where the floor and walls met. To his right was a window that showed a man asleep in his bed, a rather odd choice in scenery, but he could make it work. And to his left was what looked like a miniature recording studio/office, perfect for an up-and-coming journalist like himself.

THADUMP

Spinning around, Wilford gaped at the figure on the floor. I guess I'm not alone around here after all.

The man scrambled to his feet, trying to straighten his clothes as quickly as possible “OhgeezI’msosorryhowdidyougetherewaitnoIthinkIknowhowfuckwhatdoIdoshitshitshi-” Wilford held up a hand and readjusted his mustache. “Well hello there, my name is Wilford Warfstache from the ABC news, could I perhaps... Interest you in an interview?”

Well, that’s all I’ve got for you guys tonight! This may seem a little odd, but please go back and read the last two chapters in a few days. I’ve got a friend beta reading/editing this series now, but he’s busy most of the time. Update edits will explain what’s been changed, added, removed, etc. I know it’s a little unprofessional but I’ve got to work with that I’ve got! Also, I know that I don’t have a lot of people following the series yet, but for those who are, please don’t be afraid to send me asks or pms about it! I’d love to be able to interact with you guys, some of the things you ask or suggest may be incorporated into the story where it fits, and it’ll help me with that stupid writer’s block. This chapter should have been finished on Monday, but I got super busy so it had to come late :/ Shout out to @ego-protection-squad for putting up with my whining! Seriously dude, thank you. You’ve been a huge help and this series hasn’t even gotten to the best part- Oops! I’ve said too much, Ciao! @the-septic-theory-squad @http-anti @googleplier-official @egoimagines @magic-marvin-protection-patrol @the-host-protection-squad @warfstache-support-group @googleplier-official

#darkiplier #fanfic #markiplier #wilford warfstache #markisonas #markiplier egos #markisona origins

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sunnybimbo · 7 years

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The Witch and the Mage

ao3 link here

y’all i had so much fun with this aljdhsajdahl pls feel free to ask more about this because i love it SO MUCH

@voltron-rare-pair-week for Day Four: Free Day!

could be read as platonic or pre-slash Shunk (Shiro/Hunk)!

(MMO AU; 3908 words)

“The Goblins of Dorfenshertin should be showing up after this room, so make sure you save your buffs.”

“Shiro’s talking to you, Keith. Mr. ‘Sorry, I Was On Cooldown’.” Lance griped.

“Are you still pissy you died?” Keith sighed heavily, the sound echoing in his burgonet, only his half-lidded eyes visible through the faceplate. Nonetheless they all could hear the grin in his voice.

“Uh, yeah. I lost my Orb of Disarray! That last boss would’ve gone down like that , if you had your buffs up.”

The two of them butted heads, though Lance quickly pulled away when his bare forehead clanged hard against Keith’s metal helmet.

“Asshole.”

“Guys, kinda need your help here.” Hunk grunted, wringing his fingers as he casted Barricade on the door twice in succession. Still, it buckled and cracked under the weight of the forty or so goblins that had begun to spawn into existence.

The room of the twenty-five story castle they were currently hiding in was basically a tiny library. Thick dust lined the walls, caking dozens of book spines in a layer of dirty white. Spider webs criss-crossed the ceiling, and oozing egg sacs harmlessly swung above their heads.

(Harmless if you didn’t touch the acid, that is.)

Holes in the walls, that counted as windows if you squinted, were so high up that they would have had to stand on each other’s shoulders to peek out of them. That, combined with the night cycle outside, led to that awfully dreary lighting they were subjected to while they awaited their demise.

Lance cracked his knuckles, cocking his gun and striking a pose. “I bet you I can take them all with no health packs.”

Shiro shook his head, wiggling his fingers as purple energy crackled around them. “No bets. Not if you guys actually want to qualify for the tournament next weekend.”

He turned to the pendant that gave him a view of their base. It was safely nestled in a corner of the realm, about two kingdoms away from their current location. The pendant, a reward given to them from one of their very first missions, allowed for two way visual communication.

There, in the corner surrounded by her golems and undead pets sat their necromancer. “Pidge, how long until you finish that buff?”

“Twenty seconds. Well, that plus the fifteen more I need to be able to project it over to you. After that, Hunk should be ready to cast Vindicate.”

“Got it. Think you can hold it for 35 more seconds, Hunk?”

“Not really.” The panicking witch hissed, summoning a wall of cobblestone to block the few goblins that slipped in past the cracking wood and waning barriers.

Keith grimaced, hefting his broadsword in front of him as he widened his stance. “We might need to take them out now and just hope for the best.”

The team nodded and, with a weary sigh, Hunk let his enchantment fall as he slid to the back to provide support. Witches tended to be quite squishy, especially when it came to large mobs.

“We’ve got this!”

---

Shiro sighed heavily, dragging his hand down his face as the rest of the team respawned.

The grassy hills they got transported to were about 20 miles away from the Tower of Calamity, the exact same tower they had just got absolutely destroyed in. There was no way they would be able to walk all the way back and beat all twenty five levels again.

Not tonight, anyway.

Pidge sent them a fussy group message, seeing as she wasn’t able to contact them directly now that their direct communicator was lost. Shiro skimmed past the filtered curse words, making a mental note to have the team rerun the dungeon later to get another pendant.

‘I’ll try to find some outside help for next time. See you four tomorrow.’ Was her signing off message, and Shiro knew she was probably going to be up all night contacting guilds or mercenaries for hire.

From behind him, Lance hacked up a lung as he rubbed his throat. “I swear, these goblins get more and more ruthless the longer I play this damn game.”

The pain, of course, had faded as soon as he lost his last health bar, but the feel of their grubby fingers against his esophagus still ghosted across his skin. Nevermind the fact that his under armor extended up to his chin.

Maybe it was a glitch? Ah, well. These games were made to be realist, either way.

Keith respawned next, hands pressed across his abdomen as he let out a ragged breath. He fell hard against the grass, shoving his helm from his face, and Shiro gave him a tentative smile. “Stabbed?”

He only received a scowl in response, but by the way Keith kept checking his belly for signs of blood, he’d probably hit it right on the nose.

“What’s the point of full metal armor if I can just get stabbed between the cracks, anyway?” He pouted, pulling himself up.

Hunk was last, and the ends of his robe were singed as he materialized into view. “Oh, geez. We went down so hard.” He rubbed soot from his eyes, dusting his blackened fingers off on his trousers.

“Yeah, we did.” Shiro couldn’t help but laugh, before he heaved another sigh. “I guess we’d better call this a night, huh?”

Lance grunted as Hunk helped him up. “I guess so. I have family bonding activities tonight, anyway, so I should probably go help set up.” He stretched his arms above his head, curling his back in until it popped. “Should I port back to camp or?”

“We probably need to restock on potions and all that, so go for it. See you tomorrow, sharpshooter.”

With a click of his tongue and a wink, Lance poofed away with only a glittering ring around his feet left as proof he even stood there at all. It disappeared about two seconds later.

“What about you two?” Shiro asked as he pulled up his map, hand hovering in the air as he zoomed in on the nearest town.

Hunk and Keith slid up beside him, peering over his shoulder.

“A trip to town sounds fun to me.” Hunk shrugged, pulling out his bone whistle to call his mount.

“I’ll probably split up to buy some new gear before I log off.” Keith voiced, tapping his chin as he began a mental list of the items he’d need. “But can I hitch a ride?”

Shiro flicked the map away, blinking as his eyes refocused. Hunk just hummed his agreement as his Balmera landed.

They were round animals with sharp edges, rocky in appearance, but soft if they trusted you enough to let you pet them. Their wings were thin, but strong like expensive leather, and their eyes held a kindness that almost made Hunk cry the first time he saw them. Of course, he never admitted it aloud, since no one else ever expresses such sentiments about their digital (as in, not real ) mount.

Rumor has it, though, that if you levelled them high enough they could give you a permanent healing buff, no matter if they were with you or not. Hunk was almost there. Just a few more enchanted books and one more dungeon, and he’d have the gauntlet he needed to summon the -

“Hunk?”

“Huh?”

“We’re ready to go.” Shiro smiled, and Hunk flushed at the teasing look.

“Sorry, I just… zoned out.” He cleared his throat, following the other two as he climbed aboard his pet. “To Dimrun!”

---

Despite the name, Dimrun was a very lively borough. The homes sat so close together, they may as well have been connected townhouses. Every front porch had a personalized lantern, lit almost exactly at the same time each night.

There always seemed to be a festival happening in Dimrun, and that night was no exception. Every person in town, NPC or actual player, seemed to be dressed in silly costumes and twirling in drunken swagger.

Keith hopped from the Balmera first, weapon already out and glinting in the warm torchlit as he inspected the dents and cracks in the steel.

“I’ll see you both around.”

“Good luck finding an open shop.” Hunk offered, and coming from anyone else it probably would have sounded sarcastic. Keith took the comment in stride and offered him a curt nod, disappearing quickly in the thick ocean of the crowd that swarmed the town.

Hunk and Shiro slid from the mount, and Hunk offered it a few treats as he hooked it up in the stall.

“What are you planning for tonight?” Shiro asked, idly picking at his prosthetic. It was almost a mirror image of the one he had in real life, and Hunk always greatly admired both.

“I was probably just going to hit up the tavern; dance around. Lurk.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Hunk glanced over at Shiro, who looked very much so like a person who did not want to be alone at that moment. His eyes were averted downwards, a sharp contrast to his usual cool confidence, and Hunk hummed thoughtfully.

“Please, do.”

Shiro jerked in surprise, as if he had been expecting Hunk to blow him off. “Yeah?”

Hunk flipped off his ornamental hat, donned with jewels, ribbons, and all, and offered his elbow to Shiro, who hooked his fingers in the crook of his elbow automatically in response. “Yep!”

---

The tavern, surprisingly, was empty (other than the barkeeper) when they stepped in. Perhaps all of the drunken patrons decided the party was better in the crisp fall air instead of the stuffy, smoke-ridden bar.

The pair quickly stole a table in the back, away from the creaking door and crackling hearth.

Hunk dumped his satchel across the top, spilling charmed gemstones and thick scroll pages across the alcohol-stained wood.

“What’s all this?” Shiro tucked his elbows on top of the table as he peered down at the writings. “Making a new spell?”

“Mhm! Something for Keith when he runs into battle. Most of my spells aren’t quick enough to block the amount of hits he takes, but I was thinking I could use something like a deflection to help decrease the damage and throw it back at the enemies. It probably would have been especially helpful today, what with that one mage-goblin.”

Hunk sighed heavily. They probably would have been successful in their earlier battle if only it hadn’t appeared as soon as their skills were on cooldown.

“I swear, we’re so unlucky these days. Mage-goblins have like a 1-in-5,000 chance of showing up in a mob! He totally wiped the floor with our butts.” Hunk continued on, picking at the less-than-spectacular gems and pushing them back in the bag.

“If one of us had been able to deflect, maybe he wouldn’t have been such a problem. Then again, once Lance was out of ammo we were pretty much screwed anyway, since he still hasn’t gotten his reload buff.”

Hunk blinked his eyes, glancing up from his color-coded piles to look at Shiro, who just stared at him in something akin to amazement. Or perhaps he zoned out halfway through. “Oh, geez… I went on a rant there, didn’t I? Sorry…”

“It’s fine, Hunk. Us support-types have to rant to someone sometime, right?” Shiro lifted his hand, placating smile dancing across his lips, and a crackle of magic-electricity shot through the air.

Hunk grinned, bringing up his own fingers to call forward a halo of fire that rimmed his knuckles. Their fists touched in a show of camaraderie, and their magic sparked as soon as they met.

“Right.”

---

The two of them spent most of that night planning new strategies and organizing each other’s spells.

Hunk had no idea how Shiro survived with the disorganized mess that was his spell-cast list. His enhancements were at the very bottom, each separated by physical attacks, and he only had one or two of his favorite spells quick-slotted.

“How on earth do you even survive?”

Shiro shrugged. “I like going through the motions. It grounds me.”

Hunk didn’t argue with that. He, himself, had a few larger spells that he preferred to use his entire body to cast, other than a few hand motions. His personal favorite was Vitality, which he only ever used to speed up the growth of his herbs for his potions.

Shiro, though he prefered body magic, suggested Hunk teach him a few healing spells. If only to help himself in the midst of battle so Hunk could focus on the two damage-magnets that were Lance and Keith.

That was how the two of them found each other on the outskirts of town, sitting beneath a willow tree that seemed to want to wrap them up in its vines and steal them away forever. It had a name that escaped Hunk at the moment, but there was some sort of folk-tale he’d heard a while back about it being the spirit of an ancient creature that used to destroy cities with merely a flick of its wrist. If he remembered right, the spirit had been a woman who’d lost her daughter to a pointless war, bent on the destruction of those who’d wronged her and her family. The only reason why she stopped was because of the daughters of those who she’d killed stepped forward and were prepared to give their lives as an exchange for the safety of their people.

Heavy stuff, it was.

The lowing-hanging leaves tickled Hunk’s nose, and he sneezed.

Shiro smiled fondly as he plopped down on the roots that jutted from the ground, patting the spot beside him. “Bless you.”

They joined hands, and Hunk was pleasantly surprised at the warm pulse he felt through the prosthetic. It felt almost the exact same as Shiro’s other palm, the only discernable difference being the smooth texture of metal versus the battle-worn grooves of his skin.

“So, uh… First thing you have to do is focus your magic in your palms.” Hunk began, “Try to keep it away from your fingertips, or else it’ll shoot right up into the air, especially since you’re used to projectile spells.”

Shiro silently nodded his head, eyes fluttering shut.

Hunk followed suit, calling his magic forward to help coax it out of his mage-friend. “Try to keep your breathing steady, too. Once you get used to calling it, you won’t have to worry, but if you start panicking you might hurt yourself.”

“Got it.”

It took quite a while for the surge to pulse through, partly because it was a struggle to get the magic to bypass the metal fingers, but once it did, Hunk nearly gasped aloud.

The magic was strong. Violently so, and it washed over his skin like a malevolent deluge. A harsh shiver ran up his spine, coiling at the base of his skull as sickening thoughts took over. He saw destruction, created by his own hands, overtaking every city and forest of the realm that was Voltron.

When the flow didn’t quell after a few seconds, he had to yank his hands back to take a shaky breath, curling over himself as he counted his breath, his fingers, the stitches of his clothes… anything to calm him down as his heart threatened to break free of his ribcage.

“Hunk?” Came Shiro’s frightened tone. “What happened?”

His brow furrowed, and he had to scrub at his eyes with the heels of his hands to quash the violent images. “You didn’t feel that?”

“I felt… a pull. A soft tug, I guess. Did I hurt you?”

Hunk shooed his worried hands away. “No, no. I’m fine.” He pulled himself up, and helped Shiro to do the same. “I… we should try this another day. I think I’m just tired. Is that okay?”

“Of course.” Shiro nodded. “Come on, let’s… go look at the festivities before you log off.”

Hunk ran a shaky hand through his bangs, nearly ripping his headband from his hair.

“Yes, that sounds… great, actually.”

---

Eventually, Hunk calmed enough to stop his fingers from shaking.

It helped that Shiro constantly bought him things to keep his hands full. Hand-carved statuettes made from woods, glass, and even animal bones were given to him by his guild leader, each one some type of feline, and each one was painted a color that correlated to their teammates. A lounging blue cat for Lance, a ferocious red panther frozen mid-leap for Keith, and a tiny green margay, curled around an equally green tree for Pidge.

The carvings were safely stashed away in his satchel as they rounded on food stalls, and Shiro was quick to buy anything that seemed to catch Hunk’s eye. Half of what they ended up getting ended up in Shiro’s stomach, the endless pit that it was.

Hunk shook his head fondly after Shiro downed his seventh pheasant leg. They plucked up a pair of warm ciders to finish off the quick meal, and Hunk curled both his hands around the mug as the cool breeze of autumn nipped at his nose.

More and more booths lined the city square, and all were hand-decorated more and more intricately the farther into town they walked. Hunk stopped often to admire the smooth lines of the painted tents.

“You should set up a shop one of these days.” Shiro mentioned after the fifth or sixth stop.

“Really?” Hunk had never thought about it, but he’d be able to sell a plethora of things. Spellbooks, jewelry, advice.

“Mhm. Don’t be afraid to ask me if you need a loan.” Shiro winked, and Hunk felt his face flush at the offer.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

---

They somehow rounded back to the same tavern, through the back door this time. Because it doubled as an inn, the pair had to wander through an array of hallways to get back to the bar.

Shiro stopped them somewhere in the middle of the building, eyes catching on a painting that seemed to be featured in every main building in every town of the game. It showed up so often that most stopped paying it any attention, but Shiro seemed captivated by it.

Hunk backtracked a few steps to follow his gaze.

It was a painting of Altea, the once sparkling city that had ruled every land and region. Unfortunately, for the sake of the plot, Zarkon had destroyed it and stolen away the ever-loved royalty that once ruled them with kind hands.

These days, it was hard to go anywhere unless you announced your allegiance to the Galra, Zarkon’s denomination. Many did, if only to keep their livelihood, but others, players like Shiro, Hunk, Lance, Keith, and Pidge, fought against him every chance they got.

Once the next update patched through, they would be able to try to rescue the royal family. Apparently it was going to be the biggest update in the history of the game, and the family would not be NPCs, but real.

Those were probably just rumors, though.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Shiro clutched his arm, fingers squeaking against the polished metal. “I just… had a thought.”

Hunk gave an introspective hum, and the sound awkwardly hung in the air. Then, tentative, jittery fingers brushed against his knuckles, and Hunk took it upon himself tangle them in his own. He wanted to ask if Shiro was alright, but Shiro was a chronic liar when it came to those sorts of questions.

“I still can’t believe you’re one of the only ones ever to have escaped Zarkon after being captured. Most people stop playing, or restart, after that.” Hunk asked instead.

“Yeah, well…” Shiro shrugged, an uneasy laugh building in his throat. “I never know when to quit.”

Hunk led him to a nearby chair, the duo tucking themselves into a dirty corner. Shiro slumped down, burying his face in his human palm as Hunk clung to the prosthetic.

“Do you want to talk about it? Your thought.”

Shiro quickly shook his head. “I’d rather not.” He looked up to catch Hunk’s eye as the witch knelt before him.

Hunk let go of his hand rested his palms against Shiro’s knees, offering a bit of his calming magic to spread through the contact. “Well, I’m here to listen whenever you’d like.”

The mage leaned forward to press his forehead against Hunk’s, and Hunk let him, murmuring comforting words until the crease in Shiro’s brow faded away.

This wasn’t the first time Shiro found himself shaken by a relatively harmless item from the game, and would probably not be the last, but Hunk was getting better at pulling him back and keeping him steady.

“Thank you, Hunk.” Shiro breathed, “You’re a good friend.”

“You’re a good leader.” Hunk easily replied.

---

Eventually, the two of them had to log off. Shiro led Hunk back to his Balmera, so that he could port with his pet without having to wait for the cooldown that came with each of them porting separately.

“Thank you for helping me with my spells earlier.” Hunk said as he side-saddled his mount, fingers carding through the feather-like fur idly.

“No problem. Like I said, we support-types have to stick together.”

They shared a grin, and Shiro leaned against the Balmera, who lazily flicked its tail at him. “Are you going to be on tomorrow?” He asked.

“I should be! I might have to get off a bit early because my family is visiting for the holidays, but I doubt it. I’ll let you know for sure tomorrow.”

“That’s fine, it’s not like we have any guild-activities planned.” Shiro restlessly tapped his fingers against his bicep. “Would you mind helping me with my healing spells tomorrow? There’s no rush, of course, I just...”

“You just like perfecting your spells. I understand, completely.” Hunk waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve got you, don’t worry. We’ll practice all day if we have to.”

Shiro affectionately ruffled his hair, and Hunk hid the resulting tangle with his flamboyant hat. Then, from deep within the folds of his robe, he pulled free a statuette and tossed it to Shiro before he could get a proper look at it.

“See you tomorrow!”

Hunk and his Balmera vanished with that, transported to their base, and Shiro nearly slipped and fell now that his leaning post was gone.

The carved glass was so detailed that Shiro could make out every fine hair of the figurine. A lioness, by the look of it, stained every color of the rainbow. She stood proud on her perch, which was curved like a magnificent planet, as if she ruled it in its entirety. Underneath her feet sat the very sky itself, and Shiro had no idea if it was just reflecting the one above his head perfectly, or if the glass maker was just very very talented.

It was beautiful, and Shiro had no idea when Hunk had found the time to snatch it up for him, but Shiro appreciated it immensely. It must have cost a pretty penny.

Shiro grinned to himself, holding it close to his heart as he pulled up his IMs and shot off a quick thank-you to his favorite witch.

Maybe he could finish that deflection spell for Hunk before he logged back on?

It was already way past midnight, but… Shiro never did know when to quit, did he?

#VLDRarePairWeek #jam writes #shiro #hunk #voltron #should i tag this as shunk or nah #nah #tw for mentions of stabbing?#so i guess #impalement tw #ask me to tag more shit #for sure

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gosecretscribbles · 5 years

Text

Stanuary 2019 Week 1 Bonding

“GET BACK HERE!”

“AAAGH!”

Stan chased after the tourist, brandishing his cane in one hand and the crossbow in the other. The guy had tried to pay for his tour with a baby goat! What did he think this was, Medieval Europe?! Goats were not currency! Goats weren't even profitable! They just ate, pooped, and stank!

Stan thought he was in decent shape for an old fat guy, but the skinny farmer sprinted to his truck like all the tax collectors in the state were on his heels. Plus that stupid baby goat was prancing around Stan and tripping him up. Even so, Stan nearly made it to the truck when the farmer hit the gas. The engine roared to life and dirt sprayed in Stan's face. He skidded to a stop, coughing and scraping at his eyes.

There was a thunk and Stan looked down. The kid had keeled right over, all four legs straight out.

“Oh, great, now he's dead! YOU PAID ME WITH A DEAD GOAT, YA MORON!”

He swung up the crossbow and fired, but the truck hit a bend in the road. Instead of popping a tire the bolt just hit the license plate and jarred it loose. It fell off with a noisy rattle as the truck swung around the curve and disappeared, the other goats' bleating quickly fading from earshot.

Swearing a blue streak under his breath, Stan went to retrieve the license plate. Never know when you'd need one to throw the cops off your trail.

Now he had to decide what to do with a dead baby goat. The next tourist bus wasn't coming until noon, so he had about an hour to figure it out. He didn't really want to stuff it, but he couldn't think of anything else to do with it. Hey, maybe he could make his new mechanic do it instead – what was his name, Zeus or something? Sure, that'd work. He just had to get the goat out of the way until Soup came back from school.

He reached the goat and bent down to grab its leg.

“Baa-aa-aah.”

“AAH!”

He jumped back. The goat's ears and tail twitched, then it rolled over and looked up at him.

“Baa-aa-aah,” it repeated insistently.

“Yeesh, give me a heart attack already,” Stan growled, one hand over his chest. “If you're looking for food, you're lying in it. Grass, meet goat. Goat, meet lunch. Now stay outta the way, I got a business to run.”

“Baa-aa-aah.”

He went inside to work on more pun-related exhibits for the museum. Those wax figures had brought in a ton of money when he'd first set them up, but business had gone dry a week ago, and he needed another money maker and fast. Those portal parts didn't come cheap.

The goat bleated from the porch for a solid twenty minutes, then he heard it clopping away. Stan snorted, then went back to gluing googly eyes on a plastic octopus. Maybe eight eyes, so it was like a combo spider-octopus? Yeah, that'd work. Now he just had to think of a catchy name for it. Or maybe Octo-spider? Arachnipus? Octo-Eyes? Hmm, maybe that'd work...

Stan came out of the Shack in time to greet the next tourist bus. He didn't see the kid anywhere, so many the dumb thing had wandered into the woods. Perfect, one less thing to worry about. He put everyone in the carts and drove 'em out to see random stuff in the forest, like the Tree of the Screaming Tourist. He told them the eerily twisted bark was an actual tourist whose spirit had been sucked into the tree when he refused to pay for the tour. (Everyone was suddenly very eager to pay him for the tour. And tip him. Generously.)

He drove 'em back and waved them into the bus. Then he headed back to the Gift Shop. His pockets were practically bulging with cash. He definitely had to use that Screaming Tree story more often! Even if it kind of freaked him out. Wait, hadn't Ford's journal's mentioned something about –

“Hi, Mr. Pines!”

“AAH!”

He jumped back for the second time that day, glaring down at Deuce, who was standing innocently in the doorway of the Gift Shop.

“Geez, kid, make some noise when you move!”

“Sure, Mr. Pines! By the way, I didn't know you had a pet goat!”

Deuce moved aside. That dumb stinky nuisance was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled everywhere, its floppy tail thumping like a puppy's.

“Baa-aa-aah!”

He groaned. “That's not a pet. And get it out of here! Smells like a moldy haystack, and I got some new attractions I need to make for the museum.” He stepped over the goat and strode to the craft counter in the corner. “Octo-Eyes was a huge hit! Taxidermic monstrosities are gonna make me a fortune!”

“Couldn't we make this little guy an attraction too?” Moose asked behind him. “I bet you could even give him a punny name! Like 'Cutebacabra'!”

Stan stopped and turned around. The goat looked up at him with those weird sideways pupils.

“Yeah,” Stan said slowly, holding up both hands to frame the little moneymaker. “Yeah, the Cutebacabra! Glue on some fake wings, coupla cow legs – maybe some red paint drooling from its mouth! Ha, I love it!”

Bruce beamed at him. “Thanks, Mr. Pines!”

“Kid, gather every spare stuffed limb I've got and a ton of crazy glue. Then go set up a display for him in the museum. This creepy cuteness is gonna be our next main attraction!”

Exactly forty-three minutes later, Stan was showing a new set of tourists into the museum. He'd already taken them to the Tree of the Screaming Tourist, and now he was gonna milk 'em dry. Zeus had rigged up a little stage and a red velvet curtain for Chompers. With a single grand gesture, Stan pulled it aside. Instantly the crowd went 'AAAAH!' and 'AWWW!'

He grinned and gestured grandly. Sluice had made it a little vest and glued on every spare animal limb they had. “That's right, folks, the rare baby Cutebacabra! The only one in the world! Pictures are five – no, fifty dollars each!”

Immediately tourists stuffed good ol' Grants into his hands and snapped pictures, flashes going off in every direction.

The goat's eyes went wide and it keeled over, legs straight out.

A kid in the crowd screamed. “OH MY GOD IT'S DEAD!”

“WE'RE CURSED!”

“RUN FOR YOUR LIIIIFE!”

“Oh come on!” Stan shouted. He didn't bother chasing the tourists – he'd pick-pocketed them while they had their eyes on the goat, and he knew they didn't have even two bucks left among the lot of them. But why in the name of Paul Bunyan did the goat keep playing dead?! If it had done that two seconds earlier it would've cost him all those picture fees!

“I'm back with the goat feed, Mr. Pines,” Puce said, poking his head into the Museum. He was dragging a forty-pound bag of feed. “You didn't give me any money, so I had to pay Mr. Sprotts with three hours of child labor.” Then he caught sight of the goat, turned white, and dropped the bag. “SWEET MOSES HE'S DEAD?!”

“No he's not,” Stan scowled. He reached out and poked the goat with a foot. The goat twitched, then flipped upright and started gnawing on one of the cow hoofs taped to its back. “See?”

The goat bleated and head-butted him.

“Aw, he likes you!” Spruce said.

“Ugh, get it offa me. The darn thing's defective!” He paused. “Then again, if I could get it to do it on command...” Imagine the look on people's faces if he walked his goat into traffic, then made them think they'd hit his Prize German-Australian Longhair Goat! They'd pay through the nose just to keep him from suing them!

“Eh, he probably just has that myotonic thing. Or maybe it was myopia? I always get those two mixed up.”

“Mia-what?”

The gumdrop shrugged. “Myotonia. Mr. Sprotts told me about it. You know how people get startled, and then they freeze up? It's like that, but for goats. And it lasts for longer, like their muscles seize up or something. It doesn't hurt them or anything,” he added, “but it is a genetic thing. Mr. Sprotts said a lot of his goats got it from the toxic waste dump.”

“So he's being literally scared stiff?”

Moose laughed. “Good one, Mr. Pines!”

The goat had finished chewing on the cow hoof and proceeded to gnaw on Stan's pantleg.

“Whoops!” Soup pulled the goat away, then set it down in front of the bag of feed and tore it open. “There ya go, little Gompers! This'll taste waaaay better. Trust me, I tried it!”

“Baa-aa-aah!”

Stan watched the goat eating. “Hey Swoose.”

“It's 'Soos', Mr. Pines!”

“Whatever. You're sayin' the goat just keeps getting scared?”

“Yep!”

“'Cuz it's genetic?”

“Uh, I guess so?”

“Well NOT ON MY WATCH! After one day of Stan’s Scare-A-Thon Therapy Session, this goat’s gonna be so desensitized it’ll never faint again!”

First, Stan got Moose to wire his satellite to pirate-stream horror movies from Japan. (Watching these also traumatized Puce, which Stan found hilarious.) Next Stan hired a clown (who he did not pay) and then practice his jump scares (which made Soos scream so loud it scared off all the birds in a three-mile radius). After that, Stan converted the Museum into a haunted house, complete with sheet-ghosts, cobwebs, and a looped sound track of death metal, complete with screaming. He shoved Gompers in and locked it tight.

He didn't realize until he went back three hours later that he'd also locked the child labor. Moose had collapsed on the floor in the middle of the room – but Gompers was stumbling around bleating to himself. It didn't look like he'd played dead at all!

Stan grinned. “Alright, now we're makin' progress!”

“That's great, Mr. Pines,” Bruce gasped. “You should – oh sweet burrito angels – you should totally save this stuff for Summerween.”

“Summer-what?”

“Summerween!” Soup struggled to sit up and collapsed. “It's – it's this holiday where – oh man I'm having a panic attack.”

Gompers clonked over, bleated, and started chewing on Soos' face.

Stan roared with laughter and slapped his knee. “Ha! This is goat's the best! Alright, Floose –”

“Soos.”

“Get ready for the main event. Something even scarier than Japanese horror movies or that weird mold growing in the corner.”

Sue sat up. “Okay, but if I don't come back, tell my grandma I love her and give all my stuff to charity.”

“The Mystery Shack appreciates your donations!”

Night was falling and the full moon was out. Luckily Soup had fixed the golf cart right down to the headlights, so they trundled along the beaten road in relative safety. Gompers and Soos were in the backseat, the kid's arms wrapped around Gompers like it was a really smelly plushy. He grinned. When he was done that goat would be almost as hardcore as Stan himself!

When they got close enough, Stan stopped the truck, hustled around to the trunk and started handing a stuff to Soup.

“Okay. Run ahead and put these all around the tree ahead. The batteries are all dying so the light'll flicker all weird and creepy. This one has a full battery. Lie down at the bottom of the tree, and then when I give the signal, shine it right at the bark.”

“Sure, Mr. Pines! Which tree is this again?”

“The one with a human soul was trapped in its bark writhing in agony!”

“Ok!”

Stan gave him a shove and then hustled back to the cart, where Gompers was currently chewing on the back seat. He hopped back in the driver's seat, waited three seconds and then drove slowly up to the Tree of the Screaming Tourist. It was hard to see the shape of the messed-up bark, which would make it even creepier when Zeus lit up the flashlights.

He parked, took his portable radio out of the trunk, and then grabbed Gompers. He set the goat down in front of the tree, backed up, and hovered his finger over the “play” button.

“Okay, Sluice...NOW!”

From the radio, a hollow scream filled the air and the whole tree lit up with a flickering yellow light.

“Ha! That's perfect!”

“Baa-aa-aah,” said Gompers.

He grinned, but before he could tell Zoop to step it up, the lights suddenly flickered. They turned orange, then red. The radio suddenly crackled with static and he dropped it as electricity singed his hand. The bark of the tree started moving and a huge ghost-y thing ballooned out of it, just a massive face made of fire and fury. Stan backed up with a shout. Several tree branches snapped and started bending like spider arms. One of them swung around from the back of the tree – and a certain pear-shaped mechanic was dangling from its twigs.

He waved. “Hi, Mr. Pines! I'm a hostage!”

The spirit's yellow eyes turned on him. Its pupils went red. “YOOUUUUU!”

“AAH!”

He sprinted for the golf cart, but the spirit lashed out and smashed it with a bark-covered arm. He grabbed Gompers and held it up.

“JUST TAKE THE GOAT, TAKE THE GOAT!”

“Do you know how long my spirit has been stuck in that tree, completely alone, just listening to those stupid squirrel-squids chatter about acorns and sushi? And after years of waiting for you to come back, you finally bring people to visit me – and you tell every last one of them how terrifying I am, so they'll never! Come! BACK!” The face swelled until it blotted out the sky. Its heat seared his skin. “AM I SCARY ENOUGH FOR YOU NOW, STAN PINES?!”

He screamed and tried to run, dropping the kid, but she swooped down and grabbed him up. She lifted him higher and higher, squeezing him so tightly he could feel his bones creak. He could barely breathe! He had a funny feeling he wasn't the Stan Pines she was talking about, but he couldn't get enough air to tell her that!

“Um, excuse me? Ms. Tree Spirit?”

They both looked at Soos, who was wiggling one of his chubby little hands to get the spirit's attention.

“Hrrrrr,” she growled.

He smiled. “Oh, I'm a him, actually! Although I do have a feminine softness. It sounds like you're mad because you've been lonely for so long, right? But Mr. Pines has been bringing people to see you all the time!”

“They are TERRIFIED of me!”

“Not everyone.” He pointed.

Gompers was standing on the ground below, absently chewing on a fallen stick. The ghost growled and moved closer, her face distorting until her burning yellow eyes were the size of whole cars, and her face was a gaping maw dripping with reddish flame, mere inches from the goat's puny face.

“DO YOU FEAR ME, LITTLE GOAT?!” she boomed, and her voice was so loud and deep the trees nearby actually shivered and creaked on their roots.

Gompers blinked.

“Baa-aa-aah,” he said, and resumed his chewing.

“Hmm.”

“Good goat,” Stan managed. The spirit scowled and squeezed a little harder.

“But this is not what we agreed to. I don't want people to be afraid of me!”

“But scariness is part of the fun!” Soos said earnestly. “Plus it's a fun way to spend time together! My dad never hangs out with me, but Mr. Pines and I watched a horror movie marathon. And even though I wet myself a couple of times, I wouldn't trade that time for the world. I'll bet the families who visited you remember how frightening and fun it was, and they'll probably come back to see you again next year!”

Stan could see the spirit thinking it over.

“Baa-aa-aah,” added the goat.

The spirit snorted and gave Stan a hard look, those ruby peepers staring right into his soul. “You will keep your promise, Stan Pines? You will not leave me to suffer in isolation?”

“Guarantee it,” he wheezed. “Main attraction. Every tour. Can't breathe.”

“Very well. But if you break your promise one more time, the woods will never be safe for you again.”

She let go of Soos and Stan, who hit the forest floor with a dull thump. The spirit withdrew into the bark, lifting her arms to become branches again, while the bark of the trunk twisted and rippled back to its previous shape. Stan waited for a second, but the tree didn't so much as twitch.

He sprang to his feet and scooped up the goat. “Ha! You did it! You beautiful monster, you really did it! You looked that tree-thing straight in the big yellow eye and didn't even twitch! I bet this goat could handle the frigging apocalypse without batting an eye!”

“Probably!” Soos agreed cheerfully.

Stan smirked, then mashed Soos' head in a noogie. “Ya didn't do too bad yourself, there, ya midget.”

“Really?!”

“Uh, are those actual stars in your eyes?”

“For you, Mr. Pines, I would go full-on anime.”

“Don't make this weird, kid. Now let's see if the golf cart's drivable. I'm allergic to all this bonding and I left my old-man tonic in the Shack.”

“Soda isn't tonic, Mr. Pines.”

“Says you.”

“Baa-aa-aah.”

A/N

“A myotonic goat, otherwise known as the fainting goat, is a domestic goat whose muscles freeze for roughly 3 seconds when the goat feels panic. Though painless, this generally results in the animal collapsing on its side. The characteristic is caused by a hereditary genetic disorder called myotonia congenita. When startled, younger goats will stiffen and fall over. Older goats learn to spread their legs or lean against something when startled, and often they continue to run about in an awkward, stiff-legged shuffle.”

- from a-source-I-forgot-to-save-the-website-for

Also Nour386 came up with the idea about why the Tree was screaming! I had a different idea but this one is so much better!!!

@nour386

#stanuary #stanuary 2019 #stanuary week 1 #stanuary 2019 week 1 #stanuary 2019 week 1 bonding #nour386 #bonding #goat #gompers #baby gompers #stan #stan pines #soos

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