#his hair is the most fun to draw of all my ocs which contributes to the amount of art he has lol
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#dungeons and dragons#dnd#dnd character#dnd oc#elf#drow#warlock#dandelion treehollow#my pride and joy#missing him#his hair is the most fun to draw of all my ocs which contributes to the amount of art he has lol#he has enough money now to get clothes that actually fit him but that means i have to design a new outfit#fun fact his familiar Dizzy looks exactly like my pet rat from when i was a kid#i love rats#i also love his matching eyeliner and nail polish#sigh........ him.............
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Slasher OC: Decebal Avram Chirilă
Full Name: Decebal Avram Chirilă
Nickname(s): Dacia, Dece, The Impaler, Vladislav, Tiger, Lynx, Dracula, Casanova
Age: 38
Gender: Male
Nationality: Romanian
Place of Birth: Bucharest, Romania
Current Location: Travels from country to country
Occupation: Former Romanian Soldier; Now Hitman
Languages: Romanian, English, German, French, Italian, Hungarian, Russian, Turkish
Appearance:
Height: 6'8
Weight: 240lbs
Body Type: Middle Bulky and Atheltic
Skin Color: Warm Beige
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Hair Style: Short on the sides and longer on top, wavy
Eye Color: Pale Grey, almost white, giving the impression he is blind
Face Claim: Stephen James
Clothing: He opts for comfortable clothing mostly because of his job as a hitman and because he is always on the run. He mostly goes with black T-shirts or shirts, a khaki army coat with many pockets, along with camo army pants again with many pockets and black combat boots. He has a long black scarf with the colors of the Romanian flag trimmed along that belonged to his father.
Other features: He has many scars on his broad back and down his arms; his back's scars are covered by tattoos of an eagle and a grim reaper with two swords in an X shape. His has full sleeve tattoos down his arms, picturing all kind of nature scenarios from his country, mountains and wild animals and AK-47's on each forearm. His neck, chest and legs are also covered by tattoos along with his hands. This guy is all inked up. He also has a silver earing on his right ear. He also wears an eyepatch that is covering his scarred eye that he got from a fight with his brother Alexander, the scar mimiking the ones Alexander has, coming from his eyebrow down his eye and over his cheek.
Weapons: Twin Swords, Twin Guns, and throwing knives.
Power/Skills:
Murderous expertise
Brute strength
Skilled usage of weaponry
Skill in hand-to-hand combat
Knifesmanship
Swordsmanship
Multilingual
Cunning Nature
Charisma
Driving expertise
Ruthlessness
Fearlessness
Manipulation
Marksmanship
Master tactician and strategist
Stealth mastery
Symbols: Here is the link to Decebal's symbols
History/Bio:
Decebal was named after a Romanian king by his parents, father Apostol Chirilă, and his mother, Maria Stratulat of Moldovic heritage. They were a poor family that lived in Bucharest during the communist times, a hard period for them. Decebal's father, Apostol was one of the rebels that were against this form of a system of social organization in which all property is owned by the community and each person contributes and receives according to their ability and needs.
Because of this Apostol and Maria, along with their three years old son, Decebal, were dragged into the communistic jails where they were tortured in all kinds of ways from whipping to starvation to being chained into coldness.
Decebal tried to protect his parents even though he was a small child and the army warden that took care of the horrific jails was surprised by the child's braveness and he took him away from his parents, not before forcing him to watch how his parents were killed brutally.
During the rest of his childhood and teenage years, Decebal spent most of his life in the dark underground jail, training with the soldiers, doing hard work. Despite that, the warden thought Decebal about all kinds of languages, cultures, and history.
'Just because you're a stray dog that doesn't mean you cannot learn to bark and bite.'
In his late teenage years as he grew into an adult man, he got more to the light outside, following the warden wherever he went and did was his so-called 'father' figure did; smoke, drink and got laid with all the ladies.
The warden's words during a drunken late-night:
'You know boy, you will do something big, much bigger than you can imagine. I saw how all these sluts looked at you... You make them fall into your arms like they are desperate whores.'
'Use everything you got; charms, brains, muscles. In this world, there are the ones that walk every inch of the ground as they own it and the ones that follow, all chained. Tell me, boy... Which one you are?'
One of the greatest abilities that Decebal earned during years in the darkness was that he got so used to it that now as an adult, he sees perfectly into the darkness, just like cats do.
Some people called Decebal 'Lynx'; the moniker originates from the fact that Lynx has exceptional night vision, remarkable hearing, and incredible instincts. The spiritual lesson Lynx carries to you is a reminder to partake of quiet observance, remembering there’s more to the world than what’s accessible through the physical eyes and ears alone.
After communism fell down in Romania, Decebal still maintained the attitude he grew up around; being sadistic, cold, and cruel. People weren't too fond of his attitude; his habits including fighting and torturing people that opposed him, getting laid with other men's wives, strolling down the streets like he owned everything.
He disappeared from Romania when there was a reward on his head to be finally executed. The Romanian army was hot on his trail, turning against him, but he simply vanished.
He strolls from country to country, not having a definitive home and working as a rogue hitman to earn money and to survive.
After a brutal fight between him and his twin little brother, Alexander; the two brothers which resulted in both of them almost dead, they get on an agreement of peace between them, with the help of their third part, their little sister Nadia.
Family: His little brother Alexander Chirilă and his little sister Nadia Nikolina Chirilă
His favorite killing style:
He prefers a kill that will put on a good show, he will shot his victims in both their knees, then he will dismember them with his sharp twin swords.
Personality:
Decebal has two paths of personality; the civilian one and the hitman one, that sometimes cross path depending on the situation at hand. In hi day to day life, he is a charming, handsome man, confident and sure of himself, but also having a modesty edge, just to draw people in closer, because he loves the attention, having a God-like complex.
Despite his childhood, he is a very educated man that speaks many languages, sometimes taking people by surprise, he can even put on fake accents. He also has vast knowledge about other countries history, mostly because that's what his 'father-figure' talked a lot about.
He is a flirt, he simply adores to make women swon by his charming looks and mysterious persona wherever he goes, people always wondering from where he comes. He knows how to sweet-talk people, being extremly manipulative. His looks; big and strong, in his eyes a flaming white glow.
You will rarely see Decebal without his charming smile or dark smirk that makes the ladies sigh and faint. He always puts on a winning attitude, knowing for creating many divorces along his travelings.
Here goes his saying: 'If the female raised her tail, who I am to deny.'
He has a romantic side, after all he does speaks the romance languages, but it's highly influenced his his Casanova attitude.
He is blunt; this man will tell if you're damn gorgeous or if you're down-right ugly or stupid. He has no problem putting his opinions straight on the table.
His favorite drink: Țuică- is a traditional Romanian spirit that contains ~ 24–65% alcohol by volume (usually 40–55%), prepared only from plums.
His favorite food: Sarma is a dish of vine, cabbage, monk's rhubarb, kale or chard leaves rolled around a filling of grains, like bulgur or rice, minced meat, or both. It is found in the cuisines of the former Ottoman Empire from the Middle East to Southeastern Europe.
His scent: Decebal's scent could be described as a 'game of seduction' with an "exciting rush" of citrus and cool spice top notes. Pungent bergamot "bites" with freshness, revived by cardamom and lavender. Caviar gives a provocative and erotic touch “like a trickle of sweat on a man’s chiseled body.” Masculine and rough notes of tobacco and orris root facilitate the heat of the composition. He has that scent that could be described as smoky confidence irresistible to women.
Other Characteristics:
He is a very good dancer, especially traditional ones and he also knows singing. Attending important parties with his 'father-figure' he learned from the women how to dance and sing. The women basically made him such a charismatic man.
He is a heavy drinker and holds his alcohol like it's water; his moldovic genes showing off.
He is more of a night person that a day one, mostly because of his very good nocturnal sight.
He is pretty much an Outlaw.
His accent sounds like italian, latin, but with a little bit of russian or another slavic accent. (That's how a Austrian woman described his accent one night)
He is a master at Poker. Another way he earns a lot of money is through poker and plus, he is a master cheater. FUN FACT HERE: He won a man's wife through poker for one night.
He is a sword swallower, bonus he has no gag reflex.
He also loves to smoke from his pipe.
============================================
There lived a certain man in Romania long ago
He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow
Most people look at him with terror and with fear
But to Bucharest chicks he was such a lovely dear
He could preach the Bible like a preacher
Full of ecstasy and fire
But he also was the kind of teacher
Women would desire
DE DE DECEBAL
Lover of the ROMANIAN queen
There was a cat that really was gone
DE DE DECEBAL
Romania's greatest love machine
It was a shame how he carried on
He ruled the Romanian land and never mind the Tsar
But the kazachok he danced really wunderbar
In all affairs of state he was the man to please
But he was real great when he had a girl to squeeze
For the queen he was no wheeler dealer
Though she'd heard the things he'd done
She believed he was a holy healer
Who would heal her son
DE DE DECEBAL
Lover of the Romanian queen
There was a cat that really was gone
DE DE DECEBAL
Romania's greatest love machine
It was a shame how he carried on
(This is an interpretation of the song ‘Rasputin’ by Boney M, mostly because the song inspired me into creating him)
For power became known to more and more people
The demands to do something about this outrageous
Man became louder and louder
"This man's just got to go!" declared his enemies
But the ladies begged "Don't you try to do it, please"
No doubt this Decebal had lots of hidden charms
Though he was a brute they just fell into his arms
Then one night some men of higher standing
Set a trap, they're not to blame
"Come to visit us" they kept demanding
And he really came
DE DE DECEBAL
Lover of the Romanian queen
They put some poison into his țuică
DE DE DECEBAL
Romania's greatest love machine
He drank it all and said "I feel fine"
DE DE DECEBAL
Lover of the Romanian queen
They didn't quit, they wanted his head
DE DE DECEBAL
Romania's greatest love machine
[Spoken:] Oh, those Romanians...
=======================================================
But when his drinking and lusting and his hunger
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Tik Tok - A Haven Sequel
F/M Pairing: Chan x OC (original female character)
Genre: Have Sequel; Enemies to Lovers
Warnings: Explicit Smut (unprotected sex) and Language
Word Count: 4.6K
Summary: Chan would do anything for his adopted family, and maybe that’s cost him a chance or two at finding love for himself. However, when the convenience store hires a strong, independent young woman to act as assistant manager, Chan finds himself in competition with someone who is very much like him - he’s just too stubborn to admit it.
A/N: This is another anon request that I spent way too long writing.
There was only so much more that Chan could take before he inevitably fell over the metaphorical edge. It wasn’t helping that work had become a source of unrestrained anxiety and frustration for him, but he definitely didn’t need to be a victim to one of Hyunjin and Jisung’s increasingly frequent pranks. And when Chan woke-up one morning with a strange stirring in his abdomen, he was shocked to find his hand in a warm glass of water while the two miscreants in question observed him from the side of his bed.
“I told you it wouldn’t work!” Hyunjin whined.
Meanwhile, Jisung was shaking his head in disbelief. “Chan, you were supposed to piss the bed!”
Chan rolled his eyes, shaking off the accumulated water droplets from his hand before glaring at Hyunjin and Jisung. “Get the hell out of my room,” he grumbled, and the two younger members had enough common sense to obey the eldest when he was in a foul mood.
Chan sighed as he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, attempting to do something with the messy curls laying limply on top of this head. It might be a while before he ever bleached his hair again because the sorry state of his scalp was no laughing matter. Yet, Chan eventually found himself giving up on making his hair look presentable, proceeding downstairs to offer a grumpy greeting to Minho, Sara, and Changbin who were reading something from the newspaper.
“Bad mood again?” Minho inquired while stuffing his mouth with more cereal.
“No thanks to anyone in this house,” Chan responded, and he found himself even more irritated when he looked over to see Sara giggling when Changbin whispered something into her ear. “I’m sure everyone would like to hear what’s so damn funny,” Chan said, and Changbin and Sara both immediately averted their gazes.
Meanwhile, Minho was studying him with that stupid look of his that only served to encourage Chan’s quick exit from the kitchen before he blew-up on his members. Honestly, his persistent mood changes weren’t really the fault of anyone he lived with in the house. In fact, the real source of his frayed nerves was the red-headed bitch who the convenience store had just hired as an assistant manager.
Chan had a certain order to how he ran the store, and Lisa was determined to ruin everything. She refused to obey his strict ordinances - often flaunting a change to his regular routine as if she found it humorous. It was like she was going out of her way to make Chan as miserable as possible, and he was slowly losing the battle with his patience.
Perhaps that’s why Chan was dreading the prospect of work, and when he pulled into the parking lot outside of the convenience store, he sent a silent prayer up to anyone who was listening that he might survive the afternoon.
But his mood only worsened from the second he walked through the door, and Lisa spotted him from behind the counter. “Morning, Satan,” she greeted him with a chipper tone that Chan despised.
“I’m supposed to teach you the cash register today,” Chan grumbled, and he threw on his apron before joining Lisa at the front.
“Well, this should be fun,” she remarked. “I guess you’re planning on making it harder than it needs to be.”
Chan frowned at the comment because Lisa had told on numerous occasions that he was far too strict with the store’s management. But that’s how Chan had always been taught to conduct his affairs - with a stern hand and a detailed explanation since all the little details were critical. It’s how he ran the house with the others, ensuring that the budget was maintained and that everyone was always contributing. “You might treat everything with indifference,” Chan said. “But I care a lot about this place.”
It was the first job he ever had, and Chan owed a lot to the owners who agreed to take a chance on a young man who had no experience to offer them. Overtime, Chan had proven himself more than capable, and he would like to keep things in order like he preferred. “Whatever,” Lisa said while smacking her chewing gum
Which Chan had told her repeatedly was improper.
“Listen carefully,” Chan said, and he inputted his employee ID before grabbing a few items around the register. “I’ll start with a demonstration.”
“Great,” Lisa said with an exaggerated sigh that Chan chose to ignore as he meticulously explained the various types of ways in which a customer might try to pay for their purchases.
“Credit or debit,” Chan reiterated. “They might also try paying with cash or a check, and you have to make sure that it’s legal tender.”
“Ugh,” Lisa groaned. “Do me a favor, Chan, and skip the lecture where you explain the history of counterfeiting.”
Chan immediately tensed at the sharp jab, but he took a deep breath to steel his nerves before he ensured that Lisa understood what every button on the register controlled. “Our clientele expect quick service,” Chan said. “You can’t spend all day trying to figure out how to open the drawer.”
“Oh, really?” Lisa asked, and she raised an eyebrow in question as she reached over to press the button in question without even looking. “It’s not that hard.”
“Yes,” Chan hissed as he slapped her hand away. “I can’t expect anything less from you! I suppose you think this whole job is a big joke and you can do whatever the hell you want?”
“When did I say that?” Lisa countered. “I respect the position, and if there’s a problem with the store, then it’s you.”
Chan froze at the accusation, and he imagined that someone might be inclined to draw flames above his head because the comment was nothing short of incendiary. “I’m the problem?!”
“That’s what I said,” Lisa replied. “You take everything too seriously, Chan. I’ve spoken to the other employees, and they’re all afraid of messing up because you expect perfection.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything!” Lisa exclaimed. “Most of these kids are working here part-time to help get themselves through school. You act like this place is a damn computer software company!”
“There’s nothing bad about taking pride in my work,” Chan said.
“I never said that,” Lisa returned. “But you take your work to the extreme, and it really makes it hard to come in every morning just to here you complain that there aren’t exactly twelve cups next to the slush machine!”
But Chan was flabbergasted - he had never seen anyone stand up to him like this and express such vile contempt. He was just trying to make everything better! Why was that so difficult for her to see?
“We’re supposed to be professional,” Chan finally muttered. “I’ll be in the back office.”
“Okay, but have fun micromanaging everyone,” Lisa said, and Chan started counting down from ten inside his head before he really lost his shit.
It was late when Chan returned home, and he was feeling drained from his horrible day at work. As soon as he pulled into the driveway, he rested his head against the steering wheel for just a moment to collect his thoughts. His mind was a chaotic engine of latent rage directed at Lisa, but he didn’t want to take it out on anyone inside the house.
And when he felt like he had better control over his emotions, he put on a forced smile and greeted Jisung and Hyunjin who were both sitting in the living room. “Yo, Chan,” Jisung said, and he was jabbing at the buttons on his Xbox controller. “You look pissed.”
“Just a bad day at work,” Chan said, and he lifted his head when he started smelling something spicy. “Is someone cooking?”
“Y/N and Minho were supposed to make dinner,” Jisung said.
“I think they just made a mess,” Hyunjin added, and he laughed at the pained expression on Chan’s face.
“Oh, great,” Chan muttered, and he knew to prepare himself when he walked into the kitchen to greet a cloud of smoke.
“Channie!” Y/N yelled, standing at the stove and mixing some sort of sauce in a giant pan. “I’m making your favorite.”
“I can see that,” Chan said while withholding a sigh - his kitchen was a disaster, and Minho wasn’t washing the dirty dishes fast enough before new ones piled up on the counter.
“Excuse the mess,” Y/N said as if realizing that Chan was not pleased by what she had done.
“Y/N,” Chan groaned - looking around the disaster zone that she had made of their dishes. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Both Y/N and Minho looked up at the same time - surprised to hear Chan’s bitter tone. “What do you mean?” Y/N asked. “You were coming home late so I thought I could make dinner.”
“Yeah, but look at this fucking mess,” Chan cursed, and Y/N flinched because Chan never cursed very much.
“I’m sorry, Chan,” she whispered. “I was just trying to be nice.”
“You never do it right!” Chan found himself snapping at Y/N who instantly cowered behind Minho who had come to stand between his girlfriend and Chan.
“Hey!” Minho growled, and he was suddenly crowding Chan against the wall. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
“Get off,” Chan grunted, and he shoved harshly at Minho’s shoulders. “I don’t need this right now!”
“Is that right?” Minho asked. “You think I shouldn’t say anything when you come home and act like the world’s biggest asshole?”
“You’re just making everything worse,” Chan retorted.
“No!” Minho shouted. “You’re the one who made this into a problem! We’ve been working for hours getting this together, and you have no right to come home and accuse us of anything.”
“Are you blind?” Chan snapped. “The kitchen is a war zone!”
“It can always be cleaned,” Minho said, and he turned around to look at Y/N while softening his tone. “Go upstairs, baby, this isn’t your fault.”
Y/N nodded once before cautiously tiptoeing backwards in the direction of the side door, and Minho waited until she was gone before returning his attention to Chan. “What’s going on with you, Chan? You’ve been rude to everyone these past few weeks.”
Chan closed his eyes as he swallowed down his pride and bruised ego because he knew that Minho was right. “I know,” he said. “There’s been a lot going on at work, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Figure it out, Chan,” Minho said - blunt as always. “You can’t let this affect everyone else.”
Chan knew that Minho was right, but he had never felt so conflicted.
During his next shift, Chan was determined to control his undesirable tendencies and assume a far more lenient attitude with the rest of his employees.
“You’re doing fine,” Chan said, even though he was screaming on the inside while watching an employee attempt to stack one of the produce windows.
The young man offered him a sincere smile to express his gratitude, and Chan took that as affirmation that he could return to Lisa’s side as she restocked the candy section. “You’re in a good mood,” she remarked while offering him a look of suspicion,
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Chan asked while crossing his arms over his chest - a move that was meant to keep him from reaching out to straighten the price tags.
“Well, there’s been like a thousand violations of your unspoken rules,” Lisa remarked. “That new guy even broke the coffee machine.”
“His paycheck next week should suffice to repair the damages,” Chan said through gritted teeth - an unexpected chink in his armor.
But Lisa caught it nonetheless, and she smirked while indicating to the display she was working on. “Do you have something to say about my section?”
“Of course not,” Chan exhaled.
“What about the expiration dates,” she said before leaning in closer. “I didn’t even check them”
Chan grimaced, and he could feel the beginnings of his patience unraveling. “It’s fine, Lisa.”
“Really?” she asked. “Would it bother you if I left the labels backwards?”
“No,” Chan muttered. “But it might be better if they were facing the customer.”
“Should they be alphabetical as well?”
Oh, that was the last straw! Chan was done with this whole good guy act, and he didn’t need Minho or anyone else to tell him how he should act towards the people who were supposed to be working under him! “I’ve fucking had enough!” Chan exclaimed, and he reached out for Lisa’s hand and started pulling her in the direction of the backroom.
“What’s this all about?” she asked, but there was an airiness to her tone that told Chan that she still wasn’t taking things seriously!
He locked the door behind them and corralled Lisa against the wall - to the point where their noses were brushing. “Do you take some sort of sick satisfaction in pissing me off?”
“Maybe I like you this way,” Lisa said, and Chan was startled when she reached out to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “This is a good look on you, Chan.”
“What?” he questioned, but he didn’t pull away because there was something strangely hypnotic about her eyes.
“I’m really attracted to you,” she whispered, and the sound was spoken directly into his ear. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Lisa-”
But Chan was interrupted by the unexpected pressure of her lips against his - wiping all coherent thoughts out of his mind.
“I think you might want to talk less, Mr. Bang,” Lisa purred, and Chan clenched his jaw to strengthen his resolve.
“Get on your knees,” he growled, and Lisa closed her eyes around a moan before pushing back against his chest - allowing her enough room to drop down on the floor while her hands started working apart his belt.
“I’ve been wanting this since our first day together,” Lisa said, and Chan braced himself against the wall when she took out his cock from his boxer shorts - running her hand up and down his length. “You’re really big, Chan.”
“Yeah?” Chan grunted, and he could barely hold himself together when her lips wrapped themselves around the tip of his erection.
He watched through a haze of lust as she took him deeper - hollowing her cheeks while bobbing her head along his cock. It was the last thing Chan could’ve ever imagined, but he was experiencing so much pleasure from her warm mouth.
“Is it good?” Lisa asked - pulling off for a moment to ask the question while exploring the slit of his cock where pre-cum was already forming.
“Keep going,” Chan replied, and dug his fingers into her crimson-colored hair to ensure that she took him as far as she could. “Is this what it takes to shut you up?” Chan snarled, forcing more of his cock down her throat.
Lisa moaned around him, and Chan almost came from the vibrations that jostled his sensitive erection. “Take off your jeans,” Chan said, managing the words around a rather loud moan that he couldn’t seem to prevent.
But Lisa obeyed him at once, shimmying down her skinny jeans while sucking on his cock and using her tongue to trace the underside. “Stand up, slut,” Chan ordered, and he was pleased by Lisa’s willing compliance as she walked over to a nearby desk - spreading her legs wide when he walked between the gap. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Lisa nodded her head, glancing back over her shoulder to give him her best sultry look. “I know you’re angry with me, Chan, and I deserve whatever you give me.”
Chan was delighted by the words, and he didn’t hesitate to push his cock inside her welcoming heat, grinding his hips against her ass just to feel her convulsing around him. “Where was this obedience before?” Chan asked, pulling out to just the tip before forcing himself back inside with as much strength as he could manage.
Lisa gasped when her hips slammed against the edge of her desk - whimpering around the discomfort. But Chan had no intentions of stopping, and he held onto her waist as he started ramming himself into her pussy with the weight of his frustrations adding to his power. It was hot and passionate, and the sounds of their fucking echoed throughout the backroom while Lisa’s moans provided the perfect melody.
“Come inside,” Lisa said, and Chan cursed.
“Are you on the pill?”
“Yeah,” she gasped, and Chan knew better than to leave her unattended, even if she might deserve it, so he allowed one hand to leave her hip and play with her clit in teasing circles.
“Come with me,” Chan said, and he pressed down even harder while nailing himself between her walls one last time before the entire world exploded around him.
There was a blurriness around the edges of his vision, and Chan was gasping for breath while Lisa hummed in content from beneath him.
When Chan woke-up the following morning, he wasn’t sure what to think of the unexpected encounter he had with Lisa from the previous afternoon. For the remainder of his shift, he had avoided Lisa as much as possible while carrying the weight of his guilty conscious. Because he couldn’t help but think that he had taken things too far, and their work relationship would suffer as a consequence.
Chan glanced at the clock on his nightstand and knew that he couldn’t delay the inevitable any further. But at least Chan could afford enough pride and apologize to Lisa? Perhaps she would forgive him, and they could forget about everything that had happened and move on with their lives.
But maybe Chan’s optimism was misplaced because Lisa gave him a dark look when he met her at the counter. “Oh, hey,” Chan said, and he winced when his voice broke.
“So...” Lisa trailed off, looking at him with an intense gaze. “Yesterday was something.”
“Uh, yeah,” Chan said, and he allowed an awkward laugh as he messed with the cash register.
“You don’t regret it, do you?” Lisa asked, and this was Chan’s opportunity to fall on his knees and beg for her forgiveness. Because she was surely upset with Chan for his behavior. Yet, when Chan forced himself to look at her, he was surprised to see that she held no resentment.
“I don’t know,” Chan decided. “I guess I’m confused.”
“Confused?” Lisa repeated with a playful smile. “Chan, we had sex, there’s nothing to be confused about.”
“Shhh,” Chan hissed, looking around the room to see if anyone had overheard them.
“What’s wrong?” Lisa asked with a laugh. “Chan, you were fantastic. I wish we had done that earlier.”
“R-really?” Chan stuttered, and he hesitated when Lisa leaned into his weight.
“I loved it,” she told him. “I’ve never been with someone like you before.”
Chan was surely blushing, and he could feel the heat scalding his ears. “Lisa, I don’t usually act like that.”
“Oh, I know,” Lisa said, and her fingers trailed down the buttons on his shirt. “It was refreshing, Chan, to see you so aggressive. I could get used to that.”
Her words did something peculiar to his arousal, and he found himself feeling more comfortable around her. “You mean, it’s better than how I usually am.”
“There’s really nothing wrong with your little ticks,” Lisa said. “I think you could afford to loosen up every once in a while.”
“I see,” Chan said, and he reached out for her waist. “Are you the person who can help me relax?”
“If that’s what you want, baby,” Lisa said, and Chan couldn’t stand it anymore - reaching for her hand to bring them both back to that same backroom where everything had collapsed around them.
His lips were on hers instantly, and Chan moaned when their tongues started to move between them. “Come here,” Chan growled low in his throat, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her closer.
Lisa allowed him to handle her with a sigh of pleasure, and she opened up for him like a beautiful flower - something gorgeous to behold. Chan had never experienced these feelings with anyone else, and he was certain that he had lost every bit of oxygen in his lungs when they finally pulled away from their heated session for more air.
“Woah!”
They both jumped apart at the sound of their co-workers voice, and he held up his hands in surrender while his gaze moved between Chan and Lisa with clear surprise. “Josh,” Chan said, and his voice had a much higher-pitch than usual.
“I’m sorry,” Josh said. “I didn’t realize-”
“It’s okay,” Chan interrupted, and he backed away from Lisa with a heavy breath. “I need to check on the shipment.”
He was gone without waiting for Josh’s response, but there was a small voice at the back of his head that told Chan he needed to figure this thing out between him and Lisa before the situation escalated.
Still, he couldn’t really explain his decision, but Chan found himself standing outside of Minho’s bedroom that night with his hand raised to knock. Of course, it was one thing to think about something, and another to actually put those thoughts into action. Consequently, Chan was desperately searching for the courage to reach out - literally - and ask Minho for help.
Thankfully, his internal debate was terminated when the door suddenly opened and Minho flinched in surprise when he saw Chan. “Were you just standing out here?” Minho asked, and Chan took a deep breath.
“Can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure,” Minho said, and he stood back to allow Chan enough room to walk inside.
“It’s something kinda personal,” Chan said, and he was grateful that Han and Felix weren’t there because it was already awkward enough opening up to Minho.
“You can sit down,” Minho said, and Chan joined the younger on his bed while messing with the loose fabric of his work jeans. “Is something wrong?”
“it’s more like...someone,” Chan said.
“Oh?” Minho frowned. “The same person who’s been bothering you at work?”
“How did you-” But Chan trailed off at the end of his sentence and decided not to question Minho.
He was unusually astute for his age.
“I figured it out,” Minho still answered him. “Did you want to talk about this person?”
“Yeah, but’s complicated.”
“Why?”
Chan grunted at the question because he didn’t really know why things had gotten so complicated. “I thought there was a mutual hatred, but I think I read everything wrong.”
“Something changed your mind,” Minho said, and Chan slowly nodded.
“We had sex.”
“Woah!” Minho laughed, and he threw up his hands like he wasn’t quite ready to just jump into this part of the story. “All of a sudden?”
“She got on my nerves.”
“So, you thought that sex would fix everything?”
“I don’t know,” Chan groaned, and he collapsed backwards on the mattress. “But she said that she really liked me.”
“Did she give any indication of that before?”
“No,” Chan replied. “But she was always messing with me. She liked to ruin the way I ran the store, and she tried to change everything.
“Damn,” Minho finally remarked. “I admire any woman who has the guts to stand up to you.”
“What do you mean?” Chan asked, and he supported himself against his hands as he glared at Minho.
“Don’t take it personally,” Minho said. “But you’re a bit of a control-freak, Chan.”
“Are you sure?” Chan asked, and it was a dumb question because Minho rolled his eyes.
“I’ve been living with you for years, dude. I’m bound to notice these things.”
“Well, I don’t mean to act that way,” Chan said, and Minho sighed and patted his shoulder.
“The first step is admitting your wrong-doings, my friend.”
“But what am I supposed to do about Lisa?”
“Oh, is that her name?”
Chan groaned in frustration because nothing was going the way he expected. “It feels awkward.”
“Then, you have to talk to her,” Minho said - like it could really be that simple.
“It’s awkward,” Chan repeated with a pointed glare.
“And there’s only one way to fix the awkward,” Minho replied. “Seriously, Chan? Don’t make this into something bigger than it needs to be.”
Chan knew that Minho was right (because he was really good at helping others with their problems), but he was still afraid. He was scared that talking to Lisa would bring up complicated feelings that he’s never had to deal with before, and what was he supposed to do, then? Feelings weren’t something that his careful rules could control, and he didn’t like it when things happened without him realizing. But he was also frightened by the idea of ruining something because of his own shortcomings, and maybe it was time that he made the effort for someone else.
And Lisa was certainly worth more than all the consequences.
Chan was a complete mess of nervous energy when he started his shift on a bright, promising Saturday afternoon. He diligently cleaned down the counters, and ensured that the register was online before shifting back and forth between his feet as he stared at the entrance. Because Lisa was due to come in for her shift at any moment, and Chan was giving himself a mental pep-talk for their impending conversation.
But it still didn’t stop his heart from beating erratically when she arrived, giving him a generous smile as she took off her coat. “Good morning, Chan,” she said, and he was relieved that the old nickname of “Satan” had been abandoned.
“Lisa,” Chan said, clearing his throat. “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure!” Lisa said, and she walked behind the counter to stand next to him. “What’s up?”
“Well,” Chan started around a deep breath, “I want to talk to you about our...encounters.”
“Encounters?” Lisa repeated, and Chan could feel himself growing more and more embarrassed as she teased him. “You mean like when we had sex in the backroom?”
“Yes, that,” Chan said, and Lisa giggled. “I just think I handled everything inappropriately, especially the way I talked to you.”
“Oh, don’t apologize for that,” Lisa said with a sly wink. “I liked the things you said to me.”
“Uh-huh,” Chan agreed, and he shook his head to collect his thoughts. “I should’ve never avoided you because I made things worse, and that was wrong of me.”
“It’s fine, Chan,” Lisa assured him. “I was willing to give you all the space you needed.”
Chan was surprised by her generosity, and he pushed through to the end of his little speech. “Would it be okay if we tried things out?” Chan asked. “Like, maybe in the right way?”
“The right way?” Lisa repeated with an amused smile.
“Yeah, like I could take you on a date or something,” Chan said, hoping he didn’t look as awkward as he sounded.
“Hmmm.” Lisa pretended to consider his suggestion, running the tips of her fingers over the edges of his bright-red ears. But she eventually ended his misery - moving in closer for a sweet kiss that Chan could feel all the way down to the points of his toes. “I would love that, Chan.”
And maybe he could blame it on the novelty of the situation, but Chan quite liked the warm feeling that blossomed from the center of his chest. Almost as if he had never felt more content before in his entire life.
#stayverse#skzsmutnetwork#skzwriternet#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#skz imagines#skz oneshots#skz scenarios#stray kids imagines#stray kids chan#skz chan fanfic#bang chan fanfic#bang chan smut#bang chan fluff#mostlycompetent
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information about havoc squadron✨
i’m organizing each by clone {some information will be intertwined with other oc’s} :) the wolfpack will be mentioned as well :) {as this was originally for my series} remember -- some are more developed than others {and for that i am so sorry}
i did exclude some stuff out of this post. specifically, armor details and some physical attributions. i also forgot about some characteristics about them... as i forgot to screenshot or take notes every time i shared something, sorry!
but here’s the majority of it so enjoy!
BET:
he got his name from placing too high of a bet and lost everything, so his name became “bet” as a way to tease the fact that he’s awfully terrible at gambling (and that’s an understatement)
he has a huge gambling problem and definitely doesn’t calculate risks, going all in despite the fact that he loses every kriffing time
upon noticing his horrific (and rather embarrassing) gambling skills, havoc (and the wolfpack) makes him change his appearance every time he loses... which results in a lot of stupid, horribly done tattoos and bright hair colors
he changes hair colors often... but his favorite is the pastel purple and he keeps it for the most part throughout the war
his most signature tattoos is the one on his left shoulder of himself twerking and wolffe’s name on his ass
despite his tomfoolery and shenanigans, he does have one tattoo that he would fight someone if they made fun of it. just *one* sketched out by a lost batchmate that he doesn’t like to talk about
he’s carefree, goofy, and loves to make jokes. he’s considered the crackhead of the group. overall, he’s just super fun to be around. when he walks in a room, he lights it up with happiness and joy and fun. he smiles brightly and when he does, it’s hard for others to not smile around him
he’s also undeniably loyal and protective over his brothers and jedi. he’ll throw himself out in the line of fire if it meant saving his brother’s or jedi’s skin. he’ll make sure that everyone who is injured gets taken care of the way they need to be, even so much as going back and grabbing injured brothers. if he knows a brother won’t make it, he’ll be at their side holding their hand and comforting them in their last few moments so the brother doesn’t die alone
DRINK:
he got his name from trying and liking the weirdest drinks in the galaxy and no one understands how or why. plus, he spilled a drink... but that’s a story for another time
he doesn’t mind those weird drink challenges
SLY:
got his name from trying to steal bite’s candy but failed miserably
he got better throughout his cadet days
now, he’s in charge of stealing candy and smuggling illegal goods
he joins plo in his little “i’m getting candy for my son’s” adventures (from that one drawing!! idk who the artist was so... i’m sorry)
sly is casually stealing stuff and plo is trying to get him to pay
but, plo loves his children, so he trails after sly and lays credits down for the items he stole
so... the sly and bly rivalry
during the cadet days, their names often got mixed up from brothers (especially since they all look the same and there’s no individuality)
but now, their brothers do it for fun. just for the hell of it
they definitely get annoyed by it but the main rivalry comes from “who’s the best”
looking, shooter, runner, fashionista. whatever it is, it doesn’t matter -- they always try to out top each other
that’s it that’s the rivalry
also, sly has long hair like tup and wears it in french braids
him and kix argue often who’s the prettiest (spoiler: it’s wolffe lmao)
BITE:
during his cadet days, he (lightly) bit his brother (sly) because they tried to steal candy from him
he also got angry at the kamonians and bit them in their arm because of it
he’s also a soft sweet boy, but will fuck shit up if need be
CRASH:
got his name from by crashing into a woman -- one he was flirting with and trying to take back home
a few days later, when he met you, he turned the corner and crashed right into you, making you both tumble to the ground. hence the name
but, it’s mainly because he’s super clumsy
for shits and giggles wolffe asked cody to make him pilot to scare the shit out of everyone once they learn they have a pilot named crash
he’s a pilot, though actually doesn’t fly all that much. he only flies when he’s needed up in the air, otherwise stays on the ground and helps his brothers
because of his clumsiness, he actually has a scar on his left forehead and goes through his eyebrow
he got the scar when he was drunk -- sinker and boost were flailing around and crash tripped and hit his head on the toilet
(boost and sinker make sure to never let crash live that down)
he uses his clumsiness to his advantage out on the battlefield
he’s an observer -- he notices anything and everything (which is why he’d be a great spy... if he weren’t so clumsy)
he’s a shy, quiet boy and prefers to keep to himself most of the time
crash prefers to speak in mando’a or sign with sign language. he taught the rest of havoc squadron and the wolfpack sign language, including plo koon (and you for the series)
he’s sensitive and good with emotions. he’s the one you (and brothers) go to if you need comfort
he does have a specific tattoo and hairstyle, similar to kix, but @obiwankenobiness (my main bitch) came up with that and i forgot it... whoops...
OLIVER:
his nickname is oli
he’s the sweetest boy
he’s the youngest in the wolfpack -- as in he was the last one to join. plo took him under his wing in a way
because of that, he’s very close to plo
he has severe trauma
he was captured and enslaved by the zygerrians (hence why the wolfpack was there for the rescue...)
he also lost a limb (a leg) in a near death experience with a sith -- ventress to be exact
because of that experience, him and wolffe bonded because they both lost something and from the same being
he’s a prankster (not as mean as bet, of course) but he loves to prank the wolfpack (specifically in the series with you!)
oliver’s pranks are more funnier whereas bet’s are just downright mean
ACE:
he’s bet’s opposite
he has good luck (and is known to have it too) so he always wins at gambling
and he loves to rub it in bet’s face all. the. time.
he’s a sniper. he’s basically the og crosshair (for skills, not for personality or looks)
ace means he’s good with a rifle
he has a tattoo... please ask @obiwankenobiness about his tattoo because it’s too hard to explain lmao
all i know is it’s like a circle thing on his left arm and it means a lot to him
okay anyways... he has a shaved head. he has the ace symbol shaved into his head as well
he prefers short hair because long hair gets in the way of using his rifle
him and bet are batchmates, the best of friends, polar opposites. everyone thinks they’re an old married couple or genuinely hate each other, there’s no in between
RAMBLE:
he got his name because he talks... a lot. and he likes to go on rambles from time to time about stuff he loves
he is sweet and shy, especially for social situations
he smiles very brightly and his smile makes others just straight fall in love with him
he’s very giggly
he also blushes super easily -- from compliments, embarrassment; doesn’t matter, he blushes
whenever he does blush it reaches his ear and trails down his chest (the girls d i e for it)
his torso is covered in a huge tattoo which leads to his hips and curl down his ass and thighs (tattoo is still being determined)
i want to thank these people for letting me ramble to them about my oc’s and having them contribute ideas as well: @littlevodika @obiwankenobiness @casually-introverted @kaminobiwan @teaspacebar @hxldmxdxwn @morganas-pendragons @karasong
if i forgot about you i’m so sorry. please let me know and i can list you :) (i talked to a lot so i lose track)
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Tell me about your magical girl ocs
Oh boy.
To be honest, this is all subject to change. A lot of the stuff I have planned changes when I write stuff. But so far, this is what I got:
Steph.
Protagonist of my main magical girl story. (I have a bunch of story ideas with female leads and action girl leads, but this is the big one where they’re explicitly magical girls.) She’s the blue one.
Grew up in a household where she got compared with her siblings a lot, ended up really competitive and with a tendency to be judgemental in the process.
Her mom was a magical girl in a big city before her. But then she retired, married her dad, and retreated into a smaller town where she became a PE teacher.
Her main arc is basically like... her learning she doesn’t actually need to prove herself or anything. She just needs to do her job. And she can totally rely on like, the people in her life. She’s a flawed human being, and flawed human beings need other flawed human beings. It’s okay.
Knife nut. She hides knives under her skirt. Like, so many knives you have no idea.
A very hard worker. Kind of a workaholic perfectionist sometimes even. She saved up enough money to move to the big city and become like a real magical girl when she was 18. Has a reputation for having no chill.
Also a detail I included for her is that she gets annoyed when she doesn’t finish things, and that includes books. So she mostly reads nonfiction, short stories, and poetry compilations because she can’t stand reading terrible novels anymore.
Hallie.
Pink magical girl. President of the city’s magical girl squadron. She uses pink magically charged guns.
Grew up in a really supportive family. Was a huge jock growing up, playing all sorts of sports with her siblings and she continues to be quite sporty into adolescence.
Her big arc is kind of learning to become more sympathetic towards others who are dealing or grew up dealing with things she never really had to deal with. So like, she needs to learn to become the all-loving compassionate magical girl instead of starting out as her.
Still tries to be a nice girl. Actually has a reputation of being generally nice, if a bit of a ditz when off-duty.
On-duty, she gets really smart.
Nara
Purple magical girl. Also the healer and general wizard of the team.
She’s the most conventionally feminine person on the squad. She’s also very intelligent. As in, reading textbooks for fun, prodigy magic user levels of smart.
Hobbies outside of work include flower arranging, debating with the fairies (who are a collection of different mutated insects, and it’ll take a bit of worldbuilding to explain that), reading, and taking care of her pet giant mutant Madagascar Hissing Cockroach (his name is Squishy).
Growing up she has to pitch in quite a bit because her parents were both disabled. She has a younger sister who she treasures a lot. They’re still very close.
Her arc is mostly about her learning to be confident in her abilities. That just because she’s mostly playing a support role for the most part, and she doesn’t play like, the role of a strong and mighty superhero coming in to save everyone, it doesn’t mean that her contributions are meaningless. (Growing up, there were many times where she wished she could do something magical and help her parents all in one swoop, but both her parents honestly just wanted to let her be a kid, and were very grateful whenever she helped out.)
Poppy
The red magical girl. She fights with a magically charged pole. And that pole has boxing gloves attached to both ends.
Very fiesty and spirited. Owns a motorcycle and rides it often.
She escaped a boarding school which her wealthy parents shipped her off to. Officially (as in on the records of her “old” life) she died in a fire, and Poppy is just the name she now goes by.
In any case she prefers being a magical girl to her old life. Mostly because her parents and the Teachers in the old boarding school were pretty bad and abusive.
She’s got a crush on Nara. And usually sees herself as like, a Knight coming in to help out fair maidens. Her arc is learning to let people bring what they can to the table, to stop seeing herself as above needing help, and to see her friends as true equals.
As a neat detail, her magical girl outfit would most likely draw inspiration from Ouji style. So yeah, she wears shorts for her magical girl outfit.
Zelda
Oldest member, technically retired. She was Steph’s mom’s old coworker and best friend back in the day. Nowadays she’s a chemistry teacher at a school. Her colour as a magical girl was white. (And Steph’s mom’s was black.)
She’s actually a trans woman. Because I feel like we need more trans magical girls/boys/nbs.
For the most part, she’s really chill. Sort of like a calm older mentor. As she’s mostly a side character, she doesn’t really have like, a big arc. But she does go through some developments. (Namely, she gets married and like wedding prep stuff happens in the background.)
Also a weird detail but I also modelled her appearance after Creamy Mami a bit? As in, I imagine her having curly purple hair.
And that’s what I got so far. There’s a bunch of other world building stuff for this story, mostly because I’m thinking of setting it in a completely fictional universe that sort of parallel’s our own (as in, all in-universe countries are made up). And there’s story stuff too. Their arcs are very short versions of what I intend on writing. But for the characters, this is what I’ve got.
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Alright well since this is the last day of the decade, and that's how long I've been alive (born 2000), I wanted to do SOMETHING so uuuh I'm gonna show off the characters I'm the most proud of making!
-Stonks: I'm really proud of her design, she was made during my first day of college (during my statistics class) and in a way represents my introduction to the next step of my life, so I'm very fond of her for that. I also like her story and personality, as she's written as a generally sweet, nervous nerd who's head over heals over a girl in her office while still having a few secrets she has to keep under wraps, as her horrible town corrupts anyone that lives in it. Also her name is a meme and I love that too
-Goby Powehi: Again I'm all about design and I enjoy hers a whole lot. She was roughly based off a pervious character which was inspired by an old fakemon, from back when I made over 200 in elementary (and started my passion for character design). So she has some pretty special origins. She's also the star of her own story and one of my favorites, as well as having a fun personality and secrets as well, although easily uncovered. Plus she has awesome powers and sci-fi/fantasy origins that I enjoy writing
-CeeCee: I could argue that ALL of the ocs that managed to get popular through my flipnotes are my favorites, not necissarily because of design/story but because they achieved a level of recognition and love I've always wanted for my characters. My ocs mean a lot to me and have contributed to my happiness throughout my whole life, so I feel like a proud parent when others love them as much as I do. CeeCee is the prime example of this, as she's arguably my most popular character/animation. I don't draw her much because I like to focus on all of my characters and she already gets more attention than anyone else, but she still holds a very special place in my heart. Overall, she's helped me achieve what I thought I could not, and it's amazing to think how I almost sold her as an adopt, years ago, and this would have never happened.
-All of the Fruit Citizens: This may be a bit of a cop-out, but it's true. Although I have a select few that I prefer over the others, all of my Fruit Citizens have designs and stories I'm very proud of. The entire premise itself is one of my most complete and developed stories yet, and has elements I really enjoy working with. Even if I haven't done anything other than draw characters, this is the closest to starting a project I've ever gotten, something I've wanted to do so badly for all of my life but haven't been able to due to my adhd and lack of time. I really completed 48 fully colored refs for this one thing and I haven't felt this productive since my flipnote days. I can't express how happy and proud I am for how well it's been received, and I hope people continue to ask me about it as I develop it more. Also I accedentally made 5 new fruit citizens so expect more refs lmaooo
-Cavity: Not to toot my own horn but out of all of my designs I consider this one of the most clever/coolest. I love the combination of a geode with a hoodie, and using the crystal motif to also give them the apperance of a rabbit. I'm still working on their story, and this image could be better, but for the design alone Cavity has become one of my favorites.
-Uri: He has always been a comfort character to me. I don't know why, but I always felt like I could relate to Uri the most, even though we're vastly different. I suspect I latch onto bold male characters because thats what I want to be at times, and to this day I find comfort in his confidence and ability to create his own world and circumstances just by being himself. He's more like a close friend than a character at this point, and I always return to him when I'm out of ideas. He's changed a lot over the 7 years I've had him, both in personality and apperance, and even now his design and story is being worked on, but there's no denying that he holds a special place in my heart.
-Mokaro: I consider him my first real character ever, so it's easy to see his significance. I think I created him back in 2012, as a keronian inspired off of my animal jam outfit, and although now he's a human there's still elements to him that have never changed. He's been there for me through thick and thin, he has a lot of personality and story to work with, his design needs a little polishing but overall suits me fine, and like Uri, he's a comfort character so I really treasure everything about him. His significance to my lore is also immeasurable. To say he's special would be an understatment; he really is one of a kind, and it'd be wrong for me not to include him in this character highlight.
-Captain Dark Kitty: This one is self explanatory. She's the official mascot of my work and just as recognized as CeeCee, being the face of my flipnotes for many years. I drew myself as her for most of my middle school and highschool years and considered her my avatar until recently. She was everything I wanted to be: hardcore, red eyes, black hair, cool outfit, literally part cat. As I grew up though, my dream apperance deviated from hers- especially when my preferences stopped including any semblance of femininity. Now I just draw myself as a cartoon version of myself, and instead made CDK her own character. She still has a place as my mascot and will continue her role as one of the most important characters in my roster.
-Bail: He's the closest thing I've had to a consistently favorite character and I love him so much. I love writing his personality and story and drawing him and everything else, there's very little I can say honestly other than he's very special to me and I'll probably never think otherwise.
-Honorable mentions (or as many as I could fit at least):
So for the next decade, I sincerely hope I can continue making characters and content I can be proud of and maybe even make something really big and cool at some point! Thank you all so much for staying with me, see you next year!!
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The Cipher Conspiracy (14)
Oh my God! It’s done!
This story has been in my head for over a year, and now I can finally bring it to a close. I’ve had this planned out since before I even started writing, and it’s such an incredible feeling to finally have it on (virtual) paper and concluded. I can’t believe how fun it’s been, guys.
As always, I am overjoyed to write @hntrgurl13‘s and @missinspi‘s respective OCs Adeline Marks and Madeline McGucket, and @scipunk63‘s Addiford ship. You guys... just... <3
I am so freaking proud of this. Enjoy.
AO3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14
Chapter 14: Finale
??? ∆
Ford? Ford?
He was underwater; everything was blurred. Smeared like a water painting.
Come on buddy, wake up. We gotta move.
He could feel something crunchy. Somethings crunchy. Crackling in his ear, along his cheek. Everything was swaying, rhythmically back and forth. Underwater smelled earthy… strange.
Okay, hold on Ford, just hold on.
Brown and dried leaves fell away from him. Brown and dried leaves fell away from him.
A sound stopped making noise. The silence deadened everything even more so. Some kind of blast. Distant. Contained explosions. They had stopped.
Muffled swearing.
He let the depths claim him again.
∆
“-Meanwhile, we go to an update on the situation in Manhattan.
“Power still has not been fully restored to the isle, in what has now been confirmed as a planned attack on American soil. At precisely seven o’clock last night, Manhattan began experiencing massive power failures until the entire city was completely dark. As many have speculated, these blackouts were indeed caused by several electromagnetic pulses, weapons designed to fry the circuits of any and every electronic device within their extensive range, planted in strategic areas for maximum damage. We are now receiving reports from multiple sources which outline Oracle Division, a covert government agency created to investigate and terminate anarchist extremist plots to sow chaos into the world, as the perpetrator for this crime. It seems that what was once Oracle Division’s duty to investigate has now become their duty to instigate. Up next: feel like there’s no one you can trust? No need to worry, because it seems like the end of the world is approaching anyway-”
A Road Somewhere? (USA, Probably) ∆
There was a loud, uncomfortable rumbling under Ford’s left ear. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the back of a driver’s side red leather seat – the interior of the Stanleymobile. He was lying on his side, cheek stuck to the surface of the back seat.
His heartrate skyrocketed.
“Ford, you back with me?” Came Stan’s voice.
“Yes!” He scrambled to push himself up. Stan was in the driver’s seat. Obviously. No one else was in the car.
More memories hit him.
“Turn arou-”
“Ford, shut it,” Stan’s voice was tight. “You think I’d be taking us away if we could go back? We’re lucky we got out-”
“Fiddleford and Addi-”
“It’s thanks to her we even are out! If she hadn’t been off drawing as much attention as she possibly could, we’d be in the same boat as her right now! So shut up, sit back, and be grateful, while I make sure that what they did is actually worth something!”
A bolt of anger fired through him. Like hell he would.
“Pull over,” he demanded.
“No,”
“What happened to Fiddleford?”
“What do you think?”
Menace entered his voice. “Pull. Over,”
“Do you actually think you can change anything at this point? They’re long gone by this time, Ford, and there’s nothing you or any other pretentiously-named agency full of ineffective, useless people can do for them, so we are going-”
“You’re just going to give up? After everything that’s happened, you decide-”
“-back to Sacramento to get Carla, and we are getting safe-”
“-that this is where you draw the line of all places-”
“-because crap has well and truly hit the fan and I am not letting-”
“-when Bill Cipher is a bigger threat than ever and he probably has Addi and Fiddleford right n-”
“JHESELBRAUM CAN HANDLE IT FROM HERE!”
“PULL THE DAMN CAR OVER!”
The brakes screeched, rubber burned, and Ford almost shot over the front seat as the car skidded to a halt.
∆
"Breaking news; a statement outlining the reason behind the closure and police perimeter recently established around the FBI field office in Roseville has just been issued by a federal spokesperson. The head of the office, Special Agent-in-Charge Ned Guy, has been killed, and agents have reason to believe that the assassin is still in the area – perhaps even inside the office itself. Further information pending, but the question remains: who sent this person, and who is their next target? Whoever it is, our thoughts – mostly along the lines of ‘I hope to God it isn’t me’ – are with them,”
The Side of a Road Somewhere (USA) ∆
Ford was out of the car practically before it had stopped moving, and Stan tore off of his seatbelt to meet him.
“What is wrong with you?! We have to help them!”
“Haven’t you been listening? We can’t! We have no idea where they are, and even if we did know, there were at least thirty agents in that forest! How many of us are there, Ford? Two! We have a better chance of being invited into their homes for coffee and evil plans than we have of taking them on and winning!”
“We have Oracle Division, Stanley, and the FBI, and we will use them because I am telling you right now that we are not running and hiding from this!”
“So we act like idiots and end up like Addi and Fiddleford, who for all we know are already-”
The silence roared as Stan cut himself off, not daring to finish that sentence, and Ford fought to keep breathing evenly.
Finally, Stan looked him dead in the eye and said lowly, “Get in the car,” which brought a whole new wave of rage over Ford.
“What world are you living in that I ever would?” He snapped. “Our friends are suffering at this very moment because of my mistakes, because of things I allowed to happen!”
“Ford-”
“And not only that, but the world is in imminent danger from that madman, and you still won’t even consider trying to save anyone but yourself-”
He thought Stan was going to hit him.
“Of course I tried to save them! What the hell is wrong with you that you think I didn’t?! Fiddleford was right there with me, and I would’ve gotten him out, I would’ve, but we got separated and – and suddenly everything was going to shit and Addi was being swamped-”
“And you just left her?!”
“-I thought you were dead!”
The thudding in Ford’s head quieted down and all the panic for his friends that was clawing its way up his throat in preparation to be screamed at Stan caught, his voice refusing to give it power.
Stan looked about a second away from ripping his hair out, and he was staring desperately at Ford in mixed rage and pain and despair.
“I thought you were dead, Ford! Not in trouble this time, not hurt – dead. I heard gunshots, and when I ran towards them I found you, and you were lying on the ground and you weren’t moving and I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea what that’s like?” His voice cracked.
A low-lit room, bitingly cold despite the pleasantness of the bar next door, two bodies bleeding out on the ground, one of which could so easily have been Stan. Yes, Ford knew what that was like.
“So I’m sorry that I couldn’t do enough, and I’m sorry that we can’t do anything right now, but if you think I’m ever gonna let something like that happen again, then you really are entirely as much of an idiot as you act like when you’re scared,”
With that, Stan slumped against the driver-side door, exhausted. Ford felt hollowed-out, everything inside that had been propelling him gone for the moment. On jellied legs he made his way over and leant next to Stan, tentatively pressing his shoulder against his soon after.
Stan was right. He needed to get a grip. Spoiling for a fight – with Stan, Cipher, anyone – was the worst possible thing to do at present.
So what was something they could do?
His mind was blank. Judging from Stan’s equal motionlessness, he didn’t really know how to proceed either; Ford could guess, based on what his brother had just said, that until he’d dug in his own heels Stan had been (and, most probably, still subconsciously was) operating on the single priority of get who you can safe with practically no other considerations until that goal was fulfilled.
The problem was, Ford wasn’t letting him complete that goal, and even though the reality check Stan had given him had been effective, his own mind didn’t seem to be able to supply a solution either.
∆
“We have previously reported that Oracle Division, notorious rogue government agency behind the Manhattan Blackout, is also more than likely involved in many other plots to sow discord and chaos among the nation, and, perhaps, the world at large. Since that time, we have received many accusations of spreading false information through speculation, contributing to mass panic, and we apologise. Here is the following correction: Oracle Division, notorious rogue government agency behind the Manhattan Blackout, is most definitely behind Ned Guy’s assassination among many other disturbing events. The idea that sources can concur on any one thing is a myth, so why even bother to mention ours. We apologise, again, for the former inaccuracy,”
I-I Don’t... Know ∆
He’d gone. The- the man with the… weapon. Yes. It looked like a gun, it fi-fired like a gun, ergo, it was definitely a weapon, if not one he recognised. But the man had gone, up an elevator, and he’d taken it with him and now he and the woman were left alone in the dark.
She was staring at him, speechless, horrified, and grief-stricken. She was crying, and he didn’t know why, only that he wanted to help her. Had she been there this whole time? It was hard to recall... it was hard to think…
It was like he should be hurting – he felt like he should be so, so hurt, but it was like his head was full of fog instead, and it was hard to do anything. The thing that hurt most was his eyes… which was definitely odd because he didn’t think he’d stared into that blinding white light from the weapon all that many times. A few, yeah, but surely not enough to make his eyeballs feel like they’d been scoured with a wire brush...
He wished she’d stop crying. That wasn’t going to help anyone, and he should know.
Should he know?
... yes, he thought so. He was pretty sure it was useless by this point.
How did he know that?
He felt floaty, which was not something he was used to feeling, but he wasn’t going to complain because it was a lot better than what he’d expected.
He’d expected?
Yeah, expected. He was too tired to think further about how he’d known to expect something. His brain felt exhausted. Imagine if the next round of… (was he being tortured?)… imagine if it involved sums. A bubble of laughter made its way past his lips. Now that would be torture.
Anyway, he felt floaty. Which was strange, because… because… he couldn’t stand… and he couldn’t stop shaking either. He was hanging and trembling from his wrists and his mind felt wrung out and the woman was saying something about the man going up for a phone call and they needed to get away, and she just looked even more scared when he asked what a phone call was. She explained. He snorted. That sounded like something out of science fiction if he’d ever heard it. Useful, but obviously fake. In fact, the only thing he could really feel was…
… anger. At that red book on the table. Because whenever the weapon fired, the book was consulted and it knew everything about him… didn’t it? It certainly didn’t know about – about – about… he couldn’t remember… and he was terrified more than ever for some reason because he couldn’t remember the boy’s name, or what he looked like, or –
He couldn’t remember.
Sacramento, California (USA) ∆
“Wexler, the deal was you’d tell us what we needed to-”
“Was that I would reveal the agents I know of if, and only if, Cipher is taken down,”
Carla gritted her teeth.
“Until such time as that happens, I’m afraid I will be keeping my mouth – wisely – shut. Furthermore, I believe you have yet to follow through on your promise to place me in the Witness Protection Program.” Wexler regarded her with a very much unbeaten expression and she berated herself for forgetting that he had accepted the deal to save his own skin, meaning that he remained quite firmly on the side of the Cipher Wheel until that no longer became an option.
“Well, plans change, as you and your buddies have seen fit to demonstrate. We need to know where Cipher is. And what those names are, thank you very much,”
He smiled indulgently at her and kept silent.
“It’s only a matter of time before Cipher is dead or behind bars! The FBI is aware of the threat. We have in place layers and layers of resistance to meet him. He cannot win!” She protested, but she’d lost him and she knew it. He’d goaded her into begging, or close enough. Even though it hadn’t been completely successful, the assassination attempt had proved that Cipher’s reach was only growing, and had flipped her and Wexler’s positions: he had the upper hand now. Every line of his body oozed confidence.
“And yet you’re now coming to me, desperate for help. Where did that fierce drive to win go, agent? Don’t tell me. It disappeared, along with all your friends,”
“You’re afraid of Cipher,” she snapped. Wexler shrugged. That was news to no one. “We can keep you safe, you know we can. You wouldn’t have agreed to the first deal if you didn’t think so. We will still do that, but things have changed and you need to tell us what you know sooner rather than later,”
“In fact, McCorkle, I don’t know that you can deliver on all your promises of safety. An assassin is still after you, are they not? More than likely they have already made their way into the building, based on the amount of time that has elapsed since the first killing. So no, thus far, you have spectacularly failed to build any kind of rapport with me or earn any sort of confidence in you. Why should I not just keep my silence, wait for the Cipher Wheel to win, and you to die?”
“DAMMIT!” Carla shouted, striding into the room she had designated as her temporary, windowless, singularly-entranced cell of an office. Jheselbraum didn’t even look up from the news report she was watching as the door slammed closed.
“I take it he’s refusing to cooperate in any manner now?”
Vicious, if muttered, swearing and agitated pacing answered her.
“Has there been any word on El Dorado?” Carla reached the wall, spun on her heel, and strode back the way she’d come.
“The forest is still crawling with Cipher Wheel agents. I’ve heard nothing about Stanley or Stanford, or Agents Marks and McGucket, but we can assume that someone, perhaps even all of them, managed to escape the ambush. The forest would not be so active unless that was the case,”
Another pivot. “But at least one of them’s also been captured,” she stated flatly.
“The vehicles that have left the forest do indicate that,” Jheselbraum confirmed, a pillar of stillness in direct contrast to Carla’s flurry of movement. “As yet, none of my agents have been able to follow them without risking exposure,”
“And with Wexler refusing to talk, we have no other way of finding out where they might be going. Which is wherever Cipher is.” Carla stopped, braced her palms on the table in the centre of the room, and leant heavily on them, trying to work out the tension in her back before all the coiled muscle there snapped something important.
The next time she saw Stanley, and she would be seeing him again, if only to kill him herself, she was never letting him out of her sight again. A bit of a counter-productive sentiment, but rationality had had a foot halfway out the door since the day began.
And at some point she had to deal with the assassin, who was most certainly getting closer with every minute that passed. The building was on high alert, but regardless, she doubted Cipher would have sent anyone after her who couldn’t deal with that.
She had absolutely no idea where to go from here. Other than to pick up some Witness Protection Program forms, she supposed.
A phone rang in the silence. She felt the vibration through the table and looked up to see Jheselbraum reach for the device and stiffen, staring at the screen with the closest expression to dread Carla had ever seen on the woman’s face. She turned her gaze to the screen as well.
The caller image showed a single terrifying yellow eye.
The Road Again (USA) ∆
Eventually they’d just sunk to the ground, drained.
It wasn’t that Stan wanted to admit that things looked pretty bleak... it’s just that they did anyway.
The silence between them was interrupted sharply by his phone ringing. He felt Ford jolt next to him.
Honestly, the turn the day – the past half hour – had taken meant that if it had been anyone other than Carla calling, Stan wasn’t sure he would’ve picked up. As it was, he turned on the speaker so Ford could hear as well, figuring that just because he wasn’t in the mood to plan a desperate and useless counterstrike against Cipher was no reason to keep that opportunity from his brother.
He hit the answer button.
“STAN?!”
Ford jumped again, and Stan flinched too. Had he accidentally turned the thing up to full volume again?
“Oh my GOD, you’re okay, you’re okay- you are, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Oh, hell, are you hurt? How bad is it? Listen to me closely: if you see a light, and it’s not the sun, do not-”
“No, no I’m fine!” Stan assured her hurriedly. “Ford’s here too, we’re both fine,”
“We’re unhurt, Carla,” Ford supplied, and from the look on his face Stan couldn’t help but think that he was not confirming the situation to Carla but more correcting Stan’s choice of words. Stan was inclined to agree with it.
“Jesus, that’s good to hear.” A pause. “Addi and Fiddleford?”
Stan’s stomach dropped out and Ford was silent.
“No,” he managed to get out. “No. They’re not,”
A sigh washed over the speakers. “I was hoping he was lying..."
“Hoping who was lying?” Ford said sharply.
The brief quiet on the other end of the line was very telling. So much so that Stan pretty much already knew what she was going to say before she’d gathered herself enough to say it.
“Jheselbraum and I just got a phone call from Bill Cipher,”
“Let me guess, it wasn’t to surrender himself and his network,” Stan said, dragging a hand down his face. Ford was rapidly losing what colour he’d regained as he too worked out what Carla was about to say.
“No, it... definitely was not. He wanted us to get a message to you.” She paused again, working out how best to phrase it, and Stan really wished she would just spit it out.
After a second, she gave up and did just that.
“He says Addi and Fiddleford are still alive, and if you guys show yourselves quick enough, they might even remain that way.” She let that sink in.
Hearing it out loud when you’re expecting it should really be easier than this, Stan considered with an air of detachment.
“He didn’t say anything else?” Demanded Ford.
“Other than a few taunts and name-calling? No,”
“So how are we supposed to hand ourselves over if he didn’t tell us where he is?” Stan exclaimed.
“I know. It’s a shame, but he really isn’t an idiot. He knew I’d be listening in to that call. He wasn’t going to reveal anything that might lead the FBI to him before he’s ready to fully take us on,”
“What about you, Poindexter?” Stan said urgently, turning to Ford. “You have any idea where he might be?”
“Cipher didn’t just use one place as headquarters,” Ford said, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. “He moved around fairly often. I know of a few places he’d frequent, yes, but there’s no guarantee he’s at any of them right now, and we don’t have time to check them all before he loses his patience with Addi and Fiddleford. Which is another thing! We don’t even know if they’re in the same place he is!”
“Yes we do,” Carla said unexpectedly, neatly stopping Ford dead in his increasingly hopeless rant.
“We do?” Stan looked at Ford.
“Yes. This whole situation with me got Addi and I thinking: he’s made it clear – even more so with that phone call – that he wants to kill or capture you two himself.”
“What situation with you?” Stan said warily.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, and he definitely didn’t believe that at all, but she was on a roll and they needed to know this, so he let it go for now. “The point is, you’ve been too much of a pain for him not to hold a grudge. Same situation with Oracle Division,”
“So they’ll be in the same place,” Stan nodded his understanding, and then frowned. “But that still doesn’t help us a whole lot. It just means we only have one raid to do instead of two, in a location we still don’t kn-” Stan stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d just seen Ford stiffen. Looking at him again, there was the tell-tale gleam of understanding in his eye: he’d just worked something out.
“Ford?”
“I know where he is.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t why I thought it was possible he’d be anywhere else,”
“Alright, tell me where. We can alert Tactical and take him out before knows what hit him,”
Ford opened his mouth, and shut it again.
“No,” he said.
“No?!” Stan repeated incredulously. “Do you want Addi and Fiddleford back or not, Ford?”
Ford’s gaze was flinty and his words were cold enough to chill the Sahara.
“If Bill didn’t think he could kill Addi and Fiddleford before a strike team managed to kill him, he would not have gotten that message to us through you, Carla,”
“Ford, I know you’re worried about them, and I understand that their safety is paramount, but tactical teams know what they’re doing. They are trained for situations li-”
“Their safety is paramount, which is precisely why I’m not going to endanger them even more by telling you where Cipher is,”
“Oh, jeez-” The situation was rapidly flying off Stan’s well-used map of moves-that-could-be-considered-even-remotely-sane.
“So you’re just going to blindly hand yourselves over?” Carla said witheringly, as if she could stop Ford through brute force of will alone. Unfortunately, when Ford got like this there wasn’t really anything anyone could do short of getting into a fistfight with him, and Stan knew from personal experience that that would only harden his resolve.
“Of course not. We’re going to take him down ourselves. Or-” Ford faltered for the first time. “Or I will, anyway,”
He looked up at Stan defiantly, and Stan half wanted to get into that fistfight just to see if it was possible to knock some sense into the guy this time. The other half of him though, was indignant. He’d followed Ford across the world to make sure he wasn’t in trouble. He’d punched more people than he could count for him, and that wasn’t even from this recent jaunt. He’d willingly been flown by someone who didn’t know how to fly, almost been shot, actually been shot (and now his shoulder was hurting again, great), been drugged and dumped, chased and left behind, ambushed, momentarily convinced his brother was dead, and Ford still hadn’t been able to shake him.
Honestly, the most unbelievable thing about this situation was that Ford thought Stan wouldn’t come with him on this.
He groaned. “Weren’t you listening earlier? You don’t think I’m gonna let you do this alone, do you?”
Ford’s face broke into a relieved grin which told Stan that despite how it had sounded, he wasn’t taking this course of action lightly in the least.
There was silence on the other end of the line. Stan could practically feel Carla’s mind whirring.
“As soon as it’s safe to, you need to tell me where you are,” she reluctantly compromised.
“We will,” nodded Ford. Good. At least he wasn’t being idiotically stubborn.
“And Stan?” Her words were clipped and short, but the next ones had the hint of jaunty casualness to them, nevermind if it was a bit forced, just like they always did when they said goodbye. And because it wasn’t the last time they would, Stan thought fiercely, there wasn’t any need for it to be different this time. She might not be able to stop Ford through sheer willpower, but he knew she’d be damned if she let that mean she couldn’t stop anything else that way.
“See ya later,” she said.
“Can’t leave ya hanging, can I?”
There was a brief whiff of sound that might have been a huff of laughter, and the call disconnected.
“Please tell me you have a plan,” he said as soon as it did.
“I don’t,” said Ford immediately.
Stan stared at him. “Well, at least you ripped that band-aid off quickly,”
Sacramento, California (USA) ∆
Busy. Keep busy. That was the thing. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have time to think about… whatever she had just condemned Stan and Ford to. She aggressively ripped the Witness Protection forms out of the printer.
Just get this to Wexler and mush his face into it until he agrees to sign it. She sighed. Well, no. She wouldn’t do that. Although maybe she could get away with staring at him unnervingly until he did.
Abruptly, she pulled back from the corner she was about to turn. Window. Large window.
Stay away, you don’t want a bullet in your brain. Way to go, Carla.
She turned back, striding down an alternate, less populous, route. It took her deeper into the building.
Get to interrogation, get to interrogation. Not far now.
And someone knocked the breath out of her.
The Road, California (USA) ∆
“He’s not going to let them go, Ford.” Stan said flatly. “We can’t just turn ourselves in and hope for the best. Guy’s convinced he’s on the verge of plunging the world into chaos-” He paused, rethinking that statement. “Guy is on the verge of plunging the world into chaos. No way is he going to stick to any deals we make with him. We need to be smart about this.”
Ford paced up and down the dusty roadside, nodding in agreement. “We should also expect that he’ll expect us to try something, and he’ll be accordingly prepared. The question is, does he know that we expect he’ll expect us to do something, and therefore expect our expectant strike at a whole new level of-”
“You’re making this too complicated,” Stan interrupted, passing rapidly through stages of grim agreement, horrified fascination, and irritated dismissal. “Stop thinking about might-bes and doing that get-in-his head routine - this isn’t some Sherkey Homes adventure,”
Ford looked faintly disappointed.
“What we know is that when we get there, he’s going to take our guns off us-”
“Actually, mine’s back in the forest somewhere. We only have yours now,”
Stan’s stomach dropped. “I don’t have mine either,” he admitted.
Ford’s eyebrows shot up and he warily asked, “What happened?”
Stan told him. Ford slapped a hand over his eyes.
“It’s still in the car somewhere!” Stan said defensively. “There’ll be plenty of time to find it on the drive there,”
“But you actually lost-”
“Shut up,”
“You shut up,”
∆
Her body had shut down with that blow. She couldn’t breathe. Her stomach muscles were seizing up. Before she collapsed to her knees, the assassin caught her by her collar and plunged a knife towards her throat.
She caught his wrist and wrenched it down and around, felt something give and his hand sprang open, the knife clattering to the floor. He hissed through his teeth, instinctively loosening his grip on her collar. Her legs took her weight. Her elbow took his senses.
He stumbled back, reeling from the strike to his jaw. She’d bought herself some time. Fighting back the surges of adrenaline that had her shaking and her brain screaming at her to sprint away as fast as she could, Carla focused, and her lungs seemed to expand again, filling with air, combating the pain and panic.
The assassin recovered at the same time she did. He struck first. She dodged, stepped in close, fired a punch into his side and stepped away again, springing lightly on the balls of her feet. He was driven back sharply, but that seemed to be all. Not a flicker of discomfort registered on his face as he reappraised her. Her mouth quirked in response. You didn’t have Stanley Pines as your sparring partner for long without picking up a thing or two.
Keep it simple, keep it simple.
∆
“Alright, alright, keeping it simple.” Ford considered. Having no weapons was a substantial drawback. “We get the memory gun off Bill and use it on him,”
Stan frowned. “Good plan – except there’s no way he going to let us get that close without a fight. And do we really want to fight him while he has that thing and Addi and Fiddleford?”
Before Ford could irritably point out that at the rate he was shooting down their ideas nothing was going to work, Stan straightened.
“Wait, yeah, that’s good. We should just fight him,”
“You just pointed out why that would be a bad idea,” Ford said, annoyed that the one time Stan was changing his mind about a bad idea was when the bad idea was his own.
∆
Not good.
One of the assassin’s legs hooked behind hers and tripped her up. His hand closed around her throat. Her back hit the door of the observation room. Her head slammed forward from the recoil and something metallic snapped. The door sprang open, and they were falling.
∆
“I can keep a gun from shooting me and whoever else is around,” Stan said confidently. He had just spent a couple weeks proving it, after all. “Look, Cipher’s probably not going to be paying much attention to me – you’re the one he wants vengeance and ruination and a spike up the butt and whatnot for-” Ford winced slightly – “meanwhile, what did I do? Just tagged along and punched him in the face that one time. So, you just keep his attention and when he least expects it, I’ll grab the gun from him.”
“If he doesn’t really care about you then why would he demand you show up as well?” Ford objected. “We can’t count on that working. And even if that wasn’t the case, you grab the gun from him and then what? You don’t know how to work it, Stan,”
“So I’ll smash it instead,”
“But then there’s still the problem of Bill – and before you say anything else, remember that he’ll probably have more weapons than just the memory gun on him,”
Stan closed his open mouth. That was a good point.
“So I should do it instead,” Ford stated.
That wasn’t.
“No,” said Stan instantly.
“I know how to work the memory gun. You distract him, I can take it from him, use it on him, and problem solved,” Ford insisted.
Blinking away images of his brother lying motionless, Stan rallied and said, “One: I’m the better fighter,”
Ford frowned and opened his mouth to argue, probably on principle, and Stan quickly amended his statement to, “I mean, you literally cut a probe out of your head and stitched it up a few hours ago. It’d be weird if you were still alright,”
Ford allowed him to continue, moderately appeased.
“Two: how am I going to distract him? If he is interested in me, we don’t know why, and even then you’re the one who’s been working for him for years: no matter what, you’ll be able to distract him better,”
“I refuse to believe that you wouldn’t be able to figure something out,” Ford said firmly. “Stan, it has to be you. The best and quickest way we have of neutralising Bill is if we use the memory gun on him, and since I’m the only one who knows how to do that safely-”
“Safely?” Stan picked up.
Ford waved a hand vaguely. “It’s a very delicate device. If it gets even slightly damaged, the consequences of using it could be-” he hesitated – “not good. Very, extremely not good.”
Stan practically radiated a demand for a better explanation.
“Well, for a start, it could explode, and since when I constructed it I dismissed trying to extract memories in their rather abstract pure form…”
“Right, that does sound hard,” Stan acknowledged.
“I designed it to simply rewrite matter instead, and while I intended the matter to only be neural pathways, it could conceivably be anything,”
Stan stared.
“In my defence, it was just meant to be a prototype,” Ford said in embarrassment.
Stan took a deep breath. “And you thought that was easier than just trying to grab memories?”
“I did,” confirmed Ford. “But the point is, it gets damaged, bad things happen. Most likely in a… silicaceous manner,”
“Bad things,” Stan said hollowly. “Yeah,”
∆
The assassin was at her back, an arm wrapped around her throat, crushing her windpipe. She’d managed to get a hand under his elbow before the lock was fully on and her muscles were screaming as she strained to break it. Her vision was going fuzzy at the edges. She sucked in a sliver of air. She… she had legs.
She hooked an ankle behind his and threw all her weight backwards. He tried to shift his stance to compensate but his foot was trapped by hers and he overbalanced, falling, and she felt the jolt as they collided with something. It was just enough of a distraction to rip herself free of the hold, spin, drive a fist into the side of his face and stumble backwards, coughing violently as the air simultaneously stung her throat and cleared her mind. No time for recovery. She made herself push off the desk she was clutching and ran forward and flung herself at him and took him off his feet and hurtled into the two-way mirror behind him.
∆
“I’m telling you, this is the best chance we have of defeating Bill-”
“And I’m telling you, you’re not a match for him right now! Sure, it could work, but there’s too high a chance that you and the others would get hurt. My way will be less dangerous for everyone,”
“Besides you, you mean,”
“Yes!” Stan said vehemently.
Ford gritted his teeth. They had been running in circles with this plan for far too long, and with every minute that passed he was itching more and more to just get underway already, the temptation to try and figure everything out in the car growing stronger and stronger as the thought of Addi and Fiddleford pressed increasingly insistently at him.
Stan was glaring at him, and had by now joined him in some irregular pacing. He was also occasionally clenching and unclenching his hands to let some agitation out. Clearly, he was also feeling the pressure.
He sighed, and Stan echoed it a moment later.
“Look Ford, there’s no way this is going to end perfectly,” Stan said. “We just have to go with the best option available,”
“And that’s the problem,” said Ford ruefully.
“Because you think using the memory gun on him will end it quicker, with the added bonus that it’s a poetic way to go out and will be pretty cathartic for you,” Stan said with a humourless smile.
“And you just want to do to him what you do to everyone who hurts the people you love,” Ford countered, equally pointedly. “Make sure he can’t do it again by hitting him like a ton of bricks,”
∆
A startled yell rang in Carla’s ears, almost missed in the cacophony created by the shock of the landing and the crash of the glass all around as they’d gone through the window.
She untucked herself from a protective ball, giving no acknowledgements whatsoever to the pains in her neck, back, shoulder, side. They were barely registering anyway. Her head was ringing. She scrambled up off the floor of the starkly-lit interrogation room, the assassin doing the same on its other side, jagged reflective fragments spread across the floor between them. Breathing hard, she got herself into a boxer’s stance, glancing at her hand when she had trouble closing it into a fist. Huh. It had a piece of glass sticking out of it.
The assassin had picked up another, larger shard. He held it firmly in his hand.
Oh joy, Carla thought numbly. A weapon. She decided then and there never to tackle someone through a window again.
The assassin didn’t make to move towards her. His attention had been caught by the third person in the room, handcuffed to the table and looking fairly shocked at what was going on. A person who could be very damaging to the Cipher Wheel, should he decide to cooperate.
The assassin switched targets and lunged towards Wexler instead. He leapt out of his chair and attempt to skirt around the table, but the cuffs anchoring him to the middle restricted his movements. The assassin recovered from the momentum of his first swing and jumped onto the interrogation table. Wexler paled, unable to move out of range. The assassin drew back his makeshift blade and Carla tackled him. They crashed to the floor, Carla saved from feeling most of the impact due to the combined effects of shock, adrenaline, and the relatively cushioned landing provided by the assassin.
His head had cracked against the floor. The fragment had gone deeper into her hand. The room was wavering slightly, but she didn’t think that was actually happening. She’d probably hit her head at some point. That didn’t sound right. The assassin had probably hit her head at some point. Jerk.
He groaned below her, trying to get up again. Carla drew back her good hand dealt him a swift uppercut. He slumped back, and didn’t move again.
“What the hell…” breathed Wexler behind her.
Ah, right.
Carla staggered to her feet and pushed her sweaty hair out of her face. She took a deep breath to try and get her – her everything under control, and delved deeply into her pocket. Wexler watched with wide eyes.
Out of it she drew a very crumpled and slightly torn sheaf of papers. She laid it down in front of Wexler, brushed some glass off, smoothed it out, left some bloodstains behind, and straightened up again.
“Please sign this form to apply for the Witness Protection Program,” she said professionally.
Wexler stared, slack-jawed.
“Unless you still think the FBI can’t deliver on its promises to protect you,” she added.
Wexler’s eyes flicked to the motionless assassin behind her, and back again.
“No, I’ll sign,” he said quickly.
∆
No bright ideas suddenly sprang into Ford’s mind to break the stalemate they found themselves in. No desperate last-minute solutions. Nothing.
Eventually, Stan sighed, and looked away.
Then he cocked his head slightly. Ford looked back at him. He was staring at their reflection in the Stanleymobile’s windows. There was nothing out of sorts to see there, as far as Ford was concerned.
“Y’know,” said Stan slowly. “I’m really glad I got that haircut,”
∆
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are just receiving word that the crisis at the FBI field office has ended, and the assassin has been apprehended with no further fatalities. We go now to Roberta Lopez, spokesperson from the FBI, and – oh, her, uh, colleague?”
“Thank you, yes. While the assassin has indeed been arrested and secured in a holding cell, the current situation is far from over, and before we go any further, we must inform you that Oracle Division is not the agency behind the Manhattan Blackout and Ned Guy’s assassination as the news has been reporting. Thanks for that, by the way. Rather, they have been framed by an organisation known as the Cipher Wheel, which the FBI has been investigating for several months now. At this very moment, we are concentrating our best efforts on bringing down these terrorists before they can cause any more harm. In collaboration with Oracle Division, who Mr Colleague here is a representative of, we fully expect to be able to handle this threat. Take it away, Neil,”
“BOOM! How d’you like them facts?!”
“Thank you, Neil. We will now take questions,”
∆
“Well, at least he’s cooperating now,” Jheselbraum said, arms folded as she peered over Carla’s shoulder at the folder containing Wexler’s new identity.
“For the most part,” Carla muttered, scratching at the bandage over her wrist. She was covered in glass cuts and more, but had only deemed the actual stab wound serious enough to address at the moment.
“Cipher is a sticking point. He insists on the guy being dead before he spills the beans, which on the bright side means we’re back to the original deal, but unfortunately also means that the only lead we have in figuring out where Stan and Ford have gone won’t talk until such time as it doesn’t matter anymore,” By which she meant “until Stan called her to tell her where they were because they’d managed to kill Cipher” and not “because Cipher had effectively destroyed all systems of world order thereby making Wexler’s sharing of information redundant.”
Jheselbraum’s speculative voice broke through her dark thoughts.
“Actually, I have been wondering about whether he is our only lead,”
Carla looked up at her with wide eyes.
“Has Oracle Division tracked down Addi and Fiddleford?” she asked eagerly.
Jheselbraum’s mouth quirked. “Not Oracle Division. And I’m not even certain she can help us. But if anyone has the ability to, it’s her.” She straightened decisively. “I’ll get back to you soon. In the meantime, perhaps you should deliver that folder to Agent Wexler, and savour the look on his face,”
Indeed she did, when she handed his new identity over a minute later. It was the least he owed her for the past few months.
“Alright Mr Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, it’s time to meet your new life as a travelling banjo minstrel,”
Gravity Falls, Oregon (Soon-to-be-Divided States of America) ∆
A proximity sensor buzzed, signalling the approach of Pines, which was good news to Bill, who was getting impatient, and especially good news to Blondie and Fiddlesticks, whose heads he had been about to riddle with bullets.
“And right in the nick of time, boys,” he said, grinning as he lifted the gun off the man’s forehead. All sorts of shouts and protests finished their ringing echoes around the basement, leaving a breathless stillness in their wake that left him free to speak without competition. As the prisoners sagged, he continued, “Congratulations you two, you get to live another few minutes,”
They didn’t reply. Fiddsy he wasn’t even sure could at this point.
Spinning on his heel, Bill turned to the monitors.
He’d brought the brother. Good.
Stanford and Stanley were trudging across the grounds towards the cabin, their movements slow and deliberate. A smart choice, as Bill was more than capable of killing them where they stood thanks to Stanford’s enthusiasm and/or paranoia in his design of this place’s defences. It really was a shame that he’d sided against Bill.
They reached the front door, hands raised in surrender. As per Bill’s orders, the agents in the house above them let them through.
“Hey, you guys wanna play a game?” Bill suggested suddenly. McGucket made no response. He just hung there, his legs no longer able to support him. What a drip. Marks though, she raised her head and fixed him with a gaze that was definitely more lost than it had been a couple hours ago.
“Let’s try and figure out what their play is.” He peered theatrically at the next monitor, putting the gun on the desk before placing his palms flat against it too, pushing his face close to the screen. The upstairs agents were searching the brothers for weapons, going over every inch of them so that not so much as a pen knife would be brought down to the basement.
“Hmmm. Hope your pals here weren’t going to try taking me by surprise.” Twisting the screen around so that she could see, he asked, “What do you think?”
Marks’ eyes flicked over to it momentarily, but she seemed reluctant to look away from him – how flattering.
Then she did a double-take, and her eyes locked back onto the screen. She looked like she was concentrating. She was even leaning forward a little, trying to see it closer, an expression like there was a word she couldn’t think of right on the tip of her tongue, but remaining stubbornly out of reach.
Bill narrowed his eyes and stepped over to the edge of the desk, where he’d laid the memory gun on top of the Journal as a bookmark. He flipped backwards a few pages until he found what he was looking for.
“Ohh, right, you gave Fordsy your own little stop-and-frisk session back in China, didn’t you?” he teased.
Her eyes flew back to him, a sudden clarity in them. Hmm. Obviously his new toy wasn’t as refined as he’d thought.
“Funny,” Bill said, tilting his head. “I thought we already covered China…” He shrugged. “Must have missed this bit.”
A brief spin of the dial and a click of the trigger and a flash of light later, and those memories were once again gone. Marks flinched back, gasping, shaking her head and blinking the stars out of her eyes. When she looked back at the search of Stanford that the agents were finishing up, there was no recognition of the situation.
“Damn thing.” He shook the memory gun a little. “What about you, your head’s not fixing itself is it?” He shot at McGucket before he replaced the device. He didn’t expect a response, but he got one anyway.
“Well, it ain’t like Ah’d tell you’f I was!” And then he cackled – yep, cackled – briefly. Huh, looked like he was finally losing it. Well, it made things livelier anyway.
Out of curiosity, Bill tried erasing the ocean from his head. There was a brief pause, but McGucket continued cackling soon after. Marks looked sick.
“Finally, one of you’s seeing the humour in the situation. I don’t mind saying, you’ve been a pair of Debbie Downers lately.” Bill rolled his eyes and replaced the gun on top of the Journal, then resumed his position in front of the monitors. McGucket’s laughs died down soon after.
Pines and Pines 2.0 were being led through the house now. Returning to his musings on their possible plans, Bill said, “Credit where it’s due, at least they’re not attacking those agents. That would just be embarrassing for everyone,” If either of them so much as twitched aggressively towards an agent, the others, both visible and hidden from view, would bear down on the Pines like the wrath of, well, Bill.
No incidents occurred. Last week, Bill would have been inclined to put that down to Stanford’s forethought. Now… Bill was more informed.
He watched them walk compliantly through the rooms. Another thought struck him.
“Do a perimeter sweep,” he ordered through the mike. “We don’t want Oracle Division pulling any fast ones,” The command was acknowledged, and the monitors showed an increase in activity around and within the property moments later.
He doubted Stanford would have told the FBI where he was, not with Marks and McGucket so easily within his reach, and so far his and his brother’s cautious actions were confirming that. But Bill knew Jheselbraum. If there was anything that witch was good at, it was coming out of nowhere with devastatingly unexpected strikes.
The Wheel reported that all was quiet, however. It seemed that not even she had managed to find her way here.
On the central screen, one of the agents opened the bookcase revealing the stairs down to the basement’s first level. The other two escorted Stanley and Stanford through with a warning hand on their shoulders. They moved carefully.
At the elevator the lead agent typed in the access code, the buttons on the grainy image lighting up. Turning his gaze to a smaller monitor off to the side, Bill wondered if the elevator would be where they attempted something. It was the most strategic place for it.
Stanley and Stanford wordlessly entered the small area. The three guards visibly tensed in the tighter space, clearly also expecting an attack. Bill heard the elevator begin its trundle downwards, the sound propagating through the space and filling the once again silent area. Marks wasn’t even attempting to make escape plans with McGucket anymore. The lack of whispers in the background while he was apparently distracted was new. It was probably the certainty of death that was hanging in the air. Earlier, they probably hadn’t fully realised that he was going to kill them. And doing it in front of Stanford? Just a bonus.
The elevator reached the third level of the basement and its doors opened, revealing Pines, Disappointing Pines, and Guards One, Two, and Three, who had not been subdued, injured, or knocked unconscious. They pushed their charges out roughly.
Bill moved sedately over to the end of the bench, the motion alerting Stanley and Stanford to his presence. Their eyes alighted on him immediately. He settled comfortably against the edge, with the memory gun and Journal to his left, and the regular gun to his right, both easily within reach. He grinned at them.
“Just dump their weapons over there, you two,” he directed the agents.
“They didn’t bring any, sir,” reported one of them.
Bill raised an eyebrow at the Pines’. “Not very hopeful, were you?” he quipped. When they didn’t respond he continued, “Alright then, go back to your stations. Keep watch, be on guard, all that jazz. If you hear any screaming, that’ll be them. Don’t worry about it,” With a cheery wave, he dismissed them, and they turned and walked swiftly back to the elevator.
Once it started its rattling journey upwards, Bill examined his new prisoners. Stanley and Stanford returned his gaze with identical apprehensive expressions. And jeez, speaking of identical… they really did look similar. The monitor screens hadn’t done it justice. Stanford of course had blood and dirt all over his shirt, and Stanley wasn’t wearing glasses, but other than that… sheesh.
“I’m glad you brought your brother, Fordsy,” Bill started conversationally. “I would not have been happy otherwise,”
“You’re happy now?” said Stanford disbelievingly.
“No,” Bill admitted. “But this is nothing to what I would have been like,” The viciousness in his words was tempered by the palpable trepidation in the room.
“Well, you know,” said Stanley, far more flippantly than the tension in his body suggested he was capable of, “wherever we go, we go together,”
Bill gave an overexaggerated wince. “Ooh, might wanna rethink that line, buddy,”
Another difference between the two was that Stanley’s focus was solely on Bill, whereas Stanford had noticed McGucket and Marks manacled to the wall on Bill’s left.
“I assume I don’t need to do introductions?” he said lightly. Marks was looking all pathetic and desperate as she looked back at the frozen Stanford, which made Bill glad he hadn’t gotten around to burning out the latter bits of the Journal from her mind. No recognition would have been so much less entertaining, although Pines’ reaction to that would’ve been a sight to behold. Upsides to everything, Bill considered.
Stanley finally appeared to notice the other occupants of the room, and the expression that crossed his face was such a mixed bag of intensity that Bill actually laughed, whereupon it just became one of hate. Stanford had never been so open and easy to read. He liked this new guy.
“Addi? Fiddleford?” He asked in that rough voice of his. “You two-” He shut himself up before asking if they were okay.
“And look at that, you’re smart, too,” Bill praised. “No, Stanny, Miss Adeline and Mr Fiddleford are definitely not… well, how about you tell them yourselves, guys?” He gestured for them to go ahead and speak.
Marks glared, jaw clenched tightly shut. McGucket, however, was the more noticeably silent of the two. Not only did he not speak, but he didn’t move either. He hadn’t, in all the time that Stanley and Stanford had entered the basement. All eyes were drawn to him.
“Fiddleford?” said Stanford cautiously. No response.
“You wanna tell them or should I?” Bill cheerfully asked Marks.
She swallowed.
“He- he doesn’t know that’s his name,” she said softly.
Bill nodded emphatically. “Yep-amundo! Oh, don’t look so shocked, I had to do something while I waited for you guys, didn’t I?”
McGucket stirred. On shaky legs, he pushed himself to stand on his own a little more. “S’my name?” he murmured to Marks.
“Y-yeah. Fiddleford,” she replied unsteadily.
Well now the guy seemed a little more focused and clear-headed, and that wouldn’t do at all.
He slammed his left hand down on the Journal, and Stanley and Stanford would have had to be blind not to notice McGucket and Marks flinch as he came close to grabbing the memory gun again. Instead, he picked up the Journal.
McGucket’s eyes burned as they fixated on it. Bill’s grin broadened, and he flourished it at Stanford, who’s jaw was tightly clenched.
“Look familiar? It sure does to these two, I’ll tell you that. And it’s just chock full of all sorts of information! Families, histories, interests, missions… and I’m sure they both wanted all of it to end up in an easily accessible diary like it did, to be used against them at their earliest convenience!” Bill gave a mock salute. “We’re ever so grateful, Stanford,”
“Ford, he would’ve just found other things to use against us, or another way to get the information-” Marks started, valiantly trying to preserve the idiot’s feelings – and sure, she may have been right, Bill would have gotten the information anyway, but where was the fun in admitting that?
It was McGucket who interrupted her before Bill could, however.
“Didja write that?” The man was shaking, and not from the spot of torture. His hands were clenched tight, fingers biting into his palms. “All that- in that there book?”
Bill looked at Stanford, whose face was stonily shut down, unresponsive.
Like a switch had been flipped, McGucket chuckled suddenly. There wasn’t the slightest hint of mirth behind it, but he still shook with laughter.
“An’ Ah only had two months before retirement!”
Bill rolled his eyes. “I swear I already wiped Oracle Division…” he muttered. He picked up the memory gun again and shrugged amiably at Stanley and Stanford. “The things that slip your mind, am I right?”
He spun the dial with practiced ease and loosed the bright stream directly into McGucket’s face. The Pines’ started forward.
“AH, AH, AH, BOYS!” Bill held up the memory gun. “Stay where you are,” he warned vehemently. They did, standing further apart than before. “Good. No need to forget what the order of things is here, now is there?”
McGucket hadn’t reacted all that much to the burst from the memory gun. Bill would have wondered if it had even worked if he hadn’t stopped laughing so quickly.
“Alright, enough messing around,” he decided, leaning back against the bench once more and replacing the memory gun in its position atop the Journal, although he kept his hand on it. Pines and Disappointing Pines looked just about ready to charge, and while it would entertain him no end to have yet another excuse to hurt Blondie and Fiddsy because of them, he did want to get around to dealing out some pain for the Brothers Dim, too. That would only be delayed if he had to go and restrain them.
“You have us. Are you going to let Adeline and Fiddleford go?” Stanford said, his gaze flicking momentarily to the memory gun.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just waste my time with that question,” Bill said flatly.
“Then why are they still alive?”
In the peripheral of his vision, he saw Stanley take a step closer to him. So that was their play. One of them distracts him, the other gets the memory gun off him. Not great, and not going to work, and he would have thought that Stanford would be the one trying to wrest the thing away, but he’d play along for now. It’d make the finale all the more fun.
“Oh, because of this and that. Just never got ‘round to it, I suppose.” He turned to face more fully towards Stanford, like a thought had just occurred to him, and Stanley took the bait, edging closer.
“I gotta say, I am surprised you’ve managed to stay alive up ‘til now. I s’pose you’ve got your bro to thank for that, haha. Seems like a shame though, to let all that hard and unrewarding work just… disappear,” He punctuated the word by tapping his left fingers playfully on the memory gun. Stanley came closer still. Honestly, he hadn’t even crossed half the distance! He could definitely do with some pointers on strategy.
Quite happy to keep talking, Bill continued, “Y’know, what the heck!” He spread his hands wide and then dropped then back down, noticing that yes, Stanley had taken advantage of that chance too.
“Since you left, Stanford, I have to admit, there has been a bit of a vacuum left in your wake, and I don’t want to fill it with just anyone, you know what I’m saying? It really does need a Pines touch,”
Stanford stiffened.
Bill tilted his head innocently.
Stanford said, “No way in-”
“I’m sorry, WAS I TALKING TO YOU?” Bill thundered, and then he stuck out his right hand and grabbed the gun that didn’t fire white light and shot Stanford in the chest.
∆
“A’course Ah know where he is, y’think I was gonna let my husband go off in a state’f emergency without havin’ me as backup? I put a tracker under his tie this mornin’. He’s in some town in Oregon,”
“Thank you so much for your help, Madeline,”
“Why don’t you know where is? Jheselbraum? Why are you out of contact with him? Something hasn’t happened, has it?”
Silence.
“Madeline, we’ll need you to transfer us your tracking frequency as soon as possible,”
Silence again.
“Ah’m bringin’ it to ya myself. See you in twenty,”
∆
The blast hadn’t finished echoing around the basement before Bill was turning to Stanley.
“So whaddaya say, sport? Finally ready to join the fold? I gotta admit, I was sceptical at first, but y’know what, Sixer’s convinced me! He’s been singing you praises since months before you even showed up, isn’t that right Fordsy?”
On the ground behind him came a spluttering, gasping, pained noise. Stanley’s face was sheet white, his whole body frozen as if every joint was suddenly locked. Bill tossed the gun to his other hand and picked up the memory gun. So many guns! So many targets! Not the guy in front of him, though. At least, not if he made the right choice.
“All through that tour around the world, after every single mission, it was ‘Stanley this!’, ‘Stanley that!’ and I’ll admit, I didn’t wanna see it! I thought IQ over there was the golden boy!” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Stanley’s eyes finally moved to follow its trajectory – hah, tragic-tory, more like.
“Wasn’t meant to be, unfortunately. Good thing you showed up! And I reckon you’re much more suited to this kind of life. After all, you didn’t go making friends with enemy agents first chance you got, you know how to focus on what’s important, and you know how to think on your feet and do whatever it takes to get what you want. And I bet you, kid, know what the smart option is now, don’t you?”
Stanley staggered a little. His eyes looked distinctly wet.
“I get it, you need a moment to think. Gotta weigh up those choices. Sure, on the one hand, I shot your brother. But on the other, I could just as easily shoot you. I’ll give you…” He deliberated for a moment. “… until I next get bored to make your decision, how’s that?”
He spun around to chat to his other prisoners. Marks’ expression was delightful, it was like he’d shot her instead, with that open-mouthed, shocked look, and eyes slowly filling with tears as she processed what happened. And even though McGucket wasn’t really up to date on what was going on, he didn’t appear any less affected. What a guy! Bill had been telling him practically since he’d arrived that the guy who wrote the Journal was the reason for all his torture, and he still only looked horrified. He was also the only other person in the room who hadn’t just stopped, rock-like. Even now he was examining everything that was happening, and fixing Bill with a pretty impressive evil eye.
Stanford’s groans of agony meanwhile were growing less and less, as were his laboured breaths. Bill didn’t even spare him a glance.
Feeling the constant background thrum of anger in him spike again, he was about to turn around and demand an answer of Pines when Marks drew a quick, shuddering breath and attracted his attention.
“Got something to say, lovely?”
She was stuck for words for a moment, but quickly found something to say.
“How- how could you do that?”
Pity it was so unoriginal.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Blondie, but I’m a little short on all those ‘heroic qualities’ you value so highly,”
“Ya- ya didn’t haveta kill him,” said McGucket, not letting the tremors in his bones stop him it seemed.
“Didn’t I, now?”
“He could’ve still been useful, fer yer – yer whatchamacall it… robotical and weaponisifyin’ office! Where all the mad folk go to unleash their minds upon the world!” He cackled again for a moment.
“You mean the R and D department?” Marks asked him.
“That too,” agreed McGucket.
Bill arched an eyebrow. “Thanks for the suggestion, but he was being far more annoying than useful by the end. And besides! Too late now,”
There was a flicker on both their faces. Wow, shooting Stanford had really rattled them, hadn’t it? They hadn’t been this in sync with each other for hours. It was almost like they had a common goal again.
Bill frowned. “You guys aren’t trying to distract me, are you?”
He whipped around just as Stanley finished crossing the distance and slammed his boot into Bill’s wrist. The memory gun went flying.
It hit the floor, threw up sparks, skidded, and whirled around and around until McGucket brought his foot down and stomped on it with a viciously triumphant expression. The shimmern bulb audibly cracked, and electricity fizzled up and down its length before dying out.
It was broken, that was for sure.
And Bill had no other copies.
And of the two men who could build another, one was all but dead, and the other was rapidly heading towards insanity.
Was Bill angry? No. Was he incandescent? Closer. Most importantly, he was still holding one gun.
“YOU IDIOT!” He roared, and brought it up and struck Pines across the face with it. He went down hard, and Bill wasted no time lashing a kick into his side that knocked him away and onto his back. Bill advanced again as Stanley, coughing, went to scramble up.
Pines made it to his feet and threw a punch. Bill dodged it easily and sent his boot into the side of Pines’ knee, which dropped him again with an agonised yell. Must’ve already been injured. He kicked it again, snarling. Pines screamed.
Stanley was kneeling now. Good. Bill brought the gun around but couldn’t resist hitting him again with it. It struck his temple in the same place as the first time, colliding with his skull in a satisfying crunch, sending him sprawling. Bill brought the gun back again, finger on the trigger, so ready for the sight of some blood and brains, but Pines caught the barrel and pointed it away from his face. Bill fired anyway. The bullet shot into the ground by Pines’ ear, concrete scattering, the bang deafening. The heat from the explosion scalded Pines, who yelled out again and shifted his grip off the hot barrel and over Bill’s own hands, still keeping the weapon away from himself. Bill pressed down with all his weight. Almost immediately, he began to win. Well, it was good to know that the esteemed skills and strength of Stanley Pines were so easily overcome. He must have hit him in the head harder than he’d thought.
Pines was flat against the floor now, almost all of Bill’s weight bearing down on the gun in the grip between them, forcing it slowly back towards Stanley’s face. Bill pulled the trigger again. It blasted into the concrete, barely a millimetre between that hole and the first. He pulled the trigger again. Stanley’s head jerked away from the third hole, neatly in line with the others, but he didn’t let up. Again. A fourth hole appeared, and this time the bullet skimmed his ear, the blood dripping into the cracks on the floor. Bill grinned right into Pines’ strained and desperate face. He sighted along the barrel of the gun. Pines’ left eye widened underneath it.
“Hey wise guy. Thought you wanted me dead,”
No. There was no way.
Bill looked back so fast his neck cracked.
He was on his feet. How was he on his feet?
There was a trail of blood marking where he’d crawled from his prone position. He had one hand pressed tightly just below his ribcage. He looked like any second could bring him down, but the grim set of his face gave some inkling as to how none had yet. And he was aiming the memory gun, the broken, sparking memory gun that Stanford Pines would not fire in a million years, directly at Bill.
He forgot about the man under him and bounded up, one hand extended out in a wild grab-
“STANLEY-”
-and nothing.
∆
The blinding flash faded from her eyes and Addi blinked desperately to clear them.
“What…”
She kind of wanted to scream, kind of wanted to cry, kind of wanted to curl up and pretend like nothing was real, but she didn’t. She didn’t, because the futile hand Cipher had outstretched was immobile, that expression of frenzied desperation permanently locked onto his face. The colour had been leeched out of him.
He’d been turned entirely to stone.
His back still to her, Ford’s arm shakily dropped and the memory gun clattered to the floor once more. He groaned and his knees sagged, and he would probably have fallen flat on his face if Stan hadn’t suddenly been there, grabbing him and offering what support he could.
“Stan? Oh God, how- how do you feel?” Stan was saying… as… he lowered… Ford to the ground…
His voice sounded very different.
“Worse’n I look. Urggh, no, actually scratch that…”
And he sounded different too.
No. Nononono. Wait.
Cipher had yelled out Stan’s name right before…
“You switched?” she burst out, cursing herself for not seeing it sooner. Ford had six fingers, for crying out loud! And they were similar, yes, but not identical…
Neither twin responded, which she supposed was fair enough. F-Stan squeezed his eyes shut as Ford put pressure on the wound. There was a lot of blood, but evidently it wasn’t in an imminently fatal position – although the amount of time that elapsed before Stan got proper medical attention would still be a deciding factor. She’d seen Stan doing his best to plug it, but frankly she was amazed he hadn’t passed out yet.
Ford cursed and looked around, spying his glasses lying a little way away where they’d dropped off Stan when he was shot, and jammed them on his face with a trembling hand. Nope, she needed an answer.
“Why did you switch?” she demanded.
“We thought Ford was the only one who Cipher would be distracted by for long enough to get the memory gun off him, but he was also the only one who knew how to work it,” answered Stan, looking like he was trying to distract himself. “So we switched so I could distract him and Ford could get the memory gun off him, and hopefully everyone would come out fine.” He winced as Ford shifted. “As you can see, it worked amazingly,” he grunted.
It was possibly the most ill-advised plan Addi had ever thought anyone could conceive of. On the other hand, they had pulled it off, in a kind of roundabout way.
“Ford, get me out of here,” Addi called. “I can help, I have medical training,”
Thank God Cipher hadn’t taken those memories from her.
“Not ta mention we’ve been chained to this wall fer hours and we don’t want to be anymore,” Fiddleford chimed in with a far more valid reason. When Addi looked at him, he seemed utterly confused, but she thought that was because of Stan and Ford: he’d been clear-headed enough to keep Cipher’s attention on them. That most definitely did not mean that he was fine, though; he trembled like a leaf, and he couldn’t hold himself up properly. She was getting him, and Stan, and Ford as well, to a hospital ASAP.
Ford hadn’t moved from his position tending to Stan. It was like he hadn’t even heard her. Her heart clenched.
Five gunshots right next to the ear, plus dazing from multiple blows to the head. He probably didn’t.
As if just noticing that the shirt Stan was wearing was beyond saving at this point, Ford sighed and complained – a little louder than he normally would have – “You got blood all over my clothes,”
“You got blood all over your own clothes,” Stan muttered, affronted.
“What?”
“You got blood all over your own clothes,”
“What?”
Stan rolled his eyes and gestured towards herself and Fiddleford. “Just- just go help them down, Addi can at least recognise snark…”
Following his pointing finger, Ford’s eyes widened and he sprang up, finally remembering them. The key was on one of the workbenches, and as soon as it was jammed into the slot on Addi’s manacles, they clicked open. She hissed as her shoulders rotated for the first time in hours, her fingers and forearms tingling painfully as feeling rushed back to them, her back aching-
And Ford enclosed her in a hug and everything seemed a bit more bearable.
What did she know? She knew… she knew he was important to her, very important, as both a friend and something not yet defined but certainly real. She also thought that they’d probably worked together. He made her happy. He was fun, and stubborn, and she knew she needed to help him out of trouble a lot, and... damn it, what else? The little she knew of before Cipher and the basement seemed like a hazy dream. The first moment she could remember between them was… a reunion? In the El Dorado forest.
No, that wasn’t true.
A flash of memories crossed her mind. Her heart beating fast as he held her hands and leant in close. The breath literally being driven from her as he elbowed her in the gut and immediately looked horrified. His suddenly nervous but pleased expression as she asked him to buy her a drink.
Reluctantly, she let him go, and made her legs stumble over to Stan. There would be plenty of time to puzzle out the past later, when they weren’t dying.
She shook her head and dropped down beside him.
“How’s your breathing?” Other than painful and quick. “Difficult? Do you feel like coughing?”
“Nah. Kinda hard to focus, though,” he said, head lolling around to her.
“That’s the blood loss. Try and stay awake, okay? Tell me all about, uh…” She faltered at the realisation that she didn’t know him well enough to bring up his interests. Then a name burst into being behind her eyes.
“Carla! Tell me all about her.” She bent down and listened to the hole in his torso, moving his hands for a moment. She couldn’t hear any air. The bullet had missed his lung then. His hands felt clammy as she pressed them back down. He was in shock, too.
“Ford, we really need to stop this bleeding,” she said, interrupting Stan’s rambling. Ford straightened up from helping Fiddleford to a chair.
“Right.” His gaze passed rapidly over all of them in succession, lingering harrowingly on Stan. “I’ll- I’ll go upstairs and call for help-”
“No, ya darn well ain’t gonna, Stanford Pines!” Exploded Fiddleford. “’Cause there’s a veritabibble army of Cipher Wheel murder-machines dressed’n human form up there and I haven’t had a cat-piddlin’ second to design my own murder bot fer a counterattack!”
Addi stilled. The Wheel. It was still active. And the only reason she and her friends were still alive was because they didn’t know their boss was now a garden ornament. If they came down here, out of all of them she was the only one who would have any kind of chance at fighting back – Stan needed immediate medical help, Fiddleford couldn’t stand on his own or stop shaking (and that wasn’t even addressing his mental state), and Ford was one good hit away from collapse himself. It really shouldn’t be up to the girl with a mind like swiss cheese to protect them all, but it appeared it was.
The elevator came to life and dinged open.
“Area secured,” Carla McCorkle, dressed in full tactical gear, said into her mike.
“We found ‘em. They’re in th’basement,” her partner breathed in relief, throwing her head back and slumping.
Her partner…
“Maddie!” Addi cried.
“Addi!” Madeline McGucket responded automatically.
∆
“It seems that trouble has once again come to Gravity Falls. In a shocking turn of events, the creepy cabin in the woods that we all feel like is watching us when we go near it and out of which strange sounds and black-ops-looking type people occasionally enter, has been the headquarters for a mad spy organisation this entire time. It was stormed by the FBI and Oracle Division – whatever that is – not two hours ago, and four severely injured individuals were safely recovered from the basement, in which they had been held prisoner by the leader of said mad spy organisation, Bill Cipher. In events that are not entirely clear, Cipher had been… turned into a statue? Is this right? It is? Alright then… Cipher had been turned into a statue. When it was brought up out of the house and our reporter on the scene questioned whether Cipher might still be alive inside it, the thing was fly-kicked into a million pieces by one of the aforementioned prisoners, a Mr Fiddleford McGucket, to assorted cheering from the other prisoners, the FBI, the Oracle Division agents, random spectators, and the mad spy terrorists themselves. To conclude, the answer to that question is a resounding ‘no’.
“Meanwhile, the prisoners themselves are receiving treatment at the scene, as they are apparently too stubborn to leave things in other people’s hands…”
∆
From what Stan could see from his position lying on the stretcher in the ambulance, the clean-up seemed to be going well. Red and blue lights flashed into the night, and an almost continuous stream of Cipher Wheel operatives were being led out of Ford’s house, loaded into FBI vans, and driven away. It was much easier to take in his surroundings now that pain and cold fear weren’t pulsing through his body; the paramedics had given him something, and now the entire left side of his body was numb. And they’d assured him he wasn’t dying anymore, which was a relief. Also, they’d bandaged up that bullet graze on his shoulder. It was nice to be looked after.
Carla’s fingers were winding through his hair.
“We’re getting married as soon as possible,” she said. She was sitting in a chair next to him, occasionally touching the plaster the paramedics had insisted on putting on her multitude of cuts and scrapes.
“We are?” he asked.
“We are,” she confirmed. “I don’t trust you not to go off on yet another adventure and do something reckless and get yourself shot again before our wedding day,”
“Me do something reckless?” Spluttered Stan. “You tackled an assassin through a window today!”
“But I didn’t almost die!”
“That bandage over your wrist arteries and those bruises around your throat beg to differ,”
She flicked his nose.
“Ow!” He decided to let her idiocy go, at least until he could properly defend himself. “Yeah, let’s get married soon,” he agreed.
The last of the Cipher Wheel agents were driven off.
“So, case closed, huh?”
“Almost, thanks to you,” she smiled. “There’s still moles in practically every agency on the planet, I’ll bet, not too mention all the bureaucratic higher-ups Cipher had in his pocket – Jheselbraum’s superiors, for one. Fortunately, Wexler is free to help us with that, now,”
Stan groaned. “I thought you were going to take a break! What happened to us having some time off together?”
Carla blinked, startled. “I- uh, well, I’m still needed, there’s still things to-”
“Agents! There you are,” Came Jheselbraum’s voice.
Tilting his head, Stan saw her standing at the entrance of their ambulance.
“I couldn’t help overhearing the tail-end of that conversation,” she stated, “and I’m afraid Carla is right, Stanley. There is still much to see to with regards to the Cipher Wheel investigation,”
Stan’s heart sank.
“In fact, Carla, as a reward for the extensive amount of time and effort that you have put into this case, as well as the exceptional valour, initiative, and determination you have displayed these past few hours in the midst of crisis, I have taken it upon myself to use my not-inconsiderable influence to offer you a promotion,”
Carla’s face lit up.
Great. More work for her to take on.
Jheselbraum continued, “This will enable you a firmer command over the investigation, and I expect you’ll want to take full advantage of the delegative duties now available to you,”
Delegative duties? Well, just because it doesn’t sound like more work doesn’t mean it isn’t…
“I should also mention that this promotion comes with the condition that you take appropriate steps to address the large amount of stress and mental strain that this has placed upon you. Whatever those steps may be,” Jheselbraum looked from Carla to Stan, and back again. “Some leave, perhaps? Or time to work from home?”
For one heart-stopping moment, Stan thought Carla was too proud to accept. A few different expressions warred on her face, until something in it cleared.
“I’ll take that as a yes, Supervisory Special Agent McCorkle,” Jheselbraum smiled.
Carla sat back in her chair, breathing out slowly, and then grinned at Stan, who beamed broadly right back.
“So that’s that, Agent McCorkle?”
“That’s that, Mr Pines” she agreed.
Stan looked out of the ambulance again. Directly opposite, another ambulance was parked, its back doors open to them. He raised a hand in a brief wave to Addi and Ford, who were cuddling with their legs swinging off the edge of the ambulance floor. Ford had finally gotten some proper stitches in his head, as well as a bandage around it, and a knee brace. Addi was physically fine, but had a shock blanket draped around her shoulders. His brother smiled back at him.
“How often do ya put trackers on me?” Fiddleford wondered. His ambulance was next to Ford’s.
“Only when there’s a big whoppin’ emergency,” Madeline answered. Fiddleford was sitting up on his stretcher, and Madeline had joined him on it. The tremors had all but stopped, Stan was glad to see. Those were what had scared Madeline and the paramedics the most, but it had apparently only been shock symptoms, and wasn’t indicative of any kind of lasting brain damage. That hadn’t stopped Addi from flatly stating that both Fiddleford and herself were going to be booked up in mental therapy for the next few months, an action which Stan for one wholeheartedly agreed with.
Funnily enough, Fiddleford’s erratic speech was nothing to worry about. Madeline had disclosed that it wasn’t that out of character for him. He was way worse when he was drunk, apparently.
Something that balanced out the heartbreak that Madeline had shown when Fiddleford hadn’t entirely recognised her was the amazement and happiness on his face when she managed to tell him that she – at this point flushed from the action of the conflict with the Cipher Wheel agents, dressed head to foot in tactical gear, and backlit by the light from the elevator like some sort of avenging angel come to save them all – was his wife. Since then he’d seen Fiddleford staring off into space occasionally, just thinking things over.
“So what’s happening to Oracle Division?” Carla asked.
“We’re dissolved,” Addi replied. She nodded off to where Jheselbraum had moved to talk to some FBI officials. “The director said our mission’s over. The FBI has it handled from here, and Oracle Division agents will be picked up by other departments,”
“Is that what's going to happen to you?” Stan inquired, looking between her and Fiddleford.
Addi hesitated.
“Like hell it is!” Fiddleford snapped for her. “Whatever son of a bitumen road tries to stop me from retirin’ right this minute is goin’ ta be sorry. Ah’ve had it up to here with spies!”
“Fair enough,” Stan said, as Madeline high-fived him.
“I think I’m done with that scene for a while too,” Addi said, nestling closer to Ford.
“In that case,” Ford said, clearing his throat, “since I appear to be out of a job as well, how would you like to stay here with me? I’ve been thinking about going the scientific research route for years now, and this seems to be the perfect opportunity to do it,”
“Wh- really? Yes, of course! I’d love to!” Addi exclaimed, lurching off his shoulder to look him in the eye.
Happy as anything, Ford leaned forward so he could see into Fiddleford’s ambulance. “You’d be welcome too, Fiddleford. I can also look back over the memory gun schematics, see if I can reverse-engineer them. Any chance to make things right-”
“Ford, ‘making things right’ isn’t going to happen,” Addi interrupted.
Ford looked shattered.
Addi blanched. “No, no! That’s not what I meant! It’s because the memories are coming back on their own! We don’t need you to make a reverse-memory gun!”
“Wait, they are?” exclaimed Stan.
She nodded at him. “Every now and then another one gets triggered,”
Ford looked at Fiddleford. “Is this happening with you as well?”
“It is. Maddie’s been tellin’ me about Tate, and I’m rememberin’ him better all the time,”
“Well then maybe-” Ford reached behind him and grabbed the Journal, which he’d taken from the basement – “it would help if I recounted our missions together… that is, if you want my help…?” He looked uncertainly at Fiddleford. Stan winced as he remembered the anger he’d seen on the man’s face as Cipher had indicated the Journal.
Fiddleford sighed. “Stanford, Addi’s right. Cipher didn’t need that thing to hurt us, it was just convenient for him. Ah’d greatly appreciate yer help, and,” He glanced at Madeline, who shrugged in an easygoing manner, “Ah’d be happy to work with ya in th’future,”
Relief crossed Ford’s features.
Stan privately noticed that Fiddleford was clearly – to him at least – holding back quite a lot. Those first sentences had a rigidity to them that Stan thought probably meant that while Fiddleford could say them, and know they were true, there was still a way to go before he would really believe them. However, the fact that he had said them meant that things were already looking up.
“So you’re… doing okay?” Carla cringed at the inadequacy of the question.
“Improvin’,” Fiddleford nodded. “The memory gun stopped workin’ on me after a while, so that’s helped. Don’t think Cipher noticed, or cared too,”
“It did?” Addi asked, wide-eyed. “I mean, thank God, but… it did?”
At Fiddleford’s shrug, Ford straightened up. “That’s incredible! Perhaps you built up a resistance to the ray, or maybe the gun lost its power after a while – although that wouldn’t explain why it continued to work on Addi… I wonder, if we took an MRI of your brain-”
“Ford, are ya a neuroscientist?” Madeline asked with an amused tilt to her head.
“Ah, no-”
“Then leave it alone fer now. Let’s just relax for a while,”
Ford gave an embarrassed grin and Fiddleford squeezed his wife’s shoulders contentedly.
“All that bein’ said,” he piped up suddenly, irritation entering his voice. “Writin’ down yer top secret escapades was an idiotic thing ta do, Stanford, and if I’m goin’ to be workin’ with ya, you’ll be usin’ a computer, yer hear?”
“Computer’s can be hacked,” Ford responded weakly.
“Not mine,” said Fiddleford grimly.
Ford nodded his acquiescence, not that he had much choice, and then turned hopefully to Stan and Carla.
“We’ve already got jobs,” grinned Stan.
“We’ve also got some mandatory leave,” Carla put in. “I’d be happy to spend it here. After all, we’ve got ten years to catch up on, Ford,” She offered, and laughed as Stan immediately agreed to the idea. He was in no way ready to say goodbye to his brother yet, and he didn’t think Ford wanted him to leave yet either. There was still plenty of sappy hugs and conversations to have before then. And it looked like they were about to start now, as Ford opened the Journal on his lap, pressed a kiss to Addi’s hair, rolled his eyes at Stan’s eyebrow waggle, and began to read.
What had his life been like two weeks ago? He’d had a girlfriend who loved him, but who had also been extremely pressured by her work. He’d had a steady-ish job, but no friends. And a brother who he hadn’t seen in five years. Two weeks ago, life had been lonely, and quiet.
Now, he had a fiancée who loved him and whose case was all but wrapped up so she wasn’t in danger of dying of stress, he had taken down a terrorist and probably deserved a medal or some cash or something, he had two very firm friends who pulled stunts he found completely nuts but which probably meant that they weren’t about to be scared away any time soon, and a brother who wanted him around, who liked talking to him, who once again wanted his help and wanted to help him in return.
Now, life was moving on to better things, and he was looking forward to their next adventures even more.
#gravity falls#fanfiction#spy au#double o sixer au#stanley pines#bill cipher#carla mccorkle#fiddleford mcgucket#adeline marks#jheselbraum#blind ivan#madeline mcgucket#stanford pines#*emperor voice*#BOOM BABY
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So, I don't usually do these, because I always felt that shipping oc's with characters from other fan works was socially frowned upon, but since I've been seeing a few of these around, I'll give it a shot. My OC shipped with Auron.
Auron x Texas.
Yes, Auron's current partner in crime, rather he'd liked to admit it or not. Their meeting was rather... comedic. Auron didn't really notice his co worker until he accidentally rested the elbow of his sheifed arm on her head. She was very short, Her height being 4'8. He looked down to find a short, albino girl with wolf ears, and a tail. The whole package. Everything else looked human, she just had a few furry parts to her. Another key thing about her is that she always came off as the, "edgy" type, for her preference in black lipstick, and eyeliner. When he did get to know her, Auron has always found her annoyingly chipper, and overly friendly. The two attended a funeral together once, and she wouldn't stop smiling. Seriously. How does someone smile that much at a funeral??? Auron asked her about it.
Her response: Usually when people die, they don't want people to mourn over them, there for I choose not to mourn.
She wasn't entirely wrong, speaking from his own experiences, however it wasn't exactly the majority opinion, as Auron had to keep the wife of the dead man from trying to punch Tex in the face. Tex was almost always very clingy in the irritating and physical sense. She liked hugging a lot. She would hug Auron everytime she'd see him, and it usually would last 5 minutes before he would have to eventually pull her off. As time went on, and they grew closer, Auron started to notice that something was very wrong with Texas. Her extremely chipper personality was used to hide some dark, twisted thoughts, feelings, and even experiences. He came to this realization when he went to visit her one night, and she didn't answer her door. She lived in a dormitory like area, where there was the bedroom, and then a small room next to it that was a kitchen, and the bathroom being against the the smaller side of the rectangular kitchen. It was a nice little place for someone who likes living alone, but it had its downsides, like paper thin walls. You could hear the inhabitants, and they most likely can hear you as well. After a minute or two of waiting, just as he turned to leave, Auron was startled by the sound of soft, female sobbing, coming from Tex's dorm. He knew for a fact that if Tex was crying, which he had never actually seen her do, something was horribly wrong. He immediately opened the door to find a mess waiting for him. Texas sat their curled up in a ball, hands grabbing at her hair and pulling, make up smeared, wrists bleeding from self inflicted bites. Scattered around her were drawings of morbid, violent, and just horrid depictions, along with words scribbled over them along the lines of, "Worthless", "Dead", "No Future", "I'm nothing." A common sign of depression. If there was one thing Auron always knew about Tex is that she had a talent for art. She did this thing that she called a web comic. Auron, not really being kept up in technology, never really knowing what it was, let alone reading it, thought nothing of it, but he had seen her art, and it was phenomenal. It really opened his eyes to what she truly was when he saw that beauty and talent turned into something so ugly and self degrading. When Tex finally noticed him, her reaction was just to try to hide herself in the comfort of her knees. Auron began snooping around, and grabbing rags, then pried Tex's hands from her head, and wrapped her wrist.
Auron: Moron. What were you thinking???
Texas: ...
Auron pulled her into an embrace, still holding the rags to her wrist.
Auron: Would you like to talk about why you bit yourself up like this? Or the sketches for that matter?
Texas: I-I don't know what to do! My art! My comic! I- the deadline to get chapter 9 out is tomorrow, and I thought I could just push through it in a day with enough effort, but I don't even have content! I don't have a script! I have no story, no art for chapter 9! I'm a fuck up! I'm stupid! I'm nothing! I-... I'm so sorry... you shouldn't have had to see me like this...
Auron: It's fine. You're human after all. I expect you to have emotions, breaking points. As for your problems. Tex, the comic is just a for fun thing, right?
Texas: Yeah...
Auron: Great. Take some time off until you get over your writer's block. The timely fashion of updates doesn't matter, the quality does. If you can't produce anything good, then step back and take a break. It's obvious that it's affecting your mental health. This will make you hate what you do, so step back from it. Take a break.
Texas: You're right, I've just... meh.
Auron: Don't be afraid to show your emotions around me. It shows me that you are human.
That night, Auron didn't leave Tex's side, mainly out of fear for what she might do when she's alone. This opened a pathway for future sleep overs. Auron didn't share his bed with many, but with Tex, it had become routine, and he didn't mind. He actually liked the cuddles. A few months later, he receives a message from Tex. That night, she wasn't with him, she decided to stay at her place to do some cleaning.
Message received at 1:23 am:
Texas: Hey. Are you awake?
Auron: I wasn't until you woke me. -_-
Texas: Oh sorry. I forgot that your ringtone is up all the way usually... I'm sorry. XD
Auron: This better be important if it warrants you texting me at one in the morning...
Texas:...
Auron: It's not that important, is it?
Texas: ... No comment...
Auron: Tex...
Texas: I'll leave you alone then.
Auron: Why do you do this!? Spit it out! I'm already awake!
Texas: Are you sure? It can wait until tomorrow.
Auron: Tex. Spit. It. Out...
Texas: I can't! You're making me nervous!XI
Auron: Why would you be nervous?
Texas: Because it's kinda personal...
Auron: Okay. Pretend I'm not here. Say what you have to say.
Texas: ... that is so unaffective when I'm staring directly at that message...
Auron: Point taken. Just tell me.
Texas: Okaaaaay! ...
The icon at the bottom that says that Tex is typing stays that way for 5 minutes.
Auron: So?
Texas: Okay. Here goes nothing. And when I say that, I mean here goes everything I could possibly hold dear in my life. XD
Auron: Are you going to say what I think you're going to say?
Texas: I would really really really REALLY like to punch you in the face!
Auron: Okay, that's not where I thought you were going with this.
Texas: With my face, gently... I Love you! You are amazing, and wise, and sweet, even when you hide it under your protective layers! I simply love you. End of story. And I was wondering if you would allow me to take you out to dinner! I'm going to go cry now, because I feel like I'm dying XD
Auron: I stand corrected...
Auron: O//_//O...
Auron: No.
Texas: No?
Auron: No.
Texas: Okay then... What? No reason why? Like I'm cool with it, if you don't like me like that, but still. At least give me a reason...
Auron: Okay. I'll tell you exactly why. Yeah. I like you. I think you're cute. However, I don't appreciate you waking me up at 1 in the morning to text me with a confession. You want a relationship? Fine, but take initiative and tell me to my face. Quit being a coward. -_-
Texas: Ouch. My feel goods. Anyways, I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow man. Sorry about this...
Auron: It's fine :) Sleep well, Tex.
Texas: You too bro <3
After Auron and Tex finish messaging each other, Auron goes back to sleep. The next day is pretty amusing. Auron waits for his partner. Half expecting she hopes to forget about the previous night. Auron hears running behind him, and turns to find Tex in a suit and tie running up to hi., screaming, "I love you, you sexy, sexy son of a gun!" She knocks his feet out from under him, and steals a very, very passionate kiss, but soon afterwards, causing Auron and Tex both to fall over to the ground. Because her tiny frame is too much for his bigger, heavier frame. Luckily Texas's arm was under Auron's head when they fell, so no brain damage was caused to the older male. Texas turns to Auron, half expected to be heated, and she wasn't wrong, just heated in a different sense. Auron's face was bright red, slight tears to his eyes, he bursts out laughing, black lipstick smeared on his lips.
Texas: What? You told me to take initiative!
His laughter fades to a light chuckle, and then he stops.
Auron: Wow. That was... cheesy.
Texas: Also clearly failed...
Auron: (Still catching his breath.) No it didn't.
Texas: So it actually worked!?!? YAY!
Auron: Just don't do that again. You took us both out in the process.
Auron pulls Tex into his lap, and the two share a proper kiss.
Auron: See. That in of it's self is enough for me.
Texas: Yeah, but it wouldn't be a confession from me if it wasn't stupidly cheesy and didn't make you smile.
Auron: It's missing something though.
Texas: And that is?
Auron: The amazing pick up line from last night.
Texas: Ah yes, you have good taste, my kind, gentle sir. I would really.
Auron: Yes?
Texas: Really.
Auron: Go on.
Texas: Really.
Auron:...
Texas: Really!
Auron: Hopefully this is the last, "Really."
Texas: Like to punch you in the face. With my face gently, romantically, and in other places besides your face.
Auron: Okay. Okay. Calm down. We haven't even had dinner yet...
Texas: Exactly. Dinner.
Auron is very flustered at his now girlfriend's sense of humor. Safe to say, they had a very romantic evening together. ;3
This is my contribution to OC x Fan work Characters. Hope you enjoyed!
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General Sketch Dump
First off:
Patreon hasn't been working for me as of late. I really can't do much, cuz even logging into Patreon off of postybirb I still can't post stuff. Ugh.
Also, DA's been having trouble posting, so here's to hoping that it posts there. My horrendous Mcnuggets photo did because OF COURSE IT WOULD:
https://www.deviantart.com/musical-medic/art/Meep-Meep-805231092
Soooo, here's the sketch dump I've been talking about lol
I wanted to add more to it but I just have had the worst time trying to think of anything else to add lol
I've also been working on some adopts I need to get to people too so maybe that's getting to me as well
I numbered them cuz it'd be easy to explain/write about them
So, I guess I'll get into it:
1. I doodled Ami, one of my RWBY ocs! I wanted to doodle her with short hair to see how she'd look in it, inspired by the recent debut of the RWBY vol 7 Poster. Every time they change their designs around I wanna change my ocs's designs around too LMFAO
To me, of team AURA (Arrosa, Umbra, River, and Ami) Ami was the most likely to have short(er) hair in my head, so I doodled it. I'm half and half on it? I like it better than her current hair but that's also because I drew her ref back in 2016 and looks bad lol.
https://www.deviantart.com/musical-medic/art/Amitolah-602174140
2. OOF This is a quite a bit into the future of AURA+ (the metaphorical comic/ask blog with my RWBY ocs) so its spoilers and I'm trying as hard as I can not to spoil anymore than I already have so I gotta be quiet, lol. Kieran bbyyyyy whAT HAPPENED I mean I KNOW BUT BBY
https://www.deviantart.com/musical-medic/art/Kieran-637420325
3. Speaking of RWBY and the Volume 7 poster, Blake has short hair! I LOVE it! I wanted to doodle it but had a hard time, but made myself finish it cuz I didn't feel like trying to think of something else to draw lol.
So, I don't like it but I don't necessarily hate it either.
4. My little sister and I were having fun with that ol pokefusion webpage and I saved this horrible monstrocity. It's a fusion of a Slowbro and a Nidoran Male and I just HAD to draw it lol
I have more saved, but IDK if I wanna draw them
(Fun fact, this is how I ended up making/figuring out my Pokesona, which is a Ninetales and Cubone/Marowak fusion.)
https://pokemon.alexonsager.net/80/32
5 and 6 are related to each other, lol.
5 has a young Amaya with her dad, Vasco. I recently adopted Vasco from imartist22:devimartist22:!
After some thought I've decided he is a vampire bat pony and is kinda big. like Big mac-ish big. He tries to get bigger animals (andofcourseafewwillingorkinkyparticipants) that won't just straight up die after he gets enough blood to eat.
I'm stuck between having him be with a loving partner and having him be a bit of a prick that got a mare pregnant and just had Amaya randomly dropped off at his doorstep one day LMFAO.
Loving family or fuckboi turned into good dad... HMM.
In this image I imagine that Vasco liked to sit under trees a lot to relax, and he brought Amaya with him to do so around the time she was dropped off at his place. he happened to be sitting under an apple tree when one of the apples fell, startling poor little Amaya but kicking her insticts into gear. This apple must pay for it's delicious looking crimes and Vasco is 100 percent amused and isn't gonna stop her.
Amaya's a Fruit bat pony (thanks to her mom's genes), and her heckin huge canines make it hard for her to feed on anything besides mushy/old fruit usually, but of course, it didn't stop little Amaya from trying.
6 is an illustration that takes place mere moments after 5. she pounced the apple, trying to suck the sweet juices out of it. Vasco has to take it away from her and juice/mush it lol
You can see Vasco here: https://toyhou.se/2561820.vasco
AND you can see more pics of Amaya here, as she's a rather old oc I've had for a while now:
https://toyhou.se/628481.amaya
OLD ART WARNING OOF
https://www.deviantart.com/musical-medic/art/Ze-Bat-Poneh-525079939
https://www.deviantart.com/musical-medic/art/Amaya-bat-pone-535836955
https://www.deviantart.com/musical-medic/art/Getting-Used-To-Things-597913100
https://www.deviantart.com/musical-medic/art/Static-623480499
That's all I really have for now I think, so yeah lol. Enjoy <3
A special thanks and shout out to these lovely people for supporting me on Patreon:
-TBA
If you like what I do on here, please consider supporting me on Patreon as well as the other websites I'm on, as well as commissioning me or donating! Every little bit you can do to help directly supports me.
Patreon Perks include:
- Early Access to all my works.
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The websites I'm most active on are Deviantart and Tumblr, so please message me there if you have any inquiries!!
Commission Information:https://www.deviantart.com/musical-medic/art/Commission-Information-OPEN-797509905
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Posted using PostyBirb
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yoo!! all the even questions you haven't answered yet! Answer those :D
PRY INTO MY PERSONAL LIFE. / ACCEPTING.
HOOOO BOY. under the cut for length.
worst insult you’ve ever given?
uhhhh. i can’t really think of one?? i despise confrontation, so i never really insult anyone directly. i just keep it to myself and rant silently in my head for half an hour.
how did you find out about sex?
some kid on the bus told me in fourth grade. i asked my parents about it, and their philosophy was always that if i was old enough to ask about something, i was old enough to know, so they explained further. that was that.
worst phobia?
lifts. fucking lifts. i blame the fact that one always crashes to the bottom of the shaft in every horror movie / game ever made. i’m terrified of them. even if i’m going up to the tenth floor of somewhere, i’d rather take the stairs than the lift.
who would you let die if given the chance to save them?
donald tr*mp.
controversial role models?
uhhh. i guess a lot of authors i admire were kinda shitty people, arguably, given the time they grew up in. percy shelley was a right prick, but i still adore his poetry and admire him a lot for his contributions to literature. i think you can acknowledge that a person had their flaws while still admiring their work.
cringiest thing you’ve shipped?
oohhhhhh buddy let’s not go there.
what helps you fall asleep?
if i’m too freaked out to sleep (which happens often, since i have a terrible habit of watching horror videos all day and then being too scared to sleep at night), i put on a light, happy film on my phone and set the volume really low so it’s just barely audible. that’s enough of a distraction for my mind to stop focusing on Freaky Shit.
what’s your age?
i’m turning twenty in two weeks, on the 30th!
honest opinion on religion?
as long as you don’t use your religion as an excuse to hate or actively attack people, i couldn’t care less what you believe. athiest, christian, muslim, jewish, pagan, buddhist --- it’s all good, in my book.
how would you describe your smile?
wide, i guess?? i have a very big smile that shows a lot of teeth. it makes my cheeks look a bit weird, so i don’t really like smiling in photos, but i’m smiling in this one, if you wanna see.
ever dropped plans / projects and not said a word?
nah. if it’s something actually big, i’ll always at least say something.
would you wear pyjamas in public?
not pyjama pyjamas, but sweatpants? hell yeah. wore some to my exam today, actually. i like to be comfortable --- i enjoy wearing nice clothes, certainly, but sometimes, you just gotta be comfy, especially during things like exams. i wanna be focused on the test, not on how uncomfortable my clothes are.
do you have a dark sense of humour?
my favourite comedy movie is about two real people from history who murdered over a dozen individuals and sold their corpses to a medical school. so, yes.
pettiest thing you’ve cried over?
uhhh. not sure????
longest time you’ve cried?
a few hours or so.
do you have a fandom oc?
i do!! he’s over at @ximisaari. he’s a tal-vashoth inquisitor (an original inquisitor, not an adaar) from dragon age: inquisition. i’ve had a few other ocs in the dragon age fandom, but none that i still have blogs for.
have you ever used a base for drawing?
nah.
chest or genitals?
chest, dude. vaginas are great, but they’re not exactly stellar to look at. a pair of boobs, on the other hand... heaven.
any scars?
ahhh, yeah. the coolest one i have is one on my right arm, where i got a bone tumour removed --- that makes for a fun story. the least cool one is a big one, about four or five inches long, spanning most of my left outer forearm. basically, uh... tw for self harm, but last year, i panicked so badly over thinking i’d failed an exam that i took a boxcutter and gouged my arm as deep as i could. i had to go to a&e and get stitches, and the scar is still very massive, very obvious, and very ugly. and since it runs straight, i... can’t easily pass it off as anything other than what it is. that’s not a fun one. when people ask, i just laugh it off and joke that i got in a fight with a dragon.
url for an old cringey social media account?
i don’t remember any, tbh. i’m sure my old ff.net account still exists, but i don’t recall how to find it.
favourite hair and eye colour combination?
i’m weak for blue eyes, and i do love red hair.
do you do drugs?
nope! never even tried them, honestly. i drink a fair amount of alcohol, but not unhealthy levels --- no more than any other uni student drinks, and probably less, to be honest. i like a drink or two most nights, just to chill out, but i rarely binge drink.
did you go through a “RANDOM XD” phase?
... yeah. i was young, man, we all do it.
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