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koohiss · 7 years

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30 years since the last critically acclaimed movie, but only like, 50 or 10 since the last one, depending on how time works, skywalkers are fucking shit up in the galaxy once more...

Luke’s gone, Leia’s still a badass, the heavy metal empire has been replaced with the emo-lite first order, just as much nazi garbage and none of the impressive capes. Instead they have a giant toddler who stomps around and eats shit on a regular basis and jerks off to his grandpa’s dead face, probably. Fucking weeb. This pilot, Poe, who I honestly don’t feel much of a connection to, sorry, is trying to get this old man to give him a map to Luke so he can come kick ass. But the douchelord Kellog’s Frosted Fuckup shows up and shoots everyone, bc uncle issues or something. poe gets captured, but shoves the map into his magic 8 ball, which escapes and finds a random superhuman jedi lady of amazingly ironic ancestry in the middle of, you guessed it, a desert. She’s Rey, and to quote some ghost guy who once got gutted inside a palace’s weird power dungeon murder hole, she’s probably maybe might be the chosen one for real this time, I swear to the force it’s for real this time yoda. Then, this amazeballs stormtrooper, Finn, has morals and courage and heart and all the things they wanted in wizard of oz, and is like, fuck this nazi shit, I’m out, and helps poe escape. Sadly, they crash, and poe apparently dies but really leaves finn to die in a plothole of a scene that someone in the writers room should be really embarassed over. Finn meets rey, and it’s love at first “oh shit”. It’s all meet cute/meet thief for a second, and then shit starts blowing up sideways, there was hand holding and running and “follow me”s and then the girl in white and the guy with the leather jacket get on the falcon and leave the desert planet. Classic. Speaking of classic, being the collector’s machinery that she is, the falcon breaks down and they get caught in a tractor beam of a larger ship, which conveniently Han and Chewie are on. Two gangs show up, the giant squid-tribbles escape, scooby doo mayhem ensues. They get away in the falcon and nope the fuck out. Spooky the gollum wannabe teases Kyle about Han and he acts like a pissbaby, says it’s nothing. Oh, and I guess he surprises everyone because somehow this giant moronic imbecile incompetent failure came from the pure glorious happy love of han and leia. Fuck you jar jar abrams. Fuck you in the eye. With a lensflare. This bullshit. The gang checks the map and realize it’s borked, Han gives the lowdown on “it’s real” and also that some sick asswipe death-murdered the jedi like some moron trilby with anger management issues because his mom cancelled his xbox live account because he wasn’t getting good enough grades at jedi academy due to playing the sith campaign of some shitty remade SW game with a pretty decent plot that every teen boy over analyzes and gets the wrong take away from. Anyways, they go to Takodana and Maz’s epic castle that was never fully explained. For some reason they need her to find the resistance for them, which I’m like, just have Han wave at a holocam for like, 2 seconds and you will find literally almost everyone except luke because he’s pouting over history repeating itself. So naturally while they are all chilling at the castle, the party splits bc Finn is scared and Rey is gonna go home and Han is just like, eyes roll emoji. Who knows where chewie went, they act like he isn’t a character or something. But twist, the big ol space nazis find them. Rey finds a lightsaber (prolly just a family heirloom or smth, nbd) and bolts after having visions of all these epics ass movies and shit. My beloved young padawan super duper force sensitive jedi in training Finn is given the lightsaber, bc even Maz can tell that those two are always gonna watch out for each other and are obvs soulmates and he’s the best bet to get it to Rey, the inheriting granddaughter. (also, didn’t a bunch of little kids get murdered with that at least once, possibly twice???) As they leave, death star 3 and with a much lamer name but really cool lore blows the everloving shit out of coruscant 2.0, killing a few more characters that I was probably more interested in than Kyle’s boring weepy “my parents dont’ accept me for being an edgelord” lame ass backstory. Then the TIE fighters try to wreck my fave dudes with some weak sauce army, but then that same ace pilot who apparently left finn to fucking die, nbd, true love amirite? brings the party to them in an epic callback with improved graphics. Meanwhile, that boring infant Ronald mcdumbass over here shows up and after a let down of a fight (c’mon rey, shoot him!) kidnaps his cousin. Gets all creepy and makes teenagers with poor romance comprehension (not their fault, imo) think it’s love and come up with all this bullshit as to why they aren’t cousins. Sigh. But Rey, light of my life, is stronger than this woobie weeb, and she makes him have to run back to the safety of his darth vader body pillow, while she up and obi wans her way out of this bitch. The theme-swapped leto-joker looking vastly subpar offbrand trashcan may have padme’s hair, but rey has her climb up random shit abilities, which go a lot farther honestly. (they both have her hit and miss fashion taste so at least there’s that in common you goddamned r/los that’s all i will give you) Mr. Hotshot takes everyone back to Resistance HQ and conveniently brings the drama too, since he followed teeny!leias footsteps and lead a superweapon to the not-so-secret-anymore base. Everyone scrambles, finn kinda sorta maybe lies through his teeth a little so he can rescue rey, leia guilts han because apparently no (coughdudecough) director can write a conflicted and damaged woman who also happens to be strong without making her completely subsume to whichever half of the dichotomy is needed for the current scene… They go to death star 3 and prepare to fuck shit up. Specifically by doing things that have never been done before with no guarantee they will survive and sassing each other mercilessly. My babies. They find rey off being her badass self, and then right at the point where everything has to go to shit to make the third act interesting, some motherfucking emo up and kills my geriatric fave. Fuck you, marilyn manson. Fuck you. Chewie takes the logical next step and blows his fucking guts out with a laser crossbow bolt, AND blows the fucking guts out of his fanboy cosplay of the death star, because fuck you that’s why. So that’s how the dramatic “ur up past curfew” conversation goes, because I can never have nice things, no the precious goth boy has to live, apparently my needs aren’t important to multi-trillion dollar entertainment corporations, whatever. The absolute wrench fucker chases my beautiful darlings around the currently imploding fucking doom orb of stupid, and they waste his ass with amazing shows of jedi prowess. Finn fights him first and the bastard cheats with his fucking laser butterfly knife like an ass, and precious finn who has never trained a day in his life for this bullshit can only hold on so long before the cheating bastard takes him down. Then rey, pillar of light and all that is good, curbstomps his ass with the prowling predator walk of her father and grandfather before her. Suck it, ron. She’s the chosen one, bitch. Anyways, so I guess the bombs let fly boy (only) get inside and pew pew up the place enough that it rejoined it’s godforsaken stop-building-death-moons-they-don-t-work ancestors. Old ghastly jazzhands on the demon projector asks the weasley kid to go pick up kyle’s raggedy strung out ass, like I fucking care at this point. Everybody goes home (AKA chewie saves all of your asses because even if you ignore him he’s still a cool dude like that) and they totally gloss over the deaths of characters I care about to give us this arbitrary fucking scene of the golden cock block and ir3cutesty5u the soccerball annoying r2, who magically wakes up and magically doesn’t nuke their inferior asses and instead gives them the stupid fucking map, why do you even need a fucking map, all you need is coordinates, jesus christ it’s space, you can just plug the fucking three axis code into the computer and float ur ass over why is there a goddamn treasure map to safeway just use the damn gps good god. It’s space. With infinite wifi. Rey and chewie go to this bird shit covered island and find luke sulking, probably about getting bird shit on his suede jedi boots or losing his best friend and failing his nephew and sister and and the entire galaxy or something like that and then the movie ends

#SWTFA #SWTFA spoilers #SWTFA summary #posted by request #please give mercy on typos #i wrote this at 11 last night bc apartment hunting stress is getting to me #and yes my opinions/theories/headcanons are all laid bare in this #FORCE SENSITIVE FINN #REY SKY #uh... i dunno what other theories to tag this for #POE IS OVERRATED #theres an unpopular opinion i can tag for #feel free to ignore me

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korasonata · 3 years

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I think this is just what my blog is now. Model streams have taken over. Sorry, not sorry. Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo paper model streams part 5! (Featuring a heavily sleep deprived Joe)

—

Cleo (talking to her cat): Ok. You have had attention. Are you— are you going to go? *pausing* This is the sort of thing I ask Joe. Umm… *laughing*

Joe: Constantly!

Cleo: *laughing* You’ve had your attention, can you go now?

Joe: Can you just not be here. *both laughing*

—

Cleo: Yeah, I have to start gluing things to other things. Badly. And, uh, realizing where I’ve messed up. Which is EVERYWHERE!

Joe: Uh oh.

Cleo (totally not fine): Its fine. It’s fine. I’m fin— how are you Joe?

—

Joe: It makes about as much sense as anything else I do? So…

Cleo: I mean yeah. I mean, I wasn’t gonna say it cause I’m not rude. But, you know.

*both laughing*

Joe: Now you’re just lying to me!

Cleo: *laughing* WOW!! Joe!! My heart is just hurting! Now.

Joe: Mhm.

Cleo: You can tell can’t you, I’m deeply— intensely wounded by that statement that you just made.

—

Joe: I was gonna say, we’re gonna have to call whatever the British version of an ambulance is.

Cleo: Um, I think— and I could be wrong here, the British equivalent of an ambulance is…an ambulance.

Joe: oh, ok that’s really good to know. Cause like, not that I’m planning on getting injured while I’m over there, but like—

Cleo: I mean, if you carry on talking that way you might.

Joe: I mean if I meet you, then there’s a chance that somethings gonna get shoved in my eye or something.

Cleo: Somethings gonna get taken off.

—

Joe: I mean, they say it’s the shotty carpenter that blames his poor tools, but I mean look at this.

—

Cleo (about her bisexual tags on twitch): Hold on, hold on, I need to explain what “visibility” means to bisexuals. Bisexuals are often— um, hidden in the community. They are often, um, not treated as either part of the gay community and the straight community doesn’t really appreciate them either. So, having visibility for bisexuals is very important. As it is for any other place. Also having those tags on your stream show that you are a safe place for those people to go. So, you know, actually labeling those things is important because it shows people that they are not alone. And not being alone? Really important. (To Joe) Sorry, am getting frustrated.

Joe: As somebody who’s been alone for the last year and a half with this stupid isolation, uh, yeah.

Cleo: Yeah! Being alone and not feeling alone is really important.

Joe: If you need to be explained at this point in the pandemic why feeling alone is not good, like I don’t know what to say.

—

Cleo (reading chat): What’s my favourite minecraft mob? Do people have favourite minecraft mobs?

Joe (very tired): Just say whichever mod’s here. Who’s got a sword *scrolling through Cleo’s chat* umm… yeah it’s AnnaBomBanana. Is everyone’s favourite minecraft mod.

Cleo: …moB.

Joe: …MOB! OH!

Cleo: *continuous laughing*

—

Joe: This is gonna go off of the rails further and further. There’s no— there’s no rails anymore! It’s just, somebody has scrawled “here there be dragons” on the ground.

Cleo: I mean, isn’t that pretty much how you live your life anyway?

Joe (high pitched squealing): It kind of is. *laughing continues*

Cleo: You know. Here there be dragons— Sometimes it’s not dragons. Sometimes you might be lucky.

—

Joe: So, like, one thing you can do is after this project you can build tiny dollhouses. And create like a bedroom for each of your tools. And so the knife can just be in the knife room. In the dollhouse. And it can have a knife day.

SILENCE

Cleo: Umm…I’m gonna pretend like what you said made sense.

—

Cleo: I could have said something really nasty then, but I’m not going to. See? I’m growing as a person Joe.

—

Joe: You know what? Hold on, we’re gonna— we’re gonna— at the point where NJ is concerned about my caffeine intake, I’m gonna go get a red bull and I’m gonna take my headphones off before anybody can tell me otherwise, byeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! Be right back!!!! *leaves*

Cleo (calling after him): Well done Joe! I believe in you! *narrating* She did not in fact believe in Joe, and was very concerned.

—

Cleo: I know when there’s a bad idea. It’s when Joe has made it. Joe has suggested it, that’s— that’s when you know it’s bad.

—

Joe: I know that there are ways to have computers automatically send invites, but that’s a good way, like, I know there’s a saying like, to error is human, but to screw up like a hundred thousand things all at once—

Cleo: That’s the Joe Hills Difference.

—

Cleo: Ugh, I feel like poop today.

Joe (genuine): I’m sorry.

Cleo (tiredly): No, that’s ok…(groggy) I’ll torment you…later…it’ll make me feel better…

Joe (equally as tired): Yay!

—

Joe (about Cleo and Xisuma): But Cleo, you’re the responsible adult in this scenario, so yeah you probably should have some answers.

Cleo: X is almost as old as I am.

SILENCE

Joe: …it’s a maturity gap?

Cleo: *laughing* Is that why I’m here with you?

Joe: …no.

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: I say very confidently.

—

Joe (teacher voice): Quantum mechanics is a fundamental theory in physics that provides a description of the physical properties of nature at the scale of atoms and subatomic particles—

Cleo: *flipping him off*

Joe (blissfully unaware): Now classical physics! The collection of theories that existed before the advent of quantum mechanics—

Cleo: *trying to ignore him*

Joe (carrying on): Quantum mechanics differs from classical physics in that energy, momentum, angular momentum, and other quantities of a bound system are restricted to discreet values—

Cleo: *fingers drumming impatiently*

Joe (still going): Now! Quantum mechanics arose gradually from theories to explain observations which could not be reconciled with classical physics—

Cleo: *physically going through all 5 stages of grief*

Joe: (insert continuously long string of rambling science here)

Cleo: *mutes Joe*

—

Cleo (responding to her partner in chat): You have the movie poster for Dora the Explorer? Cam, I’m suddenly questioning our relationship now.

Joe: Uh oh.

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: Yeah, I knew I was gonna get blamed for that eventually.

—

Cleo (frustrated): I’m gonna kill someone. And since the person who made and designed this castle isn’t here…(trailing off) Hi Joe.

Joe (accepted his fate): Hello.

—

Joe: Have you ever officiated a wedding?

Cleo: No I haven’t. Why, do you want me to?

—

Joe: Oh! Oh! I found my cross stitch the other day!

Cleo: Oh cool!

Joe: *rummaging in the background* Yeah, so, I don’t know if you’ve seen this before—

Cleo (excitedly): ShowMeShowMeShowMeShowMe!!!

—

Joe (reading chat): Am I excited for Minecraft Live? Umm…

SILENCE

Joe: You know, so much of life is minecraft, but you know, maybe this is just a step too far. You know? Um, I think Mojang asked if they could and never stopped to ask if they should. Um, you know, I think their decision in particular to clone dinosaurs at the event as part of their Jurrassic Park, uh, map thing that they put out— which, also, it’s not even like the Jurrassic Park movies are really for kids, but here’s— here’s Minecraft with Jurrassic Park in it, and also we’re gonna clone a bunch of dinosaurs for this livestream, it’s like *groaning*. I dunno. I’m dubious. I think it’s gonna backfire. Ya know, there’s like 4 cautionary films about why you don’t clone dinosaurs. And they’re just jumping in feet first. So…but, you know, I’d like to be wrong about this. Maybe it’ll go great.

Cleo: …are you having a moment Joe?

—

Cleo (reading chat): “when the arts and crafts streams become Cleo with a scream mask” I am not X. I am not X, I promise you I’m not X. I just don’t have a face.

Joe: Heh

Cleo: And if I was— hang on I’ll be back in a second.

Joe: …wait, did you just realize that you do have a scream mask?

Cleo: No, I have a better mask. *leaves*

SILENCE

Joe: *watching Cleo’s stream intensely*

—

Cleo: Are we seriously doing guillotine jokes right now? I’m not saying I disapprove, but

Joe: yeah, we say “Giatine”

Cleo: That’s ok, you can be wrong.

Joe: …It’s a french word.

Cleo: And? You’re allowed to be wrong.

Joe: …*deep sigh*

—

Joe: It’s funny too. Because people will tell me that I don’t seem like a very— like, mostly my coworkers. Like, would tell me that I didn’t seem like a particularly emotional person.

Cleo: *bursts out laughing*

—

Joe: Yeah, I feel like I didn’t make a lot of…visible progress today…but…it’s fine…

Cleo: I made progress for both of us Joe.

Joe (tiredly): Thank you Cleo… (resting head against the ring light)

SILENCE

Cleo (tenderly): …You’re welcome.

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #zombiecleo #zombie cleo #joehills #joe hills

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shyficwriter · 3 years

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Temporary Home: Chapter 9

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Yondu finally confronts Reader about the late night escapes, and invites himself to tag along, to Reader's dismay.

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Just Reader and Yondu this chapter.

Word Count: 3,953

You jumped right out of your skin but somehow managed not to cry out, whipping around to see Yondu's silhouette standing in the doorway to the kitchen. It was a bit of a terrifying sight if you were to be honest. You'd hate to see it in a dark alley.

"What the fuck!" you whisper-yelled. "Don't do that! You trying to give me a heart attack!?"

"Don't change the subject. Where ya sneakin' off to?" Yondu had intended to use the voice he used when trying to intimidate an opponent, the one he uses when trying to get the message across that he's not going to take any shit, so ya better just cough up what he wants to know. However, it came out sounding a bit more like the tone he used to scold Peter with when he'd get caught sneaking girls on the ship after curfew.

You did your best to look unfazed and close the door. "First off, it's my house. I'm not sneaking, I'm just going. And what are you doing sneaking up on me?"

You were trying to turn the tables on him, but he wasn't going to bite. "It's the middle of the night and yer being awful quiet about it, ya really try'na tell me that's not sneakin'?"

"Yes." You tried to keep your tone even, but it was hard not to sound annoyed. "It'd be rude to wake up the others."

"Uh huh. Well if yer not sneakin' then why not turn on a light?"

"Don't need it. Lived here all my life. Know the place just as well in the dark."

"Right..." Yondu eyed you, sure that you'd come up with an excuse for anything else he'd throw at you. Might as well just cut to the chase. "Where ya going?"

"Out," you reply, "For a walk."

"You're going for a walk, in the middle of the night?" He could hear it more now, he sounded like he was getting ready to threaten to ground you. Not exactly the tone he was going for. He blamed it on the lack of sleep. Brain must be instinctually reverting to "Yell at Quill" mode. Stars knew he did it enough when Quill was a boy that it became second nature.

"Yes." You cross your arms over your chest, only to realize it made you look like an argumentative teen. Oh well, too late now. You kept them crossed.

"So, you suddenly just up and decided, in the middle of the night, that ya'd fancy a walk, in the dark, in the forest?"

"Yes." you reply again, realizing a second too late that he shouldn't have known where you were headed. "No- Wait I-"

Yondu chuckled. "Save it. I see everything... And I've been mighty curious to know what you've been sneaking off to do at night."

You stare at each other in the dark for some time before you break the silence. "I have the sneaking suspicion that you intend to follow me."

"You'd win that bet." Yondu said with a grin that you could barely see in the dim light.

You roll your eyes. "You'll get bored. Better off to just go back to bed."

"After you." Yondu gestured towards the hall from the doorway. You could hear a smirk in his voice.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "I'm not leaving alone, am I?"

"Nope."

You really wanted to leave, and obviously you would prefer to do it alone, but if bringing a suspicious passenger was the only way you could do so, and likely the only way to prevent this happening again, you'd suppose once wouldn't kill you. In fact, denying could potentially only make his suspicions worse, and you didn't feel like possibly being reported to Fury over nothing if he got the wrong idea. You had been on enough jobs to know how quick a misunderstanding could go south. "Ugh. Fine. But you know curiosity killed the cat." Still, it wouldn't hurt to try and convince him to stay behind.

"Ain't a cat. Not even sure what a cat is." Yondu chuckled, fully aware that he was being irritating. He might not have exactly known what the Terran idiom meant, but he still knew it was just an idiom. Enough experience with Quill had taught him that Terrans say strange things.

You look up to the ceiling "Just hurry up."

Yondu disappeared in the hall to pull on his boots and returned a moment later pulling on his duster jacket. You had to admit his silhouette was actually even scarier with the addition of the jacket, but you didn't let it show.

You wordlessly motion him out the door and shut it behind the two of you. The walk across the yard to the tree line was awkwardly silent until about a couple meters away.

"So what ya keep coming out here for anyway?"

You answered with a question of your own. "You been spying on me?"

"Not exactly. Just happened to notice ya out the window a few times, and thought it was odd that you'd be sneaking out of yer own house."

The two of you broke the tree line, finally walking amongst the trees. "I told you I wasn't sneaking."

"Sure, sure," Yondu chuckled. "Ya didn't answer my question, girlie. What's out in this-here forest that keeps ya coming out here at night?" He kept pace with you as best he could. Your steps were sure, the ground was littered with rocks and sticks, but your gait never faltered. You clearly knew these woods well, and it was evident you knew just where you were going. You hadn't even bothered to use a light. Yondu would almost think you had night vision if he didn't already know better that Terrans didn't.

"Nothing. I just come out to enjoy the scenery. Relax a bit," you finally answer.

"Ya know, yer almost a good liar." Yondu chuckled.

"I beg your pardon!" you say, offense fully clear in your voice.

"What? Take it as a compliment," Yondu laughed, unfazed by your outburst. "But yer gonna have to do better than that to pull something over on me. I can spot a lie lightyears away." Ok so he might have been exaggerating, but you didn't need to know that. "And that there, that wasn't the truth."

You scoff. "What do you know? You don't know anything about me and you're really going to stand there and act like you do?" The nerve of him. You should have just pretended to go back to bed and then came back out later, or better yet, oiled the hinge on your bedroom door the other day when you noticed it starting to squeak. Probably what alerted Yondu to leaving.

"I know more than you think." Yondu countered, nearly tripping on a large branch.

"You don't know anything about me." You repeat. You started walking faster out of spite.

A smirk fell over his face. If you wanted to be difficult, fine. He could just have fun teasing you until you loosened up, and he had a feeling he knew just what might push your buttons.

"I know yer ticklish." He grinned, seeing how you visibly tensed.

You run a hand down your face. "You guys aren't going to let that die, are you?"

"Nope," Yondu chuckled, "it's too funny."

"It's not," you say, glad the dark was hiding the blush you could feel on your cheeks.

"I think it is," Yondu disagreed, reaching out to poke you and chuckling when you jumped and flinched each time his finger connected with your side. He grinned, mentally drawing up the theory that you didn't like to show weakness.

You swat at his hand and tell him to quit.

He laughs, but thankfully obeys, saying, "Aw, cheer up now. It ain't that embarrassin'... though I do wonder now why that Fury guy would keep an agent around that seems mighty vulnerable to torture..." He was teasing, of course. Just trying to get a rise out of you. It worked.

You throw him a look of daggers and he holds up his hands in a relenting gesture. "Don't worry, secret's safe with me, girlie," he teased, continuing to grin before nearly tripping again. He sighed, beginning to search his pockets for a light. There was no sense tripping around out here in the dark. You may apparently know this forest floor like the back of your hand, but he didn't, and he most certainly didn't feel like rolling an ankle.

He spoke up again. "I also know yer hiding something."

You freeze for just a moment and then turn to him. "No. Nice try."

He closed the meter wide distance between you. "Ya can deny all ya want, sweetheart, but I can still tell."

"Whatever." You turn and start walking again, this time at a regular pace.

"Don't give me that," Yondu said, finally finding a light in one of his inner pockets. He flipped it on and you instantly covered your eyes, which had been adjusted to the dark and very much didn't like the sudden intrusion of the bright light.

"Agh- Turn that off!" you scold.

"What for?" Yondu asked, he had also suffered slightly from the sudden brightness, but at least he could see where he was walking now.

"Well, besides the fact that you just blinded me- you'll attract bugs."

"Ah right. Yer scared of creepy-crawlies. My mistake." Yondu laughed, making a show of shutting the light off. "Wouldn't want ya to be all scared stiff like ya were earlier."

You glare at him best you could with your eyes trying to adjust back to the dark. "I'm not scared of bugs. I just don't feel like getting bitten up by a bunch of midges. The bites itch like hell."

"I dunno... ya looked pretty scared of whatever that bug was in the kitchen today." Yondu teased, but he did make a mental note that midges sounded quite unpleasant.

"That was a spider," you say, then muttering, "...and that's different."

Yondu hummed. "Seems a lil' funny that you'd put a giant one in my boy's bed then, seein' as yer so scared of 'em yerself."

You stumble over your words for a bit, before admitting that you hid the fake spider before the incident with the real one happened, adding, "-and I wasn't scared of it!"

"Sure ya weren't..." Yondu said teasingly. "Guess ya won't be bothered if I tell ya about the big one crawling on yer shoulder then." He repeated the same trick as earlier, imitating a running spider on your shoulder with his fingers and laughing when you jumped a mile and smacked at his hand.

Face flushed with embarrassment at falling for the same trick twice you say, "You're an asshole."

"Yep," came Yondu's reply. Theory confirmed: You hated showing weakness. After a few steps he spoke again. "Where we goin' anyways? Ya seem pretty sure about this path. Get the feelin' we ain't just wanderin' aimlessly."

You sigh, but relent. What could it hurt? "It's just a little further."

"It where ya go all the time?"

"No, just most of the time." you admitted. "Sometimes I do just... 'wander aimlessly.'"

"But not tonight."

You sigh again. "No. Not tonight."

After a bit you finally happen upon a small clearing. In the middle of that clearing was a large old oak tree. Its trunk was nearly two meters in diameter and had lovely patches of moss growing on it. Thick branches poked out just low enough to climb on, it was beautiful in the dim light of the night, but it was even more beautiful in daylight.

"Here," you say, "This is where I go. This is my favorite tree."

Yondu was actually stunned for a moment by the magnificence of the the tree, and that didn't happen often. "I can see why. It's certainly a purty one..."

He walked with you closer to the tree and broke off to walk to one side as if he intended to do a lap around the trunk.

"Careful," you say, not wanting him to go any further around the more shadowy part of the tree, "Ground's got a bit of a soft spot over that way. Wouldn't want you to sink in."

Yondu, who, like anyone, obviously wouldn't enjoy that happening, stopped his journey and headed back your way. Better to stay with the person who knew the land, at least when he couldn't see for himself if he was about to fall in a hole.

You approach the tree and sit at its base, gesturing an invite for Yondu to do the same if he chose. He did. You look up at the thick branches and say, "My dad used to bring us out here."

"Us?" Yondu questioned.

"My brother and me."

"Didn't know ya had a brother."

"Didn't ask."

"Would ya have said if I did? Ya don't exactly seem the most forthcoming type." Yondu laughed lightly.

You huff in response. You look back up at the branches and remember the time you and your brother would climb the old tree. sometimes even your dad would try climbing with you, even though he wasn't as agile as his children. You remembered the fun, the laughter, the three of you playing chasing games around the tree. They were some of your fondest memories of before your dad got sick. Before he couldn't take you and your brother out to the tree anymore, though of course by that time the two of you were old enough to make the trip on your own, though it never was quite the same.

You had sat in silence for a bit before Yondu asked, "So what's eatin' ya?"

"What?" you ask, pulled from your thoughts.

"I've kinda gathered ya wouldn't be comin' all the way out here in the middle of the night if everythin' was all fine and dandy, so what's got ya down, girlie?" It seemed obvious to Yondu from what he observed that this would be the case. After some thought, he realized he only caught you heading towards the forest on bad days, like when Rocket messed your kitchen or the night you fought Quill. You were here, therefore, something must be wrong.

"Nothing."

Yondu didn't buy it. "I noticed you disappeared for a long while in the middle of that movie Quill wanted to watch. It have anything to do with that?"

"I told you, I'm fine." you say bitterly. It honestly irritated you how accurate his assumptions were, but just because he was right didn't mean you had to affirm his assumptions.

Yondu sighed. "Alright then, be that way."

After a few moments Yondu breaks the silence again. "So... where are yer family? I know ya said yer daddy's passed, but what about yer mama? Or this brother ya mentioned. Where they at? Why ya out here in that big house all alone?"

You inhale. You considered not answering, but then thought it couldn't hurt much. You could talk a little since he wanted to be nosy. Not like you were going to spill your entire life story, just the sparknotes. "Well, my mom's gone. Died giving birth to me."

"Oh." Yondu was almost sorry he asked. "And yer brother?" He now assumed you were the younger sibling, but he felt it would be in bad taste to mention it. He hoped talking about him might lighten the mood.

"Gone too." you answered.

He winced. He hadn't expected to hear that you were alone alone. "How?" Yondu asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." you replied.

Yondu saw you draw your knees up and rest your chin on them. He realized he shouldn't push his luck. "Sorry to hear that."

"Why? You didn't do it," you say sarcastically. "It's life. Everyone dies eventually." You un-hug your knees and lean back against the tree. "Just how it goes. Life's a bitch and then you die alone."

Yondu catches a crack in your voice but doesn't mention it. He frowns. "Come on now. There's more than that. Ya don't got to spend the rest of it all alone and miserable." He said this because he had to believe it himself. How close had he come to doing just that when his crew mutinied? If Kraglin hadn't still been loyal and if Rocket and Twig hadn't helped with an escape plan, he'd've been slain by the hands of the Kree- if he was lucky, or back in the slave barracks- if he wasn't. He'd never have gotten the chance to save Quill, and even if he hadn't intended to make it out alive, he couldn't deny he was grateful the ship had gotten to him and Quill just in time so that he could spend more time with his boy.

He didn't know your exact age, but he thought you looked at least a little younger than Quill. That was too young to have such a bleak outlook on life. If even he could find even a shred of happiness to cling to, then surely you could as well. He continued, "Surely ya got ya some friends- Or ya could find someone and settle down... start a family.... fill that house of yers with little ankle-biters- Hey, where ya going?"

Your breath hitched and you had stood up quickly, walking back the direction you came. "I'm heading back. You can follow or stay here. I don't really care," you say, trying to keep your voice even and not looking at him as you walked towards the edge of the clearing.

Yondu hurriedly stood to catch up with you. Sure, he could eventually find his way back without you, but he couldn't deny he'd get back much quicker with a guide that knew their way back in the dark. "What'd I say?" Yondu asked, correctly assuming he had said something wrong.

"Nothing. It's just late. Time to start heading back." You still wouldn't look at him, and he almost thought your voice sounded strange, like you were fighting not to cry or something.

Yondu followed you quietly, wondering if he should press the issue or not. He decided to not, convinced he would only make it worse. He hadn't intended to dig up any bad memories, he hadn't expected to find out you really were alone, although it was a sentiment he could empathize with. It's how he had been during the mutiny and Tazerface killed all his good men. Surrounded by people, and yet utterly alone.

He didn't know what it was exactly, but he knew he wanted to make it better. You weren't a child, but still, all he could see now was a sad little girl with no mama or daddy. No brother, no family. All alone. He thought to himself that if he had a heart it might be breaking. Or at least cracked a little.

He made another attempt at conversation, hoping to smooth things over. "So Quill says ya like to shoot arrows?"

"Um... yeah. A bit."

Did he hear a sniff? Surely not.

"Maybe ya could show me how ya Terrans do it sometime."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." You sniffed again, and Yondu thought he saw your hand come up to your eyes as if to wipe them.

Aw hell. You were crying. Damn. He wasn't sure what, but he was sure it had to have been something he said. He cursed himself. He hated when people cried. Bad enough when someone he stole from tried whipping out the waterworks, even worse when Quill would cry when he was scared or hurt as a boy. The only thing worse than seeing someone cry, was watching as they tried desperately to hide it, but yet couldn't quite stop. 'Cause that meant they weren't trying to get anything from you, they were just genuinely in too much pain to keep it together.

He had to do something to make you stop, so he did the only thing he could think of. He whistled.

A gentle melody played from his lips and you gasped as a streak of red shot through the air. You stopped in place from the shock and before long, you could see the outlined shape of what you could only describe as a fat little troll. It was cute, and so unexpected that you couldn't help but huff out a laugh.

You finally looked at Yondu and he saw the hint of a confused smile playing over your lips. Much better.

He could see the question in your eyes and went ahead and answered without you needing to speak. "Just thought you could use some cheering up." he said. Nice to see he's still got it. That trick always worked to cheer up Quill when he was little.

"I'm fi-"

Yondu cut you off with a shrug. "Yeah. Yer fine. Got it." He whistled again to call his arrow back. "Well this was mighty entertaining, all this... nature and whatnot. Should probably get a move on so this old man can get some sleep." He exaggerated a yawn before walking forward, prompting you into motion as well, seeing as you were the guide. "I'm sure Bug and Twig would like it out here if ya ever decided ya wanted to come out here when the sun's actually out."

You hummed. "Maybe." You tried not to stare as you walked together out of the forest. Had he really just used his weapon... to draw you a picture... to cheer you up? You wanted to laugh but you bit your tongue as you remembered he had also used it to kill a spider for you earlier that day. For as rough as he portrayed himself to be, he was definitely displaying big softie energy. That thought did make you laugh.

"What?" Yondu asked, hearing your snicker from beside him.

You shook your head, now grinning. "Nothing."

"Uh huh." Yondu said, mild suspicion in his voice as he side-eyed you. Whatever. It was better than hearing you try not to cry.

After awhile you finally broke the tree line and made your ways back across the yard and to the backdoor.

You reached the door first and pulled out your key.

"Good to see ya have some sense." Yondu said. "Quill said Terrans always leave their doors unlocked."

You gave him a look as you unlocked the door. You wanted to refute that, but you knew that, at least in the rural areas where you lived, people actually did tend to do that. You settled for saying, "Well, not everyone does. But still, it'd be really irresponsible to just go and leave the door open to any stray passerby with a bunch of obvious aliens inside."

Yondu scoffed.

"What?"

"Ya Terrans thinkin' yer the only ones in the universe. Callin' anyone not from Terra 'alien.'"

You frowned. "Sorry."

Yondu grunted and waved you off. "Eh. Ya'll get there eventually. S'pose if this place wasn't as backwards as it is then we wouldn't be able to lie low here."

You tried not to be offended at that, because he was right. That was literally the reason they were able to hide here.

The two of you re-enter the house and manage to get back to your respective rooms quietly. You changed into something more comfortable to sleep in without waking Mantis and settled into bed.

Before falling asleep you thought about the clearing and your tree. About how you needed to warn Yondu not to walk too far towards the backside of said tree.

You should really find the time to install a sturdier trap door on that tunnel.

#gotg #guardians of the galaxy #yondu x reader #x reader #yondu #yondu udonta #secrets #sneaking #yondad #bonding #yaka arrow

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portalford · 3 years

Text

I Can Picture You So Easily

AO3

It hits Stan at the stupidest times.

Well. That makes it sounds like Stan just forgets, when really it never quite goes away — sometimes it’s just more.

Like now.

He’s looking in the mirror — he found it tucked way, way back in a closet (and he’s gonna skip right over that because when he got here the mirror in the bathroom was broken, cracked until you couldn’t see a thing and why was Ford—nope) — and he’s trying out a new look for Mr. Mystery.

Gotta keep it fresh, right? Accessorize?

Glasses aren’t accessories, unfortunately. He can’t go without them anymore.

(Really, he needed them years ago, but he was too stubborn to admit it, or too broke, or whatever, but he’s literally tripping over his own feet now. Needs must).

Ford wouldn’t be caught dead in this getup. No sense of fashion. So that’s fine.

The glasses—

(Ford started wearing glasses when he was six. Stan had laughed himself silly when they went to the drugstore and tried on the biggest, most obnoxious frames they could find. Ma had scolded, but she’d been too distracted checking price tags to do more than scold.

In the end, they went with some cheap horn-rimmed frames that Stan wouldn’t be caught dead in even now. Old-man glasses, at six. But that was Ford all over).

—they bring some stuff up. The twin thing sucks, sometimes.

(Looking in a mirror and seeing the changes, the lines in his face, the grey in his hair — does Ford have crow’s feet now? Is his hair going silver? It was always unmanageable — is it thinning like Stan’s is now, or is it still thick and flyaway, like it was when Ford was sixteen? Did he even live long enough to get lines in his face and aches in his joints, or is he forever twenty-eight, dead somewhere in the universe?)

Time to stop thinking.

Notice the differences.

Stan’s ears and nose are bigger than Ford’s, always have been. He’s heavier and his shoulders are broader.

(Has Ford gotten bulkier, fighting to survive? Or is still he halfway to gaunt, like the last time Stan saw him?)

Definitely time to stop thinking.

Stan flashes a smile, and yeah, that’s all him. Cheerful, magnetic, and a hundred percent fake.

Time to work the crowds.

*****

There’s an ad for the nice ink pens Ford saved up to buy when he was fourteen.

Stan turns it off.

*****

Mabel finds a picture, once.

“Grunkle Stan!” Her eyes are all lit up as she shows him the torn photograph. “I found this under a floorboard in the attic!”

If Stan ever had any doubts about his poker face, he can lay them to rest now. It’s all on the ropes and his expression is perfectly level, maybe even a little curious.

Mabel is still talking. “I didn’t know there were pictures of you before you were all old! Do you have any others?”

Oh.

Stan still forgets sometimes, even after everything, that most people can’t tell him and Ford apart.

He knows better.

The young man in the photograph is unmistakably Ford, taken while he was living in Gravity Falls. He’s got his head bent over that journal of his, but the photographer managed to catch the eager light in his eye, the edge of his smile.

Stan wonders who that photographer was, all those years ago.

A tug at his shirt reminds him he’s not alone, and he definitely can’t get messed up about this picture of his secret twin brother.

Mabel’s face has fallen a bit. “Grunkle Stan? Are you okay?”

Stan gives himself two more seconds to look at the picture — Ford just looks so happy; Stan can’t even remember the last time Ford looked like that, even before it all fell apart — and turns to Mabel.

“Yeah,” he says. He smiles and ruffles her hair. “Pretty good picture, huh?”

*****

The name is the worst.

Stan never thought identity theft could involve so little fun.

Usually he can get away with just “Stan Pines,” and that’s fine. That’s his name. That’s who he’s supposed to be.

Sometimes, though, that’s not enough for whoever’s asking.

“What did you say your name was again?”

He smiles. Lays it on thick. “Stanford Pines.”

“Could you sign here?”

He does. His blocky, uneven handwriting looks even worse than usual where he’s expecting to see neat, flowing script, the way Stanford Pines is supposed to be written.

“This is Stanford Pines,” someone will say. “Mr. Mystery.”

Stan smiles some more. Yes, Stanford Pines is certainly that.

Gideon is the worst. Stanford this and Stanford that and Stan’s never wanted to punch a child so much in his life.

“Stanford Pines!”

He smiles, and he lies.

*****

Dipper halfway drives him nuts sometimes.

It’s not like the kid’s a mini-Ford — he reminds Stan enough of himself, sometimes, though Stan’s not sure that’s great either — but he’s got the brains and the stubbornness and the love of weird nonsense, for sure.

He’s also got that obsessive edge, the drive that sent Ford right off the metaphorical cliff.

Usually Mabel tags along on the weirdness hunts — they make a day of it. They go out, just the two of them, and come back laughing and joking and shoving at each other.

That’s enough of a painful reminder, but sometimes Stan will catch Mabel sitting by herself, coloring or crafting with a little less energy than usual, and he’ll realize that Dipper’s buried himself in monster theory again.

He tries to keep the kid busy with chores and hustle, but it’s a losing battle.

It was the first time, too.

*****

There’s this old song that Ford used to love when they were younger.

It’s got no words, and Stan used to make fun of it — what's the point of a song with no words? But Ford insisted it had Meaning, capital M.

It comes on the radio now and then.

Depending on how masochistic Stan is feeling that day, he might let it play.

He still wonders what Ford heard in this song, and if Ford would hear it now.

*****

He realizes, one day near the end, that he’s been Stanford longer than he’s been Stanley.

What’s the point, really? What does a name matter if it’s so easy for someone else to take your place?

(Did Ford matter so little, in the grand scheme of things, that not one person could recognize him in a place he lived for six years?

Does Stan, in a place he’s lived for almost thirty?)

If he could just stop catching Ford in his reflection now and then, that’d be great.

*****

It’s not any better once Ford gets back (once Stan brings Ford back, the ungrateful bastard).

“Stanford!”

Stan’s got a smile on his face before he even turns around, and what’s wrong with him that he’s halfway made this lie into a Pavlovian response? Someone calls him Stanford, he smiles and lies.

(Stanford — the real Stanford — is in the basement right now. He doesn’t even exist, as far as anyone else is concerned. Stan is Stanford, Stanley is dead, and Ford is a nonentity.

What a life this is).

*****

“So how was it?”

Stan grunts. “How was what?”

Ford rolls his neck, wincing a little as he works out the unavoidable crick from hunching over a drawing for twenty minutes. “Being me.”

Stan shrugs. “Wasn’t hard. We’re basically the same person, y’know.”

Ford snorts. A long time (a lifetime) ago that comment might have gotten him worked up, but he’s steadier now, softer around the edges. “Very funny. I saw your lease renewal. You didn’t even change your handwriting, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ford, I rolled up to town, said I was you, and started a tourist trap. You had a total personality transplant and nobody noticed.” Stan grimaces. That sounded really bad.

Ford’s expression has gone rueful and a little sad at the edges, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about launch into full-blown self-recrimination, so that’s fine. “Yes, well. That’s what happens when you isolate yourself for six years and your only friend erases his mind to cope with the mistakes you made.”

And that’s Ford trying to shoulder all the blame again, but Stan keeps his mouth shut. They’re both too comfortable to argue right now. “Being honest — for once — it kinda sucked.” Ford’s looking at him, open and encouraging, so Stan keeps going. “Everyone thought I was you, and it—I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be.” Stan shrugs. “I wanted you you.”

Ford smiles, and it’s a little more worn than Stan remembers, but it’s real, and it’s him. “I understand. I met a few parallel versions of you on my travels, and they were you, but — they weren’t really you.” Ford closes his journal (his new one) and sets it aside, tipping his head back over his chair. More playfully, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to be you either, Stanley.”

Stan laughs. “Yeah? Couldn’t handle the salesmanship?”

“Have more self-respect than to wear any part of your wardrobe.”

“Says the man who wears sweaters in the summer.”

Ford lifts his head and smiles, and this time it’s almost exactly how Stan remembers — quick and a little crooked. “Fair enough.” Ford stretches, rolls his neck again. “For what it’s worth, Stanley, I am glad to be back.” A wry look. “Even if it’s going to take ages to sort out the criminal record you gave me.”

Stan slouches deeper into the couch. Any further and he’s going to slide off, but that’s a risk he’ll take. “Yeah, yeah. Talk to me when you’re legally dead.”

“You did that.”

“And?”

“I legally don’t exist.”

“I was trying to learn theoretical physics at the time, Stanford; cut a man some slack.”

Ford laughs, quiet. “Did I ever thank you for that?”

Stan cracks an eye open. He didn’t realize he closed them. “What, learnin’ physics? Because I’m pretty sure that’s some of the stuff that’s not coming back.”

Ford rolls his eyes. “For saving me.”

“Hm.” Ford’s thanked him several times, but lately it’s been less Ford kicking himself and more Ford cautiously trying to engage in the old back-and-forth they used to have, and Stan can get behind that one. “I dunno. Might have to say it again.”

“You’re burning through my gratitude very quickly,” Ford says mildly, “but all right. Thank you for saving me. You knucklehead.”

Stan never got called that when he was Ford. He thinks he’s missed it, at least the way Ford says it — like it means something completely different.

“Uh-huh.” Stan’s eyes are closed again. He figures he’ll just leave them closed. “Missed you too, nerd.”

And maybe there’s something to be said for being your own person.

It feels pretty good.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #stanley pines #stanford pines #back on the angst with a happy ending train #feat. a side of introspection and melodrama!#i love it here

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halfgclden · 3 years

Audio

EPISODE 32: A MAJOR OCCURANCE

The sound of spooky intro music plays and fades out. As the microphone clicks on, faint sounds of water and traffic can be heard in the background.

JADE: Hello cryptwizzlers, cryptrackers, but never cryptormentors because we’re all friends here. Welcome to a very special episode of Cryptwins in which we are not actually researching a cryptid. But! Before you shut this off and call us hacks, we are instead researching the recent disappearance of social media fitness guru; Edison Major.

More spooky music plays. There is also the sound of fingers tapping a rhythm. It's typical Joel, unable to contain his energy as he taps the dashboard in time with their intro music.

JOEL: Weeeeeeeell...Maybe we are hacks. —a pause as he laughs— Nah, just kidding. This is the real deal. I'm not sure you're ready for this. This is some spooky, and excuse my French, spooky shit. Tell us more about this Major disappearance? —another laugh— Get it?

JADE: [A short laugh-sigh is let out at Joel’s joke.] Okay, before we begin, two things. One, get ready for the barrage of major and minor jokes, courtesy of Joel here.

JOEL: Got a whole list, be ready! He lets Jade finish, but listeners can still hear the tapping sound while she speaks.

JADE: Secondly, we’re still on the road here, so if the audio is bad or choppy... deal with it? —another small laugh— Anyyyyway. Spooky is right. This all began in September of last year, when @majored posted a picture of himself in a dark basement wearing a weird costume and then immediately went off the grid. And, you know, I’m all for a social media cleanse, people do it all the time. Buuut, what really brought this to our attention was a month later, on Halloween Eve of all nights, when a video popped up of him getting his ass kicked by someone in a Kakashi Hatake costume.

JOEL: Now, I know y'all are asking yourselves "Isn't he a fitness guru? Why was some weeb kickin' his ass?" And to that I say hey! Some weebs are strong, some are Super Saiyan, and others are Kakashi Hatake, the most talented ninja in Konohagukure.

JADE: lets out a laughing wheeze.

JOEL: We don't endorse fighting here. But I digress —a laugh— back on topic. So this guy just up and disappears out of nowhere? And there's not a peep of him until we see Kakashi givin’ him the business. What does this all mean?

JADE: Okay, so, let’s get the full story. @majored goes off the grid, comes back to get his ass kicked by a Naruto character, disappears again, comes back to spit on someone and call them a see you next Tuesday, and then disappears again. And he hasn’t come back online. So what’s up with that? Well... we did a little digging.

Another spooky noise plays over the sound of Jade organizing a stack of papers.

JOEL: Daaaaaaang. I’d say those are some fightin' words, especially from someone who keeps pulling a vanishing act, don’t ya think?

JADE: They really are! I mean, he is from New Zealand, but even so, I think you don’t use that word unless you want to attract some attention. -She clicks her tongue as she gets back on topic- The video was originally posted the night before Halloween of last year, by @ime.are on Twitter. Obviously they got a lot of hate and questions after posting this, but all of them were left unanswered. The only person in the video that was tagged was Major, but upon further examination, this Ime seems to follow and have pictures with someone who happened to be dressed as Kakashi that same night, which has led many to speculate that these ninjas are the same person.

JOEL: So we all know Halloween's a spooooky season. Perfect for parties and all that jazz. But all those costumes make it a perfect time for disguises. Was that even the real Major? Was the person who spit the real Major? Who is this Ime and how do they fit into the story? And who— a pause for dramatic effect and muffled laughter as he tries to stay serious— is this mystery ninja? Tell us more!

JADE: Alright, alright. So this mystery ninja goes by Abel, or @_kllledbycain on the Gram. At first glance, they look pretty much like every other TikTok e-boy; black and white photos, pet snake, the insinuation that they’re dead, whole nine yards.

JOEL: snorts when Jade announces their handle, and again at her eboy comment, wheezing. It's true, it's true!

JADE: And this stuff is so common right now, so nothing really raises any eyebrows, right? Right? Well, tell me, why would a Tik Tok goth go around beating the crap out of a random influencer? Stay tuned for the theory. First, we’re gonna take a step back and look at the whole situation, because, of course, it doesn’t end there.

JOEL: Ohhhh snap! I'm on the edge of my seat, and I bet our listeners are too.

JADE: [clears her throat] So if we go back to the original poster of the video, @ime.are, and we take a look at their Insta, who is on it but... @devinitely? Okay, so @devinitely is in the same place as @majored, clearly, and, for anyone that doesn’t know, she’s been doing a bunch of collabs with @loganvance. This places not one, not two, but three influencers all together in this place where weebs are running around assaulting people.

JOEL: Okay. Okay, I need to know! Where are they? What's bringing all these influencers together? Are @devinitely and @loganvance part of something much more sinister than it seems? [He makes a funny face at Jade and wiggles his fingers, before dropping his voice to a stage-whisper.] Is it some kind of twisted influencer cult?

JADE: Shhhh, Joel, spoilers.

JOEL: [He laughs.] Sorry, sorry!

JADE: [muffled laughter over the sound of more papers rustling.] So, any skeptics out there might say, oh, well, this Ime Are is just a lucky person who happens to be in the presence of more than one social media personality. However, Devin follows the weeb that may or may not have kicked Major's ass. And, according to a cast photo of Rocky Horror, on her boyfriend's Instagram, both the weeb in question and the hot man that tore the two apart were part of the cast. This would be a great time to mention that a link to the video is in the description, as are all the pictures from social media that I'm referencing.

JOEL: [to Jade but loud enough for the mic to pick it up at regular volume] Oh snap, you got everything together in a link? Like, I could click the link to check it out right now? — A pause as he does just that.— Woah, cryptwizzlers, she's not kidding. Click the link in bio, you won't be disappointed. Okay, Jade...hear me out. Given that it was Halloween, the night of nights. Do you think that...maybe it was all an elaborate event? Was it staged? Is any of this real?

JADE: Oh, my dear brother, always the skeptic. Don’t you think that it’s a bit much for him to stop posting entirely in order to get publicity? And we mustn’t forget the spitting on someone in South Dakota, that’s not exactly his brand. Unless he’s trying out something like Taylor Swift and Reputation but... I digress. No, I don’t think any of this is staged, and I’ll tell you why. Let’s go back to the weird cow print basement post. You know who also happened to post something about some cowboy party? Oh, um, Devin’s boyfriend? A picture of him, Devin, and Logan? Which... puts them and Major in the same place on the night that he disappeared.

JOEL: Not a skeptic! Just trying to get all these questions answered. —A laugh— You're right, that's 180 from the online presence he used to have. All theories aside, —a pause— I'd love to go to a cowboy party. Get me a glow-in-the-dark cowboy hat. You know they make 'em. —He laughs again, mouthing 'what?' to Jade.—

JADE: Oh, def. We're getting matching hats. Check out our merch in a few weeks —she laughs— Glow in the dark mothman themed cowboy hats, talk about a niche.

JOEL: Snap, we have to do that now, 'cause I want one real bad. But okay, back on track. This cowboy party. The origin of this theory, yeah? Oh snap...what were those three doing in the same place as Major? And all in cow print too? That's....majorly suspicious! [He trails off into laughter, his voice doing that wheezy thing when someone's trying to finish their sentence before cracking up. Recovering, he adds the following.] Wait, wait, wait. What about—

JADE: Yes, yes, yes. —she cuts Joel off as though he's finished his sentence, chuckling at his joke— Patience, my dear twin, we will get there. —the smile is evident in her voice—

JOEL: I feel like somehow, I ended up as your Padawan for this episode. — he laughs—

JADE: You heard it here, I'm absolutely schooling Joel this episode. — she laughs— First, we're going to backtrack all the way to the original poster again. You know we snooped their whole page, and they're pretty regularly posting pictures with this person, @rengaaay, who isn't an influencer but she makes some of those sick ass roller skating videos... this isn't sus, just cool, link in the description. —a slight pause as she tries to get back to her train of thought— Anyway, what is sus is that she tags two people in her photos all the time... But no joke guys check out their Insta profiles they look different in like every other picture. Which, uh, could just be editing but also could be something.... more sinister? Hold onto that thought.

JOEL: That's such a good handle, dang! Better than @lumberjoel, honestly. I have to say I'm jelly. We should get branded rollerskates, maybe @rengaaay can advertise for us if we ship them. JK...unless? —more laughter as he waits for Jade to get back on the train and pulls up the profiles in question to take a look for himself— Huh...is it editing? Are they masters of disguise? Makeup professionals? —He starts to say something else but is pretty sure he's figured out where Jade's going with this.— What could be more sinister than human chameleons?

JADE: [The sound of papers shuffling can be heard] Oh, yeah, so, it's weird but I think every time the siblings are in a pic together they look more like each other? I dunno if this really makes sense but seriously dudes check the post with this episode because it has a bunch of photos side by side and... yeah. You pull a photo of them by themself and it's like okay, I know what this dude looks like and then you put them side by side and... I dunno, makeup? Contacts? Cloning, mayhaps? And, just so that I'm not just holding on to one thing too much... check their post from August 12th, linked below. Their brother... doesn't have a shadow. Why would you edit that out of a photo? No way are they going that hard to be memelords.

JOEL: Okay, let me look at this. Wha— That's weird as hell. How much hair dye do these two use? Hm. Could be clones? —snaps his fingers—Definitely clones. —he snorts loudly, laughing before clearing his throat— Ahem, uh. No shadow? That's dedication! I dunno, maybe it's some new challenge for the 'gram. Oh...but wait. I found a video. Look, Jade. No shadow. In a video. What the—

JADE: A video, guys. —A moment of muffled laughter before her mic cuts out, but the sound of it clicking on again is followed almost immediately— This is a big family, guys, and a big weird one because their other brother @sleepyfinch... Okay, wait, he himself is pretty normal, super cute, shout out, but guys, ghouls, you know who he has tagged in a recent post? Yet another influencer. Except this one is from Italy? @gaborealis; essentially, he’s a medium, so if you didn’t believe that the supernatural were at play beforehand... buckle up.

JOEL: Wait, wait, I'm still on the video thing. Who has time to edit a video? —his voice cracks when he says video and he covers his laughter as he focuses—

JADE: [wheezing] Shut up —there is no malice in her voice, and she’s laughing too.—

JOEL: So weird, I love it. Oh snap— the @gaborealis? It's time to get ghosty! —echoes "ghosty" and hums the Cha Cha Slide tune for a couple seconds— Okay, so wait. Does this mean everyone's favorite medium is also in the same place as...three? Three other influencers and this weird family of....maybe shapeshifters? No? Too crazy a theory?

JADE: You know what they say, cryptoddlers; no theory is too crazy. Everything Einstein came up with? Theory.

JOEL: Bringing Einstein into it, huh?

JADE: Oh you know it. —a snort— Anyway, according to Devin’s boyfriend’s Instagram, it doesn’t end there. @spencerkeahi, a youtuber and disability rights advocate who comes from Hawaii is also there with that gaggle. Shout out to @elidrising for tagging people and location. So what are these influencers from all corners of the globe gathering together for? Well, let’s take a look at the original poster again. You go on their Twitter, and a few months back it’s all just videos of people... fighting? In some sort of underground place. Mayhaps... the same creepy basement that Major posted his last photo? —a small gasp, as though she’s surprised by this— No, that must be a coincidence... or is it?

Another spooky sound plays

JOEL: @elidrising is the man, dang! Are you tellin' me there's a...—he lowers his voice to a whisper— secret influencers-only Fight Club? I wouldn't put it past @devinitely TBH. Honestly, I'd join one...even though I guess I've broken the first rule but talking about it, huh? Actually— Jay, do you think we'd even be allowed to join? Are podcasters influencers? Poll in my story right now, let us know what y'all think.

JADE: Right now? Joel, this isn’t going up for another week, at least. —She’s obviously trying to sound less amused than she’s coming off— Once we get the blue check we’re influencers, so we’ve got a few million followers to go, I think.

JOEL: Yeah, right now! They'll hear that when the episode goes up and respond in real ti— Oh, no. You're right. Oops. No poll in my story, y'all. False alarm. Blue check, huh? You heard it here, cryptwizzlers, we're gonna get that blue check. Tell your friends, tell your family. Heck, tell that cute barista at your coffee shop to listen to our podcast! We might just do a giveaway when we get that lil' blue swoosh.

JADE: [clears her throat.] You know what’s a great way to get us that blue check, though?

A different, light sort of spooky music begins playing in the background, meaning that it’s time for the ad break

JOEL: Take it away!

JADE: Checking out a little app called Creature Comforts. Alright guys, not that this show isn’t one hundred percent real as it is, but for real, I love this app. A dating sim that features everyone’s favorite... for lack of a better term, monsters. Did you watch the Shape of Water and go, “Damn, I’d tap that”? Do you want to snuggle with a Sasquatch? Do you just wish you could find yourself a GF with more eyes? Well, have we got the app for you. Creature Comforts lets you do all this and more. A choose-your-own-adventure game where you can smooch beasts, marry Mothman, and ignore the outside world. It’s seriously all I want. And, if you enter the code cryptwins— that’s the name of the podcast you’re listening to, no capital letters, when you download the app, then it’s only 99 cents to play without ads. Which, trust me ghouls, is worth it. I don’t want anything interrupting my cut scene with the most stunning eyes in West Virginia.

JOEL: Don't forget that scuba diving date with Nessie! Or, or...that half-day hike with Bigfoot. —he's laughing again smh— There's a reason Jade does the ad reads and not me. But, I can tell you that Mothman is sure to sweep you off your feet. And it's not just because he can fly.

JADE: It’s the —a pause for finger snapping— alliteration for me. But that’s Creature Comforts, exactly how you think you’d spell it, don’t ask us ‘cause we’re dyslexic, and cryptwins, like the name of this podcast. Tweet us @cryptwins to let us know how far along you are, who you’re pursuing, and what mysteries you unlock about their backstories. Now... I think it’s time for a timeline, just to get us sorted out, what do you think, Joel?

JOEL: Personally, I'm still tryin' to land a date with the Creature from the Black Lagoon. I guess we'll see what happens. Aw heck yeah! Give us a timeline, give us the dirt. — a laugh — Give the people what they want!

JADE: Okay — the shuffling of paper is heard once more — We start in September: @majored goes off the grid after posting a creepy picture of himself in a weird outfit in a spooky basement. This is around the same time that the Scarlet Surfer was in NYC for fashion week, which @majored accompanied him to, meaning that it isn’t entirely out of the question for him to still be in New York. Also on social media at this time is @devinitely and @loganvance also both is cowboy outfits, though the creepy basement is absent from both of them.

JOEL: I guess September isn't too early for weird Halloween stuff to start? What with the spooky basement and everything. Right? And everyone loves a cowboy moment— or have cowboys become the new clown? I heard there was a clown renaissance and people like them now? I don't really know where we stand on the whole clown— what?

JADE: I see our next hot debate. Cowboys: Hot or not? Personally, I liked cow print, but I can see cowboys going out soon. Once they reach killer clown status is when it’ll be ideal for me.

JOEL: Personally, I vote hot. And uhhh, not to kinkshame you Jay, but killer clowns are a no from me.

JADE: [tsks] Kinkshamed, by my own brother no less.

JOEL: [a loud laugh] You know I'm just kidding. No kinkshaking, ya heard? I'd literally let the Jersey Devil step on me so. To each their own.

JADE: [snorting] Um, gross.

JADE: Now to October: There is a production of Rocky Horror, a cast photo is uploaded to @elidrising, the account of @devinitely’s boyfriend. This places not only @devinitely and @loganvance in Montauk, but it also places @crispyboiz and @_kllledbycain in Montauk too. These are two of the people that are suspected to belong in the video by @ime.are, in which (suspected) @_kllledbycain, dressed as Kakashi Hatake attacked @majored, only to be torn apart by good citizen @crispyboiz. This video is the first that we’ve seen of @majored since his last post, and he offers nothing in response to it.

JOEL: Okay. Okay. Now, you know I love a good shadow-cast of Rocky Horror. I've always wanted to play Frank. I would rock that part. Am I wrong? —he laughs— But okay, that's - count 'em - three influencers in one place? If @elidrising is there, we can assume @devinitely is too because she was in the same location as, uh, whatshername? Logan? And that's the same location as @ime.are. Who took the video of Kakashi kicking @majored's ass. @_kllledbycain— more like killedbyKakashi, eh? Seriously why are all these people together?

JOEL: [as an afterthought] It's gotta be a cult.

JADE: November to December: Nothing happens with @majored, @ime.are also offers nothing except for quote unquote “#teamkakashi”, which is funny because they never tagged Kakashi, but anyways. Upon deeper inspection, there are videos on their Twitter from last May, of people in a fighting ring. And then people fighting on a lake? But the fighting ring looks super dangerous and I dunno, like you said, cult-y? Fight-club-y? Call it what you will. In any case, we are led to believe that this fighting has been going on for some time in the background.

JOEL: Okay, come on. That’s definitely a cult. I’ve seen the movie, can confirm. — he groans— Literally what is an Italian astrologer doing there? Wait, wait, wait. Montauk? You said Montauk. Montauk, as in on Long Island. As in like —he drops his voice to a stage-whisper— the part of Long Island that peeps believe to be the site of a government cover-up involving kidnapping, mind control, and time travel? The part that inspired Stranger Things? That Montauk? Snap. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together sooner. Jade, Jade. What if this is, I don’t know, like, MKUltra 2.0?

JADE: Yes, yes that Montauk, I’m glad you picked up on that. Look, I’m not saying that it’s an influencer’s-only thing, but I am saying that some might be in the area, and maybe involved. At the same time throughout all of this, we have a culmination of more influencers seeming to know this network of people. @gaborealis, an Italian astrologer, is seen in pictures of @sleepyfinch, who was also in the production of Rocky Horror, and has pictures with @crispyboiz and, god, this name is a freaking nightmare, @_kllledbycain. Not to mention this guy has many pictures of weird… family members? Who sometimes look alike? Okay, but seriously, @kodakola and @sonofpeter, how is your hair not straw at this point? Is it wigs? I think my hair would simply fall out. And y’all using Insta filters or what, cause… I’m not gonna get into it, let’s keep going.

JOEL: Maybe they're makeup vloggers or something. Gotta change up the look for views, right? Don't forget to like, comment, subscribe and uhhhh, smash that follow button— or whatever YouTubers say. —he laughs— Okay but seriously, yeah. @sonofpeter, @kodakola, whatever you two are doing to your hair, let me know because I'm trying to bleach my hair and dye it bright purple without it falling out. And since we're doing it at our next stop, well, your advice will probably be too late. But still, what are your secrets? Is it...clones?

JADE: Joel! —she’s laughing again.— Timeline and then theories. —she clears her throat— After that long silence, a Tweet emerges. January 8th. "Can’t believe @majored SPAT on me and called me a C-Blank-Blank-T when he checked into @SDFamilyMotel last night”. This places Major across the country from where we believed him to be, but acting so strangely that one must wonder… was that really him? Or was it someone that just looked like him? Or was it a cry for help? Nothing’s been heard since from @majored, which I guess… leads us to our theories. —a pause— You were saying… clones, Joel?

JOEL: Sheeeeesh, this is not @majored's year. I gotta say, this sounds totally different from the vibe that this guy used to put out on his social media. Obviously Instagram is fake blah blah blah, you know the spiel, but like. Damn. He spit on them? —a pause as he considers what his sibling has said— You know....I think that's a really good point. Was that even the real him? Will the real Ed Major please stand up?

JADE: I know. It just seems out of character, and terrible for a reputation, but it also would make sense if... One, this is a fake @majored, meant to stir up controversy before he goes underground again. And with an action like spitting on someone and calling them a name like that? Who cares what the dude does after that? Unfollowed, cancelled, whatever. And why would this guy want to go underground, well, I'm glad you're so interested. Well, the official Cryptwins theory is that maybe... just maybe, the crazy, government cover-up Montauk that we all know and love isn't that far from truth. We see that they have means of covering up shadows —she lets out a laugh— and people whose faces just change? And who else is there, @spencerkeahi, someone who explains rehabilitation, maybe someone who has experience helping people get used to being a clone? @ime.are, a nurse who enjoys taking videos of people fighting? It all adds up, people!

JOEL: Yeah, seriously. With the real @majored MIA, there would be no one to combat the backlash from this supposed...clone? Imposter? And maybe that’s what they want. Looks like Montauk isn’t the ideal vacation spot anymore, huh? Even if their seaside cabins are super chill and homey. But I digress. Something sinister is going on. Something bigger than we can even imagine. A secret underground facility that’s...cloning influencers? Training them? Your guess is as good as mine. And that’s why we’re on this road trip, isn’t that right Jade? To get some answers?

JADE: Exactly. —it sounds as though she is holding back a laugh or a cough.— Cross country roadtrip in which we explore different topics like this one, and on the way, we'll document our progress and any spooky encounters. Check out our insta, @cryptwins to get all the updates, and consider hitting us up on Patreon if you want us to be able to afford the gas to get all the way to the east coast.

JOEL: I’ll be posting behind the scenes content in the “ROADTRIP” highlight on my Insta throughout the trip so be sure to check my stories. You might get lucky and find some special codes for Creature Comforts but, hey. You didn’t hear it from me. -he laughs and there’s the distinct sound of a bag of chips being opened- What Jade meant to say is gas and snack money. So yeah, go go go! Check out the Patreon! We might even do a giveaway at the end of our trip, get you guys some cool souvenirs we pick up on our travels. Not a bad idea, eh?

JADE: Joel, my ears are literally bleeding right now. Thanks. Anyway, our second theory will also be exclusive to our Patrons, so be sure to get the full video there. Cryptwins... out...

Her voice fades out and the music from the beginning fades in, takes over, and plays until the end of the track.

#c: jade #c: jadejoel #a major occurance

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jello-fello · 3 years

Note

For the ask meme- yes. The whole fucking alphabet. Any fandom of your choice for any of them -kipp

LMAO THE WHOLE THING? THIS SHOULDNT BE ALLOWED-

A - Your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s)

Honestly besides the Constant love for Mell and Kai, Ash and Eiji from banana fish, and Reki and Langa and Joe and Cherry from sk8 right now. Also i like Lawlight from specifically the 2015 death note tv drama. OH. AND ALSO. SEKI AND SHIMIZU FROM OYASUMI PUNPUN I LOVE THEM

(Side note ngl Detective Roberts and His Ex-Wife are v nice together i like them)

B - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind

Ellspen from Self Aware. LIKE LISTEN. I KNOW I WRITE THE THING. BUT I NEVER CONSIDERED THAT UNTIL READERS STARTED SHIPPING IT

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will (be nice)

Uhhh idk I never thought about it. Ig i’m not really a fan of Aizawa/All Might? that’s the first ship to come to mind. oh and also Hawks/Endeavor. not my cup o tea, never will be

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t (again: be nice)

Any ship with Tanaka from haikyuu that Isnt him and kiyoko. like art of him and enoshita or him and noya are Cute, but i just dont ship it

E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom, if so, what

Does writing “Regenerate, Fate” count

I also have Goose Yagami meme and the yelling cat meme but it’s death note

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom

BNHA fandom has been since... november 2017ish

G - Do you remember your first OTP, if so who was in it

.........................................................................Klance.

H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., tv shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.)

(ngl i dunno what this Means so sorry if my answer doesn’t make sense but-) I really like anime and animation, but also i really like comics and manga, more so now that im Making a comic

I - Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why

I don’t think tumblr’s ever stopped making me like a fandom, but just like. stop going in tumblr’s tag for it. for example 15ish year old me was NOT ready to see the things in the undertale tag that i did. oh god the horrors.

J - Name a fandom you didn’t care/think about until you saw it all over tumblr

i dont think tumblrs ever led me to starting a show/getting into a fandom, but pinterest has. most of my fandoms have been through seeing random things on pinterest ngl

K -Say something nice about someone in any of your fandoms

Vigilantedekus is The Best and I Love Them

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves (chars you’re neutral on are fair game, as are chars you dislike)

Matsuda from death note might’ve been played as the “Funny because he keeps fuckin up” kinda chara, but i do like that he was the one to shoot light and that he had that kind of outburst about light’s dad. BUT ALSO MATSUDA’S THEORY IN THE END OF THE MANGA? RIGHTS.

M - Say something genuinely nice about a ship that you don’t ship (or its shippers, or anything related to you)

i dont have anything specific in mind, but all fandoms have DOPE artists

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

head empty no thoughts

O - Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of

Right now “The mind electric” reminds me of Jamie from SA, “Butterfly’s Repose” reminds me of Mell And Kai

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas)

uh uh uh uh Self Aware but without Aviancorp. That’s the only difference. The au is just what kind of ripple effect it would have on everyone and their lives

Q - A ship you’ve abandoned and why

nothing’s coming to mind

R - A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships

Sobs. Seki and Shimizu from Goodnight Punpun. I only say them for this because theres So Little People who know them

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

Athen (my oc, Choosing(02)) wants to see hatsune miku because he uses a voicebank to speak and “! she sounds like me!”

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending, about anything at all (gender identity, sexual or romantic orientation, extended family, sexual preferences like top/bottom/switch, relationship with poetry, seriously anything)

I’m going to do these with my OCs instead. because while im the author, they’re headcanons because most of them i cant Really make canon:

Athen has a mothman pajama set. He and adam have matching “Humanfucker”/”Robofucker” shirts

athen Has seriously wondered if adam would leave him for mothman

athen gets a pet roomba named Hal

Jamie would be a good parent

Sam (one of the dead kids from Subject 402/SA-) would’ve been a soccer player if she lived

Letho (the Other dead kid) would’ve been an art student

if jordan(Kai) had a Normal Life and WASNT a human experiment, he wouldnt be very accomplished in school despite being a genius, he’d be kinda a delinquent and getting in trouble a lot

If mell had a younger sibling, people would probably think HE’S the youngest one. they would not believe he were older if they were close in age

U - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms

Mob from Mob psycho

L and Light are tied

Aizawa and Shinsou and Deku are top faves ig

ash and eiji from banana fish. love them. AND SHORTER> LOVE HIM

i like punpun as a character but if i had the chance i would prolly throw hands

V - 3 OTPs from 3 different fandoms

Mell and Kai - Self Aware

Shindeku OR tododeku - bnha

(Letho and (Redacted)) - Self Aware (but like. the au if letho Lived)

Ash and Eiji - Banana Fish

W - 5 favorite ships and 5 kinks you like best for said ships

I think we all know my fave ships from this post so far. no need to do this question lmao

X - top 5-10 characters who are yoUR PRECIOUS BABIES AND YOU WILL DIE DEFENDING THEM

MOB. WOULD KILL FOR HIM BUT I KNOW HE WOULD BE :( AT ME FOR IT

ngl there aren’t many Precious Babies. like I’d say Hinata is a precious baby but haikyuu ends when he’s like fuckin 30 so what counts as a precious baby hmmm

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms (fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)

my dash gets so much TMA

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go (prompts optional but encouraged)

this post is long enough,,,

#long post #ask #ask meme

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shakespeares-wake · 3 years

Text

Network Theory Part 2

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Once in Resonance Plaza, Jack stared up at the building uneasily. It was an architecturally beautiful skyscraper, inlaid with cool blue lights almost everywhere so it glowed even in the daytime.

On top of being a modern day beacon, it was also known as the HQ of one of the city’s, and probably the country’s most notorious retired supervillains, Sir E.V, who was also measured to be a Valence Super in telekinesis. In fact, he was estimated to be the most powerful telekinetic in this hemisphere.

Hoping very hard that he wouldn’t be anywhere near the lobby, Jack went inside and approached the massive front desk.

The woman sat there flicked her eyes up from her computer screen to look at him, and Jack saw how her eyes glowed orange. A pyromancer. “Business?” she asked shortly.

“Just a delivery.” Jack answered, passing the bouquet over. The woman took it and Jack stepped to one side of the counter to check the address for the other package, then returned to the center putting it down on the counter, “Make that two.”

The woman checked the tags on both, but stopped Jack as he was turning away. “The flowers are to E.V, you have to take them up. The other package is fine.” she put a piece of paper into his hand with a floor and door number written on it.

“What? I’m just the outside delivery service.” Jack said, trying to scream ‘help me’ with his eyes to no avail as she handed the bouquet back.

She shrugged, “Sorry, but he’s got express orders. If a delivery comes in, it goes straight up to him, doesn’t matter where it comes from, no exceptions. The second elevator to your right will take you where you need to be.”

Jack tried not to sigh or throw up and managed a strangled, “Thank you.” Before walking over to where she indicated.

Inside the elevator, Jack tried not to break out into a nervous sweat. Who in the city would be sending this guy flowers? Why? You know what, that was none of Jack’s business, and frankly he didn’t care. He just wanted to be gone. He didn’t want anywhere near Sir E.V in the first place.

Just the thought of being in the same room as another psionicist who was fifty times stronger than him made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

The elevator dinged, and let Jack out onto the right floor, into another smaller lobby with a few doors and a second receptionist. He approached that desk as well, the sound of his footsteps ringing out uneven against the tiles.

The receptionist quirked an eyebrow at him, and Jack shrugged helplessly, “I’m with the city delivery service. I’ve got a package for Sir E.V.”

They gave him a ‘one minute’ gesture then picked up a phone. “Hello sir, there’s a delivery here for you.” someone spoke on the other end, and the receptionist glanced up at Jack, who was staring out the nearest window and trying not to bounce his leg. “No. Yes sir. Sending him in now.” They set the phone down and caught his attention before pointing to one of the nearby halls, “Just go in right there son.”

He nodded his thanks with a strained smile and walked down the hall, pausing when he got to the door and knocking politely, and nearly got scared out of his skin when the door swung inwards almost immediately.

Standing in the doorway was a woman in a navy blue suit vest and lab coat with electric blue eyes that glowed slightly, and long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Dr. Castle the technomancer, E.V’s second in charge and equally as scary, but for different reasons. She smiled at him.

“Come in.” She stepped aside, and Jack followed behind, even if he didn’t really want to.

E.V was standing next to his desk, and it might have been because Jack was on the shorter side, but he looked even bigger in person than he had on the news. E.V was a tall man at 6′7, and just as broad in the shoulders. He had dark skin, and a mane of tightly curled hair down to his shoulders. His eyes were lavender, and so was his necktie. He stared at Jack as soon as he entered, who was too nervous to make eye contact.

“I’m with the city delivery service. Uh, the lady downstairs told me to come up here with your package.” Here he held out the bouquet, which was taken. E.V looked it over, checking the tag. He also looked perplexed. He glanced back up at Jack.

“Who gave this to you?”

Jack shifted nervously, “I dunno, it was a store pickup. All my instructions came in from online.” He pulled out his phone and checked it, “No username and they paid through the company app.”

“Hm.” E.V muttered, turning the tag over in his fingers. He met Jack’s eyes, and he barely managed to control his flinch. “What’s your name?”

“Jack Maxwell, sir.”

“What school did you go to?” He asked. Dr. Castle was watching the ongoing interaction with a bemused expression.

Jack took a deep breath, “The Trinity Academy of Vibrance, sir.”

“Are you a psionicist, Mr. Maxwell?” E.V asked, looking like he was trying to pick apart Jack's mind through his gaze alone. And who knew, maybe he was.

“Yes sir.”

He smiled slightly, as if he had just figured something out. “Did you know that telepaths can’t read each other’s minds?”

Jack shrugged listlessly, his mind retreating into apathy to get away from nervousness, “I know my power doesn’t work on other psionicists of equal or greater strength.”

“I say that,” E.V tilted his head, his smile growing more amused, “Because I can’t read yours, so whatever you do must fall under telepathy. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Then what can you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Jack’s eyes skittered towards the side, finding solace in the uncurtained window looking out over the city. Supers flew over the buildings like tiny comets. “I mind when anyone asks sir, but if you really wanna know it’s something uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable for you?”

“For everyone involved, I’m pretty sure.”

E.V observed Jack in silence for a moment longer, then made a decisive nod. “Alright.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out what must have been a business card. “You said that you’re with the city delivery service, right Mr. Maxwell?”

“Yes sir.” Jack said, feeling some of the tension leave his spine.

“One of the policies they have is that all deliveries are same-day, because their carriers work shifts at different times, is that correct?”

“Yes sir?” Jack said, becoming confused. Dr. Castle seemed to be trying to smother her laughter behind her hand.

E.V’s smile got a little wider, and he nodded to a muted TV on the wall. “We saw you on the news earlier. You kicked Shatterscream in the face.”

Jack felt his ears turn red and he swallowed thickly. “Uh, yeah. I did.”

E.V chuckled, and passed over the business card, “Good work ethic. This is my personal card, it has my information as well as Dr. Castle’s here. If the Tower ever has any use for the city delivery service, we’ll be sure to try to request you. Have a good day.”

Hiding his relief very well, Jack took the card, “Thank you sir.” and left as quickly as he could without running.

#Roman's writing #Network theory #Vibrance universe #Jack Maxwell oc #Dr. Castle oc #Sir E.V oc #superhero #hero #superhero oc #villain #supervillain #villain oc #ex-supervillain #he's kind of an antihero now #writing

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crystalninjaphoenix · 4 years

Text

Torn Apart

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

This is a bit of a shorter story, and it’s late, but hey, I’m glad I was able to get it done. Season three of this AU, everybody! It starts here. The boys are meeting up with Schneep again, who has some things to explain. And it seems that Anti’s been defeated, but how true is that? After all, it can’t be that easy to get rid of a glitch. (Also, be warned, there’s a tiny, one-paragraph reference to suicidal thoughts, but hopefully it’s not too noticeable.) Hope you guys enjoy reading, even though it got delayed ^-^

Tagging @septic-dr-schneep for inspiring this AU with this post.

Read where it started: Stitched Together | Season One | Season Two

Taglist (finally): @bupine @violet--majesty

The evening was clear, the twilight sky tinged purple. Chase, sitting on the front steps of the house, watched the cars drive down the street. The concrete steps were still a bit warm from the late summer sun. It might’ve been peaceful, if...

The front door swung open, and Jack poked his head out. “Hey, uh...you good, Chase?” he asked. “You’ve been out here for a while.”

“I’m good,” Chase said idly. “How’re Lily and Moira?”

“They’re good. Lily went to sleep.” Jack paused. “We got to think of something to say other than ‘good’ to describe how people are. Anyway, Schneep wanted to talk to all of us.”

“Hmm...yeah.” It was about time. The guy disappears for a month, then comes back all...different. Chase supposed he wanted to give out explanations. He sighed, and stood up. “Alright, let’s go, then.”

Chase followed Jack into the dining room. JJ and Schneep were already there, with JJ sitting at the table and Schneep hovering nearby. Jack took a seat at the table as well, but Chase hesitated. He glanced at JJ, who immediately glanced away. In all the commotion of the day, they hadn’t really had time to make up for the fight they’d had. Regret pooled in Chase’s stomach. He...he really hadn’t meant it, when he snapped that JJ never had any friends. He hadn’t meant it to be that hurtful. God, why did he have to do things like this? He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. What if he made it worse? And JJ didn’t look too good right now; he’d been sleeping most of the afternoon, ever since he apparently drained his magic. If Chase said the wrong thing now, it would be kicking him while he’s down.

“Chase, are you going to sit, or what?” Schneep snapped.

“Ak!” Chase jumped in surprise. “Alright, alright.” He took the chair across from JJ. “What about you? Are you going to sit, or just stand there?”

Schneep hummed. “No, I do not think so.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

You don’t have to, of course, JJ said. But I feel we should get down to business quickly. What is it you wanted to talk to us about?

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Jack jumped in, “Hey, uh, JJ wants to know what you wanted to talk to us about.” JJ winced, apparently having forgotten that Schneep couldn’t see the signs to understand him.

“Oh. Yes, yes, well...” Schneep shrugged. “I am sure you all have questions. I thought I would give you some time to process what happened—”

Chase suddenly laughed. “Oh, you mean how you suddenly showed up and fucking killed Anti, who we’ve barely been able to hold our own against in the past?”

“Well...yes,” Schneep said.

“Yeah, I mean…” Jack jumped in, “first of all, how’d you do that, second of all, how’d you know to do that?!”

Schneep laughed, folding his arms and bouncing in place. “Well...if I am to be honest, I...am not sure.”

The other three stared back at him, then glanced at each other. “Uh...how do you not be sure about something like that?” Chase asked. “Like...I mean, I’m pretty sure you would remember figuring out how to kill a glitch monster.”

Schneep rolled his eyes. “Well, for some people, memories are not so certain, Chase. Especially after having their head fucked with by nightmares.”

Chase winced. “...sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at the surface of the table.

Jack reached over and placed his hand near Chase’s. After a moment, Chase grabbed it and squeezed his fingers tight.

“Is okay, Chase,” Schneep said, voice a bit softer. “I suppose it is part my fault for not talking about it.”

“Hey, you’re not obligated to talk about it, Hen,” Jack pointed out.

“Anyway, back to what I was saying,” Schneep said, hurriedly changing the subject. “I am sure that something happened to me, that somehow my magic—mein Gott, it still feels strange to say that—it went all over the place.”

JJ tapped on the table, then started signing. Jack, please translate to Schneep what I am saying.

“Okay,” Jack said, nodding.

Your magic is teleportation, correct? From what I understand, that is a difficult power to master.

After Jack translated, Schneep nodded, pursing his lips. “I believe it is something like that. Though it might be something more.” He finally sat down, taking the last chair at the table. “What happened...after Anti revealed himself, and we fought, something happened, and I disappeared, though I did not mean to. You all saw that, yes?” The other three made sounds of agreement. “After that, I...somehow, I...I went to...to many different places very quickly.” He seemed to be struggling to describe the events. “And it went quicker and quicker, and then I saw things.”

“You saw things?” Jack repeated, sounding a bit surprised. “But you...can’t.”

“It was not with my eyes, it was as if in my mind,” Schneep explained. “But they were still seen by me, which is why I doubt that these things were true, though they might have been. What is more unbelievable was the voice afterwards. I am starting to highly doubt that was real, but he did help me figure out how to...ah, what is the word?” He snapped his fingers a couple times. “Something like...get a...something with hands, but not exactly, it is in the word...”

Handle? JJ suggested, tapping out the word in morse code.

“Exactly!” Schneep grinned. “Get a handle on what I could do. So either that voice was real and helped, or it was my brain trying to tell me how it worked. Either way, it is the same.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. “Who could’ve done something like that? I mean...I guess they’d have to know how to teleport, how likely is that? JJ said that was hard to do.”

“It is besides the point,” Schneep dismissed. “The point is that this started me to figuring out how this magic works.”

“Okay...” Chase said slowly. “But why’d you take a month to meet up with us? Where were you?”

“It...did not seem like a month,” Schneep said. “I could’ve guessed it was a week.”

I suppose your powers could’ve...gotten out of control for three weeks, JJ said. Jack quickly translated the signs again.

“Well again, there is a possibility that none or only some of this happened,” Schneep said. “And I could have been having a breakdown and wandering the city the whole time.”

“I think we would’ve heard of that, if that was the case,” Chase muttered. “Cause I mean...we were looking out for you. We had the news on and stuff.”

“Okay, but I feel like we’re getting off track here,” Jack interrupted. “How’d you figure out how to defeat Anti?”

“Well, after everything calmed down, regardless of if it existed or not, I spent the rest of the time practicing,” Schneep said. “I was staying in my apartment—”

Chase suddenly slammed his hands on the table. “How did we think to check everywhere but there?!”

Schneep chuckled. “Is understandable. We have not been back to any of our homes in a while.”

Still, Chase shook his head, looking disappointed in himself. “Anyway, you were practicing?”

“Yes. The whole time, getting better at things like this.” The air seemed to split, and suddenly Schneep was standing in the corner. Then, only a second later, he was back in the chair. “I knew we had to find a way to get rid of Anti forever. I thought that we had done well, taking out that string that was part of him. That defeated him for a while. So I thought if we could destroy it, that would defeat him forever.”

“So...basically, you guessed that it would work,” Chase summarized.

Schneep huffed. “It was a theory. I also thought that those stitches on his neck and wrists had something to do with it, and that getting rid of those would help. Honestly, I did not think it would take that short a time.”

“Turns out that practice makes perfect,” Jack muttered. “Or...practice makes you able to fight a glitch demon.”

“Well, practice and these.” Schneep suddenly placed something on the table that he definitely had not had before. A pair of scissors. Oh the whole, they looked rather ordinary, or average size and made of a shining silver metal. The only exception was that the blades looked unusually sharp.

The other three leaned forward to look at them. “...huh,” Chase said after a while. “I mean, they don’t look that strange.”

“They are not,” Schneep said. “Except for the fact that when I thought of getting something that could cut through Anti’s strange soul string, I pulled these out of nowhere.”

That’s impossible, JJ signed.

“Why’s it impossible, Jay?” Jack asked.

You can’t conjure items out of thin air, JJ explained. They have to be either summoned from somewhere, or transformed from something else. In all my studies, that is one of the consistent rules I have found.

“Well, then, where could these have been summoned from?” Chase asked. “Schneep?”

“I do not know,” Schneep answered, brows furrowing. “I did not think too much about it. I just needed them, and they appeared.”

“Well, if your magic is teleportation based, I’m guessing you must have teleported them from somewhere,” Jack reasoned. “Though that does leave questions like, I dunno, fucking...who had them in the first place? Would that person miss them? And how did that person make them so that they could cut through weird ass soul string?”

Before the discussion could continue any further, there was a cough. At some point, Stacy had appeared in the dining room entrance. “Hey, so, two questions,” she said. “One, are all of you going to stay here for the night? And two, can you tell me now what’s going on?”

The group was silent for a bit. “Um...well, I guess we’re going to be staying here,” Chase said slowly. “I mean, the three of us are. Schneep, I dunno about you...”

Schneep nodded. “I will be, too, but do not worry about space, I can just stay on the sofa.”

“And, for the second, um...” Chase looked at the other three, vaguely distressed. What was he supposed to do? It seemed like they defeated Anti, but what if they hadn’t? He couldn’t get Stacy and the kids anymore involved! Hell, the kids had already been taken! Jack shrugged, and gave him a thumbs up, but JJ wouldn’t meet his eyes. That caused a twinge somewhere in Chase’s chest. But he turned back to Stacy without acknowledging it. “Um...I guess I could...I mean, just the basics of what happened...but, um, can we do it tomorrow?”

Stacy leveled him with a stare, then sighed. “Yeah, alright. The girls have had enough excitement as it is.” She started to leave. “I work from 7 to 3, though, so we better have that conversation in the afternoon,” she said before disappearing down the hall.

Chase let out a breath, looking down at the dining room table. His hands were shaking. He curled them into fists. Suddenly, he stood up. “I’m, um...going to bed.” Without any further explanation, he turned and also left. Jack called after him, but he didn’t look back.

He made his way into the guest bedroom, and flopped down heavily on the bed. His chest rose and fell heavily as he blinked back tears. No, he wouldn’t cry again. He’d just been crying that morning, after they got back with the kids. After they’d defeated Anti, and...

He took a deep, shuddering breath. Well...he couldn’t lie to himself. He’d been expecting to find Jackie and Marvin again, just like they had when they defeated Anti the first time. But it seemed that...killing Anti had also killed...

No, he wouldn’t cry. He’d cried enough back when they’d first found the two of them dead. And besides, none of the others were reacting so strongly. It was just him that had gotten his hopes up for getting them back.

Chase rolled over onto his side. Now facing the other side, his eyes landed on the nightstand. Its drawer was closed, but he knew what was inside it. He froze for a moment, unable to look away. Then he suddenly buried his face in the pillow. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

Slowly, twilight faded into night, and Chase stayed where he was, not moving once, not even when Jack and JJ came in to check on him. A few long hours later, he finally drifted off to sleep.

— — — — — — —

Most people probably wouldn’t open their door if someone knocked on it in the middle of the night. They might be asleep, and if they weren’t expecting anyone, why risk it? Luckily, he knew that the person in this particular town house would be awake. Or...he did know that, right? Or was he thinking of someone else? He thought he knew this person, but things were...things felt disconnected, not quite there. Nonetheless, he’d been wandering most of the day, and he could remember it being dangerous to be out in the city at night. He needed to get somewhere safe, and this address came to mind.

When there was no answer, he knocked on the door again, pounding on the wood. Putting just a little more force into the motion suddenly made him dizzy, and he leaned heavily against the doorframe as his head swirled.

Some time later, there was the sound of footsteps behind the door, and he realized that at some point a light had turned on inside, and could be seen through the window. When had that happened? A few moments later, and he heard the sound of the door unlocking. It opened outward. He stepped back to avoid the swinging door, and saw that there was now a black-haired man standing in the doorway, wearing a loose t-shirt and pajama pants. The man’s eyes were impossibly wide. “Wh...” He seemed at a loss for words. “How...? What...? Is this...some kind of joke?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but instead, suddenly lost all feeling in his legs and fell forward.

“Whoa!” The other man caught him just in time. “Shit, I...hang on.” He managed to lift him into his arms, awkwardly closing the door and bringing him into the house. Speaking of the house, the layout seemed...familiar. He’d been here before, hadn’t he? Because he wasn’t surprised at all when the man carried him into a nearby living room and set him down on a black couch. “Shit...” The dark-haired man backed up. “You, uh...need anything? Water? Medical attention? Also, please tell me if you’re actually here and actually are who I think you are.”

“Hmm...” He blinked slowly at the room. Yes, he’s been here before. He recognized the homemade paintings on the wall and the armchair that stood out due to its bright pattern of colorful spots. He tried to sit up, but his head was still spinning, so he decided to lay back down.

“Uh...can you talk?” The dark-haired man was hovering nearby, and he was sure that he knew him. “I have a text-to-speech app on my phone, if that’d help.”

“I...know you...” He finally managed to say. “I do.”

“Um...yeah, if you are who I think you are, I knew you, too,” the man said, shifting his weight where he stood. “Well…‘knew’ is the operative word here, ‘cause...aren’t you...you’re supposed to be...” He seemed hesitant to say it.

Suddenly, something clicked into place. He sat up straight, only to lean heavily against the back of the sofa. “Malcolm,” he said. “That’s your name, I know it. It sounds like...my name? No, not my name. The other name?” He blinked slowly. “It’s definitely not my name.”

“No,” the man—Malcolm said slowly. “Your name—if you’re actually who I’m seeing right now, your name is Jackie.”

Another click as a piece fitted neatly into the bigger picture. “Yeah...yeah, that’s me.” Jackie nodded, slowly at first, then faster. “Yeah, I’m exactly who you’re seeing right now.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah.” Malcolm nodded as well. “On one hand, that’s good, ‘cause it means I’m not seeing things. On the other hand...okay, no more beating around it, how the fuck are you alive?!”

“Ummmm...” Jackie shook his head. “I don’t...know. Did I die?”

“I mean, as far as everyone knew, yeah!” Malcolm stepped back, running his hands through his hair. “God, I went to your funeral. We fucking cremated you—”

“Oh, I did want that, didn’t I?” Jackie said idly, vaguely remembering a conversation that he had with someone about things like that.

“—I mean, was that not you?” Malcolm continued. “Was this some plot? I fucking—oh yeah, and then they investigated the scene and found that vigilante suit, what the fuck about that? Did anyone else know about that, or did you just not tell me?”

“Oh. Oh, you do the, um...” Jackie snapped his fingers a couple of times, scrambling to find the right piece of memory. “You do the police things. You’re a cop.”

“Oh no, I am a detective, you know that,” Malcolm emphasized. “There’s a difference.”

“Anyway, I don’t...think anyone else knew about that...?” Jackie said slowly. “No, the other one did. The other, the other...we lived together, he had to know, but I’m pretty sure he told the, uh...the doctor one, the nightmare one.”

Malcolm stared at him. He slowly walked over to the spotted armchair, sitting down heavily and leaning forward. “...Jackie,” he said. “So it is you. But you’re...you seem confused. Is everything alright?”

Jackie considered this. “I think so,” he said.

“Really? ‘Cause you seem to be having, um.” Malcolm pursed his lips. “Some memory problems. And the last time I saw you, you were dead, with no obvious cause of death but very clearly dead, and it looked like you kind of...well, killed your roommate. Whose name you also seem to have forgotten. You do know this isn’t normal, right?”

“Yeah.” Jackie laid down again, staring up at the ceiling. “I...something happened. How...how long ago was this thing you’re talking about?”

“Um, about two and a half years, now,” Malcolm said. “The department could never figure it out, though.” Jackie gave him a look, and he continued. “Y’know, it looked like some occult shit, there was a circle on the ground with candles, and both of you were dead, and you were holding a knife.”

“I remember that,” Jackie said, pressing a hand to his head. “It was...I-I still can’t remember the name, the other one, he—he tricked me, I lost my temper, I—something happened. I wanted to stop it...I think. I was the one with the knife? Then I must’ve been the one who wanted to stop it, I know it was one of us. Which means I’m the one that—well, I mean, I remember not meaning to, the other one, he moved at the wrong moment. I-I...I need to...fuck.”

Malcolm suddenly stifled a laugh. “You need to fuck?”

“What? No!” Jackie looked over at him. “I’m not the one who feels—no, wait, I am. I think. What’s the one with the, um...the pink, yellow, and blue? That one’s me, the other one’s the purple and black and white one, I don’t remember what they mean, though...”

“Um...okay, sorry I brought that up.” Malcolm glanced over at the room’s entrance. “God, Benjamin might come down to ask what’s going on.”

“That’s your...roommate,” Jackie said slowly. “Right?”

“Right.” Malcolm paused. “So...it’s clear that you don’t have any idea what happened. Or if you do, you’re not in a state to puzzle it out. So do you need anything? Do you have a place to stay for the night?”

“Oh. I thought I would stay here.” Jackie nodded. “Yeah, I...I remember it seemed like a good place to stay.”

“Really?” Malcolm asked. “I mean, I’m flattered, but...I mean, we’re not that...Can’t you stay with your Jack friend? Or the other ones, what is it, Henry and Chase—”

“Chase.” Jackie suddenly lurched, clutching his wrist. The force of the movement caused him to fall off the couch onto the floor. Malcolm cried out, and rushed over, but Jackie didn’t acknowledge him. “Chase, Chase, the hat one, Chase. We need him. He should be with us. Chase, Chase, puppet. Our pup̕pe͞t̶.”

Malcolm was taken aback for a moment, but he quickly moved on. “Okay, I’m sure we can call him or something in the morning. I don’t know his number, but you probably do, if you can remember it. Are you okay with me touching you, right now?” He waited for a response, but Jackie just kept mumbling, so he slowly reached out. When Jackie didn’t react, he helped him into a sitting position. “Okay. Jackie, how do you feel? Can you tell me?” No response. “Alright. That’s alright, if you can’t talk. Can you give me anything? Nodding? Can you blink twice if you can hear me? No? Alright, that’s fine, Jackie. I’m going to help you onto the couch, okay? There we go. I’m going to be right here, okay?”

Jackie still didn’t react at all, continuing to talk to himself, like he expected someone else to answer. Someone else who, up until recently, had always been there. But was now gone. Or was he the one who was gone? Had they separated, or had he split in half? Either way, he felt the absence keenly. Part of him was missing. Or he was the missing part. Or both. The pieces wouldn’t settle.

— — — — — — —

On the other side of the city, while Jackie and Malcolm were having their exchange, something very similar was going on with two others. It was happening inside a small shop that looked like a defunct clothing store, but once inside, turned out to be much more than that. The interior was cluttered with tables and shelves, piled high with books and knickknacks. Behind the shop’s counter, there were two open doors, one of which was ajar and revealing a small bathroom. And looking through the open door, you could see a man and a woman. The man was leaning over the sink, coughing, while the woman rubbed circles on his back.

“There, there...” The woman said awkwardly. She was dressed in a holographic vest and a skater skirt, her hair dyed blue and purple, and she also looked very confused and unsure. “Just...yeah.”

The man coughed again, and a spatter of red flew from his mouth, joining the pool gathering in the bottom of the ceramic sink. “Nnn...” he said.

“Jesus christ,” the woman muttered. “What happened to you? Besides, um, dying.”

“I died?” The man asked vaguely. He coughed again, staining his lips and teeth crimson.

“I mean, yeah. We buried you. Under that tree like you said.”

“Good...” The man mumbled. “That’s...” He didn’t continue, slumping against the sink.

“Whoa, hang on, there,” the woman said, catching him before his head smacked against the faucet.

“Don’ touch me...” The man waved her away, taking a few steps before falling against the counter.

“Jesus.” The woman crouched by him. “Look, what happened?”

“I...don’t...” He shook his head.

The woman paused. “Do you know who I am?”

It took him a moment to answer. “...Eve, right? No. No, that’s...that’s only part of it. It’s like...spelled weird.”

“Starts with a Y,” she prompted.

After another moment, he suddenly straightened. “Yvonne. That’s...that’s you.”

“Yeah.” Yvonne smiled. “Do you know who you are?”

There was no answer this time. Unless you counted the tears that suddenly sprung to his eyes.

“Okay, it’s fine, you don’t need to answer right now.” Yvonne paused. “I’m guessing you don’t know what happened to you, then, so I guess it’s no use asking.”

“You said I died,” he said. “I...I remember that. The other one, he...he wanted to kill me. He did. It...it hurt.” He reached up to his neck. There was a slight red cut across this throat, no blood leaking out.

“It must’ve,” Yvonne said sympathetically. “I...well, if that happened for sure, I...” She hesitated, then blurted out the rest. “I can only conclude necromancy, but you’re too solid to be a spirit, and after two years, you’re too...there would’ve been some sign of decay, if you were brought back the other way.”

“Haha, my good looks.” He smiled a bit, the effect ruined by the blood on his teeth.

“Yeah, um, right.” Yvonne glanced towards the bathroom door. “Look, are you good now? I mean, there’s probably a whole trail from you throwing up blood all the way in here that I need to take care of. And as for you, uh...probably not a good idea to be in the bathroom if you’re gonna pass out or something.”

“Hmm...” He stood up, then started to list to the side. Yvonne caught him before he fell.

“Something’s wrong with you,” she muttered. “I mean, beyond the obvious. You feel...different.” She blinked, her eyes turning sky blue. Wisps of blue light, tinged with yellow at the ends, floated away from her fingers. “Révél e mai tamystiká oue animai,” she muttered.

“That’s a spell,” the man mumbled. “Anim, anim...root of something. Animal? Soul. Soul spell.”

“Yeah, that’s my specialty,” Yvonne said absentmindedly. “Yours, too. God, you must’ve been real...messed...up...” She trailed off. “Marvin...your soul is...” She could only gape. There were no words for what she was sensing.

“Mar—oh, that’s me! Me!” Marvin laughed, trying to step forward but quickly losing his balance, making Yvonne catch him. He didn’t notice; he was still laughing. “Me, me, me, just one, no actually, I think two, we think two, like there are two halves, but where’s the other one? Oh, oh. Where’s the difference? We need the other one, where is he, where is me?” A few more scattered laughs fell from his mouth.

“Shit, Marv.” Yvonne shook her head. “You need—” Suddenly, she stiffened, and her head whipped back towards the bathroom door. “Someone came in.” She shifted her position to see who it was, and her eyes widened. “Shit! Marvin, stay here, stay quiet.” She slowly set him down on the bathroom floor, still giggling to himself. Then quickly, she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Marvin leaned his head against the closed door. “Me, me, we, me, we,” he whispered to himself, a few odd tears slipping from his eyes. Was there a difference between those words? He thought there might’ve been, once. But now they’ve blurred together. They meant the same thing, didn’t they? He wasn’t sure he liked that. Where did he stop? Where did the other begin? Or were they interchangeable? He definitely didn’t like how he didn’t know the answer to any of these questions.

There were voices coming from the other side of the door. He recognized Yvonne: “Ah, Mae, it’s a bit late for a raid, isn’t it? I tell you, this business has come clean.”

“We’d be fools to believe you at face value, Bell,” said another voice, one of an older woman. “But this isn’t us coming in to check on the legality of your wares.”

“Oh?” Yvonne sounded amused and confused.

“The Magi has done some poking around,” said the voice of Mae. “Set off by something I witnessed myself. Someone teleported directly into our library, disregarding all our shielding. This started an investigation, and after some searching, we have detected an oddly high amount of soul magic in this city.”

“Oh. Well, that’s...weird,” Yvonne said. “This someone must’ve been pretty powerful, to teleport directly there.”

“That’s besides the point,” Mae dismissed. “The soul magic is why we’re here. You are the only soul-based magician currently in the city.”

“Really?” Yvonne said, feigning intrigue. “I could’ve sworn there was another. I think he was some kind of stage magician?”

“Marvin Moore has been dead for over two years, leaving only you behind,” Mae said firmly. “And you have a record of disregarding ABIM laws.”

“I did, but I’ve turned over a new leaf,” Yvonne said. Her voice suddenly became serious. “I...learned about the results of my actions the hard way.”

“Nevertheless, this is a preliminary inspection,” Mae said. “We’re searching your shop, your storage, and your living area.”

“By all means, feel free.” Footsteps. “But if you’ll excuse me, I was just about to use the bathroom, so please.”

“Very well.” More footsteps, heading away.

Yvonne opened the door, slipping inside the bathroom again, keeping it closed enough to block Marvin from view of the other magicians now searching her shop. “Alright, that’s that,” she said under her breath. “Marvin, what the fuck have you been doing?”

“What have we been doing?” Marvin repeated idly. “Hmm...I can’t quite...it’s all jumbled.” He sighed, and closed his eyes.

“Marvin? Marvin are you—don’t you dare pass out on me! Not while there are ABIM agents in my shop! I need you to—Marvin!”

He felt her trying to shake him, but didn’t respond, already drifting. There was something missing. He felt it keenly. Or maybe he was the something that was missing. He couldn’t tell. The pieces wouldn’t settle.

— — — — — — —

There was a place in the city where all the electric lines met. It was walled off with a high fence, barbed wire at the top, to make sure that no one would sneak in and get hurt. But the fence couldn’t stop the thing slithering across the ground, green and glowing like a radioactive snake. The thing was small enough to squeeze right through the links in the fence, though on the other side, it fell apart. It wasn’t one long, solid unit like it had initially appeared, rather a bunch of small green strings, their ends cut, all moving in unison.

The strings crawled across the gravel of the walled-off space. Here, the power lines gathered and buzzed, held high off the ground. Boxes were attached to poles, with yellow warning signs and instructions plastered on them. The strings gathered around one of these poles, snaking up and spiraling around it, heading towards the attached box.

Here, the various pieces broke apart, wiggling into the seam of the box and managing to pry it open. Once inside, they reacted with the fuses. Green electric sparks flew from the box, and soon it lit up, white-hot electricity flying outward, frying the circuits inside.

The strings fell to the ground, unharmed. And they headed to another one, repeating the same process. And once that was done, they headed to another. And another.

And once everything inside the walled area was broken and smoking, the strings headed out to another, similar part of the power grid.

Hours later, morning dawned over a city without any power at all.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #chase brody #jameson jackson #dr schneeplestein #jackieboy man #marvin the magnificent #antisepticeye #stitchedstories #the stitched septics #brigid writes fanfiction

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asterythm · 4 years

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some thoughts on virgil’s name, post-SVS2.

(+ bonus orange side ponderations, because of course the sides that i’m thinking the hardest about right now are the ones who didn’t appear even a single time in the entire video.)

okay anyway when i'm in a place where i've got my thoughts sorted and can be coherent i might organize this a little better, but for now can i just -- hgnmg. can i just.

i think i saw a theory post a while ago about virgil having had a different name before he joined the Core Four? and at the time i didn't really give it much thought, but i mean... now we have jan-us and rem-us, right? and suddenly so much room has opened up for theorizing.

now as much as i'd looooove to spend hours upon hours deconstructing the symbolism and history of every single -us name that's ever been created, i do also have pages upon pages of homework that i pushed aside to watch this video (hey, i'm just taking leisure time) so i'm just going to very briefly touch on a quick little idea, if you'll bear with me here.

lazarus.

this name means “God is my helper”, but that’s neither here nor there -- the thing that made this one really stick out to me is its Biblical history.

as we know, thomas is a devoted Catholic, and in the Bible, i can think of at least two highly notable instances of Lazaruses (plural):

the first is a famous miracle involving Lazarus of Bethany being brought back to life after four days of death, and

the second is the parable of Lazarus and the rich man, in which the poor man Lazarus sat outside a temple and begged for charity from the rich man until the day he died. upon death, Lazarus was raised up to sit in the lap of God, whereas the rich man’s own pride and greed created a sort of self-formed hell where he continued to try to order around Lazarus, ignorant of his own sorry state.

in both these instances, we get a story of overcoming “darkness” to reach a place of light and life -- in the case of Lazarus of Bethany, it’s literally coming to life. i dunno, i just feel like it’s a very, very nice parallel to virgil’s character arc.

i was also originally going to propose “odysseus” for another character name but then i started actually thinking and uh. if i may be so bold, i think i might have galaxy brained regarding the orange side. i’ll slide that under the cut though.

in the meantime, before i dive too deep into the Orange Zone, just a quick disclaimer: i don’t honestly have any emotional attachment to this theory whatsoever. odds are, i’m thinking way, way, way too deep, because that’s just what we do in this fandom. but even if somehow it turns out to be true that virgil’s name was once Not Virgil, i don’t think that i’m ever going to start calling him anything else. virgil is virgil is virgil -- that’s the name that he chose for himself, that’s the name he identifies with, and that’s sure as heck what i have come to know and love him by. this is all just speculation!!

aight, you hit read more, which means you’re ready to be taken to the orange zone. let’s get crackin’. while i was on the hunt for -us names for our resident raccoon man, i stumbled across the name odysseus.

i have a lot of thoughts and not enough time to write ‘em all, so let me just lightning-round this stuff here:

the dark sides so far seem to be following a pattern of “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil”, what with remus muffling all sound before his appearance and literally tearing his ears off + janus forcibly covering the mouths of the other sides to prevent them from talking about his existence.

i’ve been thinking for a while, then, that the orange side will probably have something to do with eyesight -- i talked more about that here. the name odysseus would be in keeping with this, considering that one of the most famous stories from the odyssey involves the blinding of a cyclops.

i think that we’ve already seen the orange side, just not... physically. i think he’s been here all along, and he’s been in effect “corrupting” the other sides, in instances like logan getting mad and throwing the ball of paper in LNTAO (and hitting roman in the eye) and basically the entirety of WDWGOOBITM.

oh yeah, also, “odysseus” literally translates to “wrathful”. wrath has been a really popular headcanon for the orange side for a while. just sayin’.

i could swear i had more thoughts but my head is so so scrambled right now and i desperately need to go finish my homework, so actually, that’s all i got. i would absolutely love to hear your thoughts, though?

general tag list: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide @unring-this-bell @flix-net @pheonix-inside @thelowlysatsuma @residentanchor @sanderstalker @kazykazu @theres-no-winning-on-christmas

#ts virgil #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides theory #orange side #ts janus #ts remus #long post #spec speaks #ts spoilers #sanders sides spoilers #last post for tonight fellas and thats a promise

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

Photo

two years too late, chapter s e v e n

wc: 6.5k

Your mother had raised a woman of class. Which is why, even though you didn’t really want to, you climbed into the leather backseat that night, greeting Roger with a smile. You had work, it was late. Too soon for a sleepover, you thought. You weren’t going to give it up that easy. That didn’t stop the butterflies in your stomach when he kissed you goodbye, his hand on your face as if pulling away would lead to catastrophe.

The string of green lights above the dark streets of New York seemed to smile down at you, the cold air coming in from the cracked window next to Roger fluttered up your spine. The radio played songs just for you, a text lit up your screen when the car slowed to a stop outside your building.

Harry S (11:21pm): Might sound weird. Going to say it anyway.

Harry S (11:21pm): I can’t wait to kiss you again.

So maybe that’s why you couldn’t sleep--the desire to kiss him over and over again that had been lying dormant inside for years was suddenly at the surface, and better yet, it wasn’t a fantasy. This wasn’t a day dream in lecture or a fleeting thought when you scrolled past a picture of him on instagram, wondering where he was and how often he thought of you.

Sleep didn’t come until 2am--after tossing and turning and questioning what type of stars had aligned to make this reality. The ceiling seemed to float higher, a constant energy buzzing inside of you until finally, a yawn. Then another, then, suddenly, morning.

The New York winter seemed less angry, less bitter. The subway was on time and your coffee was hot. Carly was happy to see you, eager to hear all about your holiday at home over lunch, the anger somehow softened. Staff meeting was quick and everyone seemed cheerful. Wednesday bled into Thursday, Thursday into Friday.

You were feeling generous, still floating from three nights earlier, when Carly asked to have dinner.

“Tonight?” You clarified, pen between your teeth as you proofread your own story. You didn’t have any plans this evening, if anything, you had laundry to do and you knew Alyssa would want to order out. Fridays were meant for staying in.

“Mhm,” she nodded. “We could just go somewhere near you. Been a while since we’ve hung out outside of these four walls,” she motioned around the common space with the plush red couches and vending machines that offered an afternoon pick me up.

Your computer whirred on your lap, powering through the hours you’d spent on this story. Best Youtube Sensations and Why. A smirk crossed over your face when you looked up to find her staring.

“You want me to invite him?”

“I mean,” a quick shrug of her shoulders, a wave of her hand as if to dismiss your silly thought. “I wasn’t implying that--but I certainly wouldn’t be mad.”

You let out a small laugh, adjusting on the couch and brushing hair behind your ear. Light filtered in through the windows, a busy New York afternoon on the streets below. “I’ll text him and see what he’s doing, but, I dunno, he might be busy.”

“Uh, speaking of,” she said suddenly, her eyes on her phone before she twisted it around to show you. A picture, Harry walking behind Denise to the gate, half of your forehead and eyebrow, a hat on your head was the only saving grace.

“Someone just tagged you in this.”

You leaned forward, hands reaching for the phone in desperation. “What?! Me? What do you mean?”

“It’s a tweet,” she pressed something on the screen to make the picture smaller, showing you that it had been attached to 280 characters.

You grabbed it out of her hands and held the screen close enough to your face to burn your retinas. “Bloody fuck,” you said, pushing the phone back at her before you shut your laptop. You let your face fall into your hands, a groan escaping your lips.

Fine, Carly knew. It didn’t seem miserable so far. She wasn’t as annoying about it as you’d expected. You could butter Carly up and let her meet the love of her life--that had to hold some sort of weight in terms of whether or not she’d tattle. But everyone else--and Whitney, for that matter--that was another story.

How would it look if one of The Scoop’s employees was snogging Harry Styles at night while another was writing stories about him in the morning?

“I mean--you can’t really tell if it’s you or not.”

“Right but that’s like the last one and if this keeps happening--”

“The last one?” she shut her own laptop and leaned forward.

“That one that you said was a random model--that concert,” you waved a hand to jog her memory, motioning towards the kitchen where she’d brought it up, bringing all above board. “Not a model, but thanks.”

“That was you?!”

“Shhh--jesus, you can’t just be loud about it!”

“Sorry,” she whispered back, her face just as excited as before. “That was you?! Why did he have his arms around you?!”

“He was just telling me something,” you said, partially true, a shrug to really sell it. Carly knowing that you grew up down the street was one thing, her knowing that the nature of the relationship had shifted was a whole other arena you didn’t want to get into.

“Oh my god,” she said, her smile plastered on her cheeks as she let out a big breath. “I totally want to meet him.”

“I know,” you said, words quick and laced with obligation. “Not the main issue right now,” you reminded, pointing back at her cellphone.

“Right--sorry,” she said, opening it again to pull up the tweet. “Only a few retweets and likes.”

“What do I do?” You asked, moving closer to stare at it again. “How could anyone tell that that’s me?”

“There’s probably other photos, more of your face or something.”

“Fuck.”

“S’fine,” she shrugged, her voice pleading with you to calm down. “Laugh it off. Claim you have a lookalike who apparently lives the life of the rich and famous.”

“And what happens when no one believes that and realizes it’s actually me?!”

She went quiet at that, her eyes scanning the room before falling back on yours. “Dunno. We just have to make sure Whitney doesn’t see it--not that she’s ever on twitter.”

“She’d kill me.”

“She wouldn’t kill you,” she corrected. “She’d have questions. And she’d want answers.”

“I can’t fucking lose my job, Carly. I’m gonna have to not hang out with him.”

“No!” She said, her own emotions getting the best of her before she cleared her throat, fingers running through her blonde hair to gain composure. “I just--don’t think you should suffer that. Reply really casually to it and if Whitney brings it up tell her that you bumped into him. Total coincidence.”

You thought on it for a second--deciding it was more believable than the lookalike theory or even some type of evil twin narrative. You and Harry heading for the same gate, plausible. He lived in London. You flew out of Heathrow.

It wasn’t totally crazy.

“That’s not bad.”

“He recognized you from your articles,” Carly shrugged, the creative wheels turning in her head. “That’d make you look really good, actually.”

You reached for your phone, pulling up twitter to assess the damage. Carly was right. Minimal interaction--the person was just a fan of your writing, you guessed. You typed out an easy response and pressed send.

So maybe you were getting into dangerous territory, one where business and pleasure mixed like oil and water. But Carly’s support felt genuine, like now she was a safe haven at work--her words reassuring and calming. She bounced as you walked, excited for the possibility that--if he was free--Harry might make a guest appearance in your living room to grace her with his presence. Her words, not yours.

She promised to be cool, to swallow the smile that was glued to her lips and to count to three before she responded to anything he said. Alyssa, who’s patience quickly diminished after the sun went down, was less than thrilled about company, let alone someone who might make high pitched noises and cry tears of joy.

Harry was briefed on your commute home, casually accepting the invitation for pizza and beer. He laughed at first, seemingly pleased that you’d let Carly in on it. Can I bring up the article she wrote about my hair cut? The one with all the gif reactions?

The buzzer of your apartment sounded, Carly’s breath hitched in her throat and Alyssa let out a laugh. Out of everyone, she had the least at stake. Her feet were up on the coffee table, eyes on the Knicks game to prove it.

“He’s a human,” you said to Carly over your shoulder, she smoothed her blouse and bit her lip.

“Human,” she repeated the word as if that’d make it more true, her head nodding as you walked over to the door. His footsteps were on the other side.

When you opened it, he smiled. A black wool coat hung over his shoulders, more stubble on his chin than the last time you saw him.

“Hi,” he leaned in, as if his lips were about to press into yours. A hand to his chest, a diversion, you offered your cheek instead.

He raised his eyebrows momentarily, realizing his slip was a risky one. “Hi,” he leaned around you, offering a smile in Carly’s direction. She stood behind you, trying her best to mask the excitement in her eyes. It didn’t matter, you’d already warned him.

“Hi,” she smiled. “I’m, uh, it’s nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

“Thank you, heard a lot about you--nice to meet you, too,” he shook her hand, shrugging out of his coat while Alyssa bit into pizza, eyes still glued to the game.

“Beer’s in the fridge,” she spoke between chews, her greeting much more casual than it was the first time they’d met.

“M’starving,” he said, heading over to the kitchen after hung his coat on the hook behind the door. He rubbed his hands together as he peered into the two boxes, surveying his options.

Carly was still frozen in place, her eyes big and round when you stepped past her. You settled onto the couch, reconciling with the pizza you’d left on a plate. “Good?”

“Good,” she nodded, her voice quiet enough so he wouldn’t hear. “Wild. Unbelievable, really.”

“It’ll wear off,” Alyssa laughed playfully, referencing her own excitement the first few nights. “Has terrible manners, really.”

“Me?” Harry came back around the corner, his brows furrowed together when he bit into the slice in his hand. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah--at least now you let us know when you’re coming over.”

You shot Alyssa a look, one that begged her to change the subject. The goal of the night was to let Carly have her moment, not spill all the details of your relationship with Harry.

“Hey,” he whined, “just want to spend time with my friends.”

Alyssa laughed and rolled her eyes, pulling her legs back onto the couch. It wasn’t long before Harry’s attention shifted to that of the game, his eyes following the ball on the screen, muttering back and forth to Alyssa whenever a basket was made.

Carly seemed more than fine with just watching him watch the telly you kept the conversation light and focused on neutral topics. The holidays, the weather, upcoming concerts at the Garden. Harry made nice and told her he loved his time in the band as much as he said he did in interviews.

Carly asked a few questions about your relationship with Harry--how old were you when you met? Did you ever get to go to One Direction concerts?

Harry handled it in stride, answering her questions with ease instead of dodging them like you’d somewhat expected. Instead, he admitted that he lost touch, only thinking to reach out six weeks earlier.

“I, uh, spoke with our friend Jake--I knew Y/N was here but he reminded me, and I hadn’t seen her in a while, so, figured I’d call.”

You tilted your head to the side, he made brief eye contact with you before looking over to Carly. “You spoke with Jake?” It wasn’t a shock, especially seeing as that cover had already been blown.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, a sip of the beer in his hand. “Caught up with him and mentioned the gang. Figured it’d be nice to see you.”

You let the words settle, Alyssa cheering suddenly when the Knicks stole possession of the ball.

“Yes!” She screamed, arms in the air, beer pointing towards the sky. “Did you see that?” Her words were aimed at Harry.

He laughed, turning back to you and Carly. “It’s definitely been nice to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you rolled your eyes, hoping he’d get the hint: no flirting in front of Carly.

The night went on like that, casual conversation interrupted by Alyssa’s sports excitement.

All of it was easier than you thought, largely because Carly was calmer than you’d anticipated. You’d been prepared for her to barely be able to mumble out words, but she was doing fine enough with full sentences and proper grammar. A success for all.

You’d wondered, when Carly first showed up, if she’d need to be kicked out of your apartment, feet dragging on the wood floor when you’d inevitably tell her you were going to sleep. You hated when people overstayed their welcome, and this felt like a situation where goodbyes would be reluctant and bittersweet.

Luckily, Carly did her fair share of yawning before 10pm, letting you know she’d take the subway a few stops back to her apartment in Chelsea. She hugged Harry and wiggled her eyebrows at you over his shoulder. A sigh escaping your lips when she was out the door.

“Good?” Harry asked, his eyebrows raised while Alyssa headed into the bathroom to get ready for bed. “Was I friendly enough?”

He walked over to you, resting his arms around your shoulders, your hands wrapping around his torso. “Yes, you were fine,” you laughed. “She was better than I thought.”

“Me too,” he nodded. “Was prepared for fainting or something.”

Alyssa appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she spoke around the toothbrush in her mouth. “The novelty wears off quickly.”

Harry pulled back from you, narrowing his eyes at her. “Pretty sure you cleaned the entire apartment before I came over that one time.”

“Pretty sure you’re...an idiot,” Alyssa shot back, her laugh floating up towards the ceiling.

Harry pulled you closer, your head against his chest, his chin resting on your hair. “I’ll take it,” he shrugged.

He pressed his lips to the top of your head, sending a wave of heat down your spine. Alyssa rolled her eyes and left to spit into the sink, disappearing into her room while you and Harry moved over to the couch.

You thanked him for tolerating Carly, he promised it wasn’t too obnoxious. You put your feet on his lap like you had at his mum’s, but this time, he let a hand rest on your thigh.

You didn’t know what it was. Maybe the dim glow in the living room, maybe the muted telly that now moved on to a late night sitcom rerun. Maybe it was how he helped gather the empty beer bottles, tossing half eaten pieces of crust into the bin.

But when he lingered in the middle of the room, halfway between the door and you, he tilted his head.

Stay, you said. Your bed was big enough for two.

Getting him out of your house in the morning was something you hadn’t thought through. Neither was the smirk on Alyssa’s face when he stumbled into the bathroom, half asleep, her eyes watching you over the rim of her coffee.

“Relax, nothing happened,” you settled onto a chair beside her at the table, privacy granted by the closed bathroom door.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded again, reaching for a bite of the muffin on her plate.

She swatted at your hand. “You expect me to believe that?”

You laughed, turning to look at her. With sleepy eyes and a hesitant tone, you cracked. “No penile penetration.”

Her eyes went wide, the possibilities now swimming in her head. You were saved by the creaking of the door, Harry emerged in the same t-shirt he wore the night before, boxers, socks up to his calves.

“Good morning,” Alyssa offered, a challenging smirk in his direction as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Morning,” his voice was deep and hoarse. “Has the trial begun?” He shot a smirk back at her, poking fun at her curiosity.

“You’re the next to testify,” you informed with a smile, heading over to the Keurig to place a mug beneath the spout.

Alyssa laid off, though. She headed for the bathroom to shower and dress before dipping out the door to a spin class, claiming she had to be there early if she wanted a good bike. Harry lounged on the couch with a coffee in his hands, his eyes trailing you as you walked back and forth from the bathroom to your bedroom.

Eventually, after you’d traded pyjamas for jeans, the anxiety lodged in your throat and you sat on the couch beside him. “Can we talk?”

He looked up from his phone, eyebrows dipping together when he adjusted on the cushions. “S’never good.”

“No, I just,” you took a breath, unsure of where to start or where to go. The clock above the telly clicked, a horn beeped from the street below. “There was a photo of us at the airport.”

He pushed his lips out, waiting for you to say more.

“You can’t tell anyone you know me. You should unfollow me on instagram and twitter and--we just need to be careful. Carly showed me the picture and you can only sort of tell that it’s me, but if we keep hanging out--”

He cut you off, your rambling was too much for half past nine. “There will be more.”

“And there are more. If people start to suspect anything they’ll go digging and find photos that neither of us want anyone to see.”

He laughed at that, a small breath out through his nose, a smirk on his mouth. He sat up straight. “If you don’t want to do this, Smalls, then we don’t have to.”

His eyes trailed around the room, anywhere but you.

“No, s’not what I’m saying.”

“Well, what? You don’t want to tell our friends, you don’t want to be seen out with me--”

“It’s not you, Harry, it’s--”

“My name?” He cut you off, his eyes sad but knowing.

A shrug of your shoulders. You were quiet for a second, waiting to see if he would speak. When he didn’t, you stood from the couch. “I just want to focus on my career. I’m worried that this would get me fired.”

“I know,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Another sigh, this time, less annoyed and more understanding. When he looked over at you, he offered a slight smile, the green of his eyes more vibrant on a cloudy day. “This is always the worst part.”

“What do you mean?”

“Of dating,” he clarified, his head tilted to the side and he looked towards the window.

You felt your lip twitch into a smile, one that you tried to will away. Don’t get your hopes up, don’t be so naive. He didn’t think much of it, though, as he brushed right past it and kept talking.

“People are nosy and it’s a pain in the ass, but that doesn’t--I still want to hang out with you.”

You nodded, a mix of emotion in your gut as he stood from the couch. Excitement, nervousness, a web of thoughts that all seemed to lead right back to the same place: him.

“Me too,” you said, standing quickly to face him in the room. “I just--I want my job as well.”

He nodded, opening his arms to invite you into his chest. Two steps forward before you felt his skin on yours, his hips against yours, his lips on yours.

Alyssa knew you hated cooking. Which is why you were a great roommate, really. She would cook, you would clean. You also supplied the wine on nights like this: when she stood before the stove and you sat at the small table, watching her stir in different ingredients that you couldn’t even pronounce.

She had inundated you with questions upon her return to the apartment--her hair up in a bun from her workout class, still sweaty after brunch with a coworker. She lifted her legs to let you vacuum beneath them, asking what it was like to have his hands roaming under your shirt.

She was worse than Carly, in a way, less in love with him, but just as curious as enchanted, especially now that he wasn’t in the room. Alyssa was like that. She’d play it cool when he was around, but as soon as the door was shut and his car whizzed down the street, she’d poke and prod until she was blue in the face.

She stuck a spoon into the pan, moving around the chicken that was now flooded with tomato sauce. “I can’t believe you’re going to have sex with him,” she looked up at you, her eyes enthusiastic and eager. “This is like, unbelievable. I’m gonna have to tell my mom.”

“What?” You set your glass of wine down on the table. “Why? You do not have to tell her.”

“She loved What Makes You Beautiful,” she shrugged.

“Yeah, well, that was like ten years ago practically.”

“She’ll be thrilled!”

“It’s not even guaranteed, okay? Who knows how long this will last.”

“Why do you say it like that?” She set the spoon down, moving over to the counter to retrieve her own glass.

You let out a groan. “I just--it kind of feels too good to be true, you know? Why now? What made him text me that night and why does he suddenly give a shit about all of us again?”

Alyssa took a sip, she looked around the room and mulled over your question. “You’d have to ask him, if you want his answer. But don’t ruin the excitement for yourself, okay? He has feelings for you and you have feelings for him.”

“And his being famous really throws a wrench in that.”

“I know,” she sighed, setting her glass down before tending to the chicken once more. “Sounds like he was receptive today, though!”

“He was,” you shrugged. “He didn’t love it at first though. Which I get. His life is super public and me not being okay with that feels like a recipe for disaster.”

“You really think Whitney would be mad about it? I mean, I thought she was a cool boss,” she laughed.

You spread your arms out on the table, letting your forehead fall down to rest on the wood. “She is but she also has to abide by the ethics and all of the stuff about truthfulness and integrity.” Another groan.

“So should you just be truthful with her?”

“No!” you pulled your head up quickly to look at her before burying your face again. “It’s too late now, she’ll ask why I didn’t tell her from the start, but I was just trying to have a life outside of him.”

“What do you mean?”

Another groan, you looked up, your gaze met hers and she reached for her wine, eyes wide as she waited for you to explain. “I’ve always been the girl who was friends with him,” you rolled your eyes. “My uni friends and classmates all wanted to hang out with me because they figured maybe he’d come round at some point.”

She laughed a little, her hand danced over the stove to sprinkle more oregano.

“He didn’t, though,” you reminded, more annoyed now. “Too busy being famous and shit.”

“Okay, alright,” she tried to soothe you.

“So forgive me for just wanting to be Y/N,” you said. “No connection to him. Just making my own first impression and being my own human.”

“I get it,” she shrugged. “The question is: do you think Whitney would get it?”

“Forget Whitney,” you threw your hands up in the air and let out another noise of defeat. “If she asks about the photo I’ll just say that I bumped into him like Carly said and whatever. I haven’t even seen any other photos,” you reached for your phone.

You pulled up Twitter, immediately heading into your mentions to assess any further damage. Replies to your last tweet, likes, retweets. A few people asking when you’d be doing another Stupid Things list--a compilation of stupid trends or phrases or memes. Alyssa hummed over the stove.

You scrolled down on your feed, looking for something familiar to know you’d been caught up with the internet happenings, but then, your eyes trailed a familiar photo--one that had been leaked a long time ago.

You jumped as high as you could, as if space between you and the ground would make things less awkward. He’d shown up at your door, a knock as if it wasn’t out of place.

“How long are you in town for?”

He bounced next to you, you wondered if you were both too heavy for it now, limbs much longer than they were even two years ago before he left.

“Just a week,” he said, his breath unsteady as his arms flailed by his sides. His feet hit the trampoline once more, only a second before yours, both of you tumbling down to the black surface in your parent’s garden.

“Jesus,” he laughed, his legs tangled with yours, socks against the surface as you tried to brush the hair out of your face.

What was he doing here? Touring the world with his band didn’t keep him busy enough this summer? Why did he show up at your house, not Jake’s or Jessie’s? Did they even know he was home?

“Sorry,” he said now, pushing himself up on his elbows, the word felt more weighted than a simple apology for knocking you over.

You sighed, somehow heartbroken by the fact that after all this time, you still wanted to kiss him.

“Oh fuck me,” you said, Alyssa looked up from the stove and came to peer over your shoulder. “M’pretty sure my sister’s stupid friend Sophie took this picture.”

“When’s that from?”

“I don’t know, s’like 2012 or something.” You dropped your phone onto the wooden surface before you, as if holding it in your hand would make the photo harder to escape.

Alyssa reached for it and held it up to her face. “That’s you?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t really tell.” She handed it back.

“I know--no one knows it’s me, no one ever did except for my sister and that Sophie girl--and my friends, too, obviously.”

“So why is it popping up now?”

“Cause someone is doing exactly what I suspected!” Another gesture towards the sky in exasperation.

“Which is…”

“Connecting the dots and realizing that I know him! On twitter.”

“What did they say?”

You pulled the tweet up and showed it to her.

“They didn’t even mention you.”

“No, but, the airport one mentioned me and I’m thinking it’s not a far jump if people start to zoom in.”

“Okay, you’re getting paranoid,” Alyssa laughed, walking over to the wine to offer you a refill.

“Am I? People aren’t that stupid, Lyss. And if they see that he follows me or old photos of Bryn’s or something they’ll know.”

“You can still be a successful journalist and know Harry Styles.”

You sighed, wishing you could tattoo her words on the inside of your eyelids. “Only if I keep them very separate.”

“So keep them separate! S’not like you have to write about music much, right?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “You’re right. I’ll pretend I don’t know him when I’m at work and when I’m at home I’ll snog him until morning.”

Alyssa laughed, turning the burner down and offering a smile. “Sounds fun to me.”

When closing time came on Monday, the main thing on your mind was how crowded the subway would be and whether or not you could talk Alyssa into making chilli for dinner. You’d written five different lists and managed to avoid a conversation about Liam Payne in the kitchen. So when you checked your email for the last time before heading out, you were not, for any reason, expecting to be called into Whitney’s office at 4:58pm.

At first you thought the worst. She’d seen the photos, you’d be fired. Someone had sent them to her and demanded to know why an employee was getting cozy with a celebrity--what type of work ethic was that? You’d have to move home. Ask your parents for money. Anxieties ticked through your brain as you counted the thirty-five steps to her corner office.

Coats and scarves disguised your coworkers--some of whom offered smiles as you completed what you were sure was the walk of shame.

The sun had gone down outside, blinking lights from other offices greeted you through the windows when you knocked twice. “Hi, you wanted to see me?”

She looked up from her computer, a smile taking over her face when her eyes met yours. “Hi, yeah, come in,” she said, shutting her computer quickly and pushing back from her desk. “Sorry to catch you so last minute.”

“S’okay,” you replied, taking a seat in the Sahara coloured leather chair opposite her. You clasped your hands on your lap, her smile was too wide to be upset with you, you were sure of it. “Everything alright?”

“Great, yeah, actually I have good news.”

“Oh? Yeah, what is it?” You wiggled in your chair, an immediate wave of relief washing up when you realized you weren’t getting canned. If you were lucky, Alyssa would be in the mood for chilli and there’d be a new documentary to watch on Netflix.

“We got an amazing offer for someone to do an interview. A long form. Photoshoot. The like. I know you’ve been itching to do something more serious,” she smiled coyly. “So I was hoping you’d do it.”

“Oh god, wow, who is it?!”

“Harry Styles!” She let out a squeal, clapping her hands together as she leaned back in her chair once more. “How amazing, right? He can be so picky about press but I guess his team was looking for something not as mainstream, y’know, not GQ.”

Quiet for a second, you had to keep your eyes from going wide, your face from losing all colour. You imagined, if you could see yourself in this moment, you looked like a shell of yourself.

“You want me to interview him?”

She nodded, her lips pressed together in a firm line, obviously awaiting a burst of excitement to come from your lungs.

You shook your head unconsciously, “what about Carly? She loves him!”

Whitney sighed, her red fingernails tapped on her desk. “I know--she was my first thought obviously cause she’s covered him for so long, but, to be honest, I’m just kind of worried that she wouldn’t be able to be professional about it.”

You bit your tongue, a sudden rise of guilt in your chest. Two options, either led to disaster.

Interview Harry, solidify your career as a journalist and get to list yourself as one of the few people who’ve interviewed someone of his caliber. Run the risk of outing yourself as someone who actually knows someone of his caliber and all the while engaging in something extremely unethical.

Or, pass on the interview to preserve your morals and lose a chance to further your career, likely for a relationship that would fizzle out like your friendship previously had. You weren’t stupid. You couldn’t possibly believe that this would last or be long term.

“Why can’t Gabrielle do it?”

“Too busy--she’s got two big pieces this month that she’s tied up with. She’ll be out of town one of the days he’s available, too.”

You bit your lip, toying with the idea of just coming out with all of it now.

“I really took into consideration what you said before the holidays--I want to give you this story.” She smiled at you, a fondness in her eyes that felt both flattering and overwhelming all at once. “Besides, you’ve always been so nonchalant about celebrities, I think it’d be a good take on someone like him.”

Silence. Cleaning staff shuffled outside her door, picking up waste bins and vacuuming the office carpet. You let your eyes wander the room. A framed picture of her nieces sat beside her computer.

“Are you not interested?”

“I am,” you looked up at her quickly, hunting for the right words. “Just nervous, I guess.”

Not false.

“So you’ll do it?” she leaned forward on her desk, a second wave of guilt crashed over you.

Whitney, like the good boss she was, wanted you to grow as a journalist. She wanted you to be fulfilled by your work and she valued and appreciated your feedback. And now she offered you what would have been an amazing opportunity, had the interview subject not been someone you got drunk with only a few weeks ago.

A nod of your head. Words out of your mouth from a voice that didn’t sound familiar. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’ll do it.”

The air was cold when you climbed out of your Uber. Your computer was clutched beneath your arm and you were only slightly offended that the doorman of Harry’s building ignored your frantic pounding on the glass door to the lobby.

If you hadn’t known Harry for over a decade, you’d be more hesitant about showing up at his flat unannounced for the second time in two weeks. You’d tried to warn him, but the four text messages you’d sent were left unread. He finally answered the third phone and called down to the doorman to let you in, but you’d rehearsed your opening line the entire ride up.

“Okay, we have a big issue.”

“What’s wrong?” he came around the corner of the sofa, pulling a jumper over his head when you crossed your arms. You hadn’t the slightest clue what he’d been doing all day or why he hadn’t answered your messages, but you didn’t have time to greet him before launching into the problem at hand.

“Whitney wants me to interview you,” you said, unzipping your coat, your eyes locked on his as you waited for a reaction.

“What?” his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

You let your hands slap your sides, frustration boiling over. “She said your team agreed to do an interview with The Scoop and she wants me to do it.”

“Shit,” he said, his eyes drifting left.

“What do you mean shit?” Panic seemed to rise in your core.

“Well,” he spoke quickly, “Phoebe mentioned doing an interview the other day with a local website but I didn’t think it was yours.” He started to pace in the living room, hands in the front pocket of his jumper as he shook his head.

“Great,” you said, anger rising in your voice. “This is great.”

“Do you want me to cancel it? I’ll just cancel it.”

“No! You can’t cancel it. This is huge for my career.”

The words felt contradictory. You’d previously been hellbent on privacy, fearful any tie to Harry could ruin your status of employment. And while it might, now a part of you felt eager to cover him, boost your reputation as a good writer.

“Well you don’t sound too excited,” he rolled his eyes, stopping on top of the white carpet that laid above the polished wood floors. His feet were socked--dark circles under his eyes when he rubbed at his chin.

“Well I’m not!”

He paced again.

“I have to interview you because I told Whitney before Christmas that I wanted more long form work--you know, real news!”

“Well then what do you suppose you tell her?”

You let out a huff of air. “I don’t know.”

He was quiet for a moment, the hum of the telly in the other room seemed to drift down the hall from his bedroom.

“Can you do it and just not tell her we’re...friends?”

The word hurt more than you cared to admit, so you shrugged. “Dunno. I guess.”

More quiet. He let out a sigh before moving to sit on the couch. “If you think about it,” he looked up at you, his elbows resting on his knees, “that might explain the photos, right? Once you put the story out, people will assume that the airport photo was because of the story.”

“What about the concert one?”

“Can’t tell it’s you.”

You thought on it for a second. Whitney must not have seen it. She seemed to be busy enough with the upcoming award season and the start of a new podcast that she must have just missed the slight buzz of excitement.

No one else at work aside from Carly cared enough about Harry to pay attention to his hold over the internet. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea.

“It would take a few weeks, the story, that is,” you thought aloud. “A few sessions of interviewing, a week of writing, a week of editing. There’d be a photoshoot somewhere in there.”

He nodded, urging you to continue.

“So by the time the story is out if she sees any photos of us from the last month she won’t even know if they were recent. She’ll think it had something to do with that.”

Another nod. Hope in his eyes.

You closed yours and let your head fall back, stomping a foot on the ground in frustration. “This is ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Doing what?” He asked, his stare still on you when you opened your eyes again.

“Interviewing someone I’m...seeing.”

He cracked a smile at that, standing from the couch to come over to where you stood. “Oh come on, you used to ask me a ton of annoying questions when we were kids. It’ll be like old times.”

“Yeah, minus your tongue down my throat.”

“We can still do that when you interview me?” he wiggled his eyebrows and laughed, pulling you into his chest.

“If you behave,” you said. “Let me ask all sorts of questions and give me good answers. None of your vague and general bullshit.”

He let out a howl of a laugh at that, dropping his arms from around you altogether as he walked towards the kitchen. “Maybe I’ll only give you that. The worst interview I’ve ever given.”

“You’re neglecting to remember that I could write an entire story about the time you slipped down the stairs in Year 7 or when your trousers ripped at that dance when we were fourteen.”

He looked at you over his shoulder, his eyes pointed and playful. “You wouldn’t dare.”

A shrug. A smirk on your lips that could only be removed by his mouth on yours. “Maybe I would,” you threatened.

read the other parts here

AN: ohhhh shit. lmk what ya think!

tag list: @clorenafila @ainsleesolareclipse @castawaycths @harryspirate @wanderlustiing @ursamajor603 @thurhomish @omgsharry @stepping-into-the-light @rachkon @jdcharliewhiskey @sad-little-asshole @shawnsblue @gendryia @g0bl1nqueen @laula843 @flooome a-woman-without-a-plan @awomanindeniall @shaw-nm @staceystoleyourheart @ohprettylittlemind @anssu-amry @my-fandomful-life @stylesfantasy @bookingbee @mleestiles @haute-romance-quotidienne @craic-head-horan @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry @at-least-im-1 @paigemck00 @rawmeharry @pinkpolaroidgirl blackxxmagicc

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theshrubbery · 4 years

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Chapter 3 of my fic! Also feel free to send me any snowbaz requests you might have - i wanna start writing short drabble type fics on here :)

ps: when i copy and paste my fic here the italics don’t go through so just imagine whichever words you think should be emphasised haha

pps: search the tag cibcty on my tumblr to find the previous two chapters

SIMON

I know I’m gaping and I really should shut my mouth and play my part but Baz’s house really is incredible. It’s so… luxurious, grand, over-the-top, and at least twice as big as any care-home I’ve ever been in. I feel incredibly out of place. All of this is almost enough to distract me from Baz’s cold hand in mine. Baz always complains of the cold, he hates it whenever I leave our dorm window open overnight but I always do it anyways—just to piss him off. My fingers instinctively tighten around his for a moment, my heart lurches, Baz squeezes right back as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re late, Basilton.” A disembodied voice calls from around the corner as Baz takes my jacket from me and hangs it right next to his. I feel like I should take my shoes off too, but then I’d just look naff.

“It’s good to see you, too, father,” Baz replies. He smirks and cocks an eyebrow at me, as though he’s trying to communicate something to me. I don’t speak whatever fucking mental-brain-language Baz is trying to talk in though, so I force a bland smile and scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. Baz rolls his eyes at me.

“What?” I ask. Baz shakes his head.

“Come on. Time for you to play your part, for the love of God, Snow, don’t let him see through us.” Baz’s voice is low and only mildly threatening. I supress a shiver of… something. Probably rage, I dunno. Baz takes my hand in his again, anyways, snatches it up so abruptly that my natural instinct is to yank it back again. I don’t though, I instead give Baz one final scowl and then begin to school my features into something remotely boyfriend-like, should such a thing exist.

Baz’s father has a formidable air about him. I can clearly see Baz’s features in him and yet the two of them seem worlds apart. Malcolm Grimm regards me with instant dislike, his eyebrows raise and he looks down his nose at me. Baz doesn’t seem phased in the slightest and I have to remind myself not to bristle, not to get angry. It’s not a case of whether or not Malcolm likes me but rather of keeping Baz out of the shit.

“I have not a clue who I was expecting but, Basilton, it surely was not Simon Snow,” Malcolm says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. Baz leads me to the side of the long table, laden with food covered by silver lids, and pulls out a chair for me to sit. I do, and never has my ass sat in such a comfortable table chair as this one. Baz takes his time with answering his father, pulling out the chair that puts him in the middle of myself and his father, and sitting down. Baz crosses his legs neatly and props his arm up on the table, hooking his thumb beneath his chin and curling his forefinger loosely over his lips. Malcolm’s hands clench and unclench in the fabric of his jacket sleeves in response to Baz’s leisurely behaviour.

“I mean,” Baz begins at length, as though he is considering the weight of each word. “It makes sense, really. Don’t you think?”

“So your proclamations of hatred were, in fact, proclamations of love?” Malcolm looks uncomfortable with even the idea of it. My stomach churns at the idea of Baz talking about me to his father, though I can’t tell what I think of it. By this point I’m more than used to people talking about me, with the Headmaster being as prolific as he is it only makes sense that people would talk when I came along as his only scholarship student—and out of care no less. The more… prosperous, shall we say, families who attended or have children attending Watford were far less receptive of me than the Headmaster. Luckily, I don’t really give two shits what they think. Well, in theory anyways. Having Malcolm Grimm sitting metres away giving me the stink-eye is pretty anxiety-inducing. Baz laughs, short and sharp, it jolts me out of my thoughts.

“Of course, father, how else was I supposed to talk about my boyfriend with you? Had you known what he was from the start, you’d have never let me ramble on for so long about Snow.”

“And why did it only occur to you recently to inform me of this?”

“Ah, well,” Baz’s mouth curls into a half-smile and I can see his perfect teeth almost clenched together, giving away how tense he is beneath this façade. “I decided it was simply time to come out of the closet.” Malcolm waves a dismissive hand.

“Oh please, Basil, you’ve never been in the closet in the first place.” I can’t help but snort at that. I have never even considered the possibility that Baz could be gay, much less be as open about it as his father was insinuating. At my quickly smothered outburst, Malcolm seems to remember I’m actually there, listening to the conversation, and he looks over me briefly. Baz continues staring at his father, until he recovers eye contact with him. They stare heatedly at one another for a few long moments, and then Baz, making sure his father knows exactly what he’s doing, slowly inches his hand towards me and runs his palm down my thigh.

My body jolts in my seat at the contact, my heart jolts in my chest at how nice it feels. Suddenly I feel like I should be doing something in return, something that solidifies any doubts Malcolm might have about us as a couple, but my brain has all but short-circuited. Baz doesn’t seem put off by my lack of outward reaction, but Malcolm huffs and asks what can only be his servants to lift the lids on the food so that we can begin our meal.

BAZ

I’m touching up Simon Snow. Holy shit. Well, not actually ‘touching up’ but definitely touching. Stroking my hand down his thigh. It’s strange but Simon’s body simultaneously feels like home and like some unfamiliar thing. I’m so used to seeing Snow from a distance, spitting at each other from across the room, to have his thigh firm beneath my hand like this makes my gut feel like molten lava. It burns and really, I should pull away, but I can’t, not even when I realise just how much I’m taking advantage of this situation. It’s like his body is pulsating with magnetism, drawing me in, sucking me into his void and refusing to let go.

I eat my meal with one hand, half because I can’t let go, and half just to piss my father off. My father looks almost constipated at this, or that could, perhaps, just be at how wolfishly Snow is eating. It’s obvious that he’s never had one single fucking lesson on high dining. Snow holds his fork like a shovel, in a tight-fisted grip with his elbow thrust into the air as he scoops peas into his mouth. Rather than use a knife, he rips chicken off the fork with his teeth, eating as though he’s never been fed in his life, like he’s expecting someone to come along at any moment and take it all from him. He is so utterly consumed in his meal, if you’ll excuse the pun, that he seems to have all but forgotten my hand.

“Snow, will you eat properly?” I hiss, if only to restore some bantering normality. Snow turns to look at me, his mouth hanging open, all his half chewed food sitting on his tongue. It would make me want to gag if I didn’t already find him so attractive. Snow at least has the decency to look sheepish, glancing at my father and then back to me. He swallows and then pulls his lower lip through his teeth and readjusts his fork in his hand, beginning to eat again but far slower this time, as though that would excuse the paltry way he handled his cutlery.

“Basilton, I would have thought you’d have at least taught any partner of yours the most basic of table-manners?” Father says, dabbing at his face with a napkin and then placing it down, leaning one elbow on the table and grabbing the edge of it with his other hand, extending his arm straight. He is eyeing Snow down with contempt.

“Uh… Sorry,” Simon says, then added “sir” as a sort of afterthought. Father cleared his throat and turned back to me, as though expecting a reply. I shrugged.

“Table manners aren’t really something that takes the spotlight in our relationship,” I say offhandedly. Father drums his fingers on the table.

“You can do better.” And with that, Father stands from the table and excuses himself. “I will see you tomorrow, that will be all for this afternoon.”

“Yes, father,” I mutter beneath my breath, only just loud enough for him to hear. Simon taps the back of my hand, the one on his thigh, and I realise that I’m digging my hand into his leg. I let go and apologise. Snow runs his own hand down his thigh, as though soothing the skin or straightening his trousers.

“That went… well?” Snow tries. I can tell that he doesn’t really know what to say. I wouldn’t either, in his position. For a moment I can’t look at him, I feel like I’m trapped in some sort of nightmare or dream. Not for the first time, it doesn’t feel like this is my reality, sitting in my dining room with Simon Snow, eating a meal with my father together. I feel overwhelmed and frustrated with my father, with his callous reactions and refusal to accept me. Eventually, I turn to look at Snow, and am struck by the concern on his face.

“It went just about as well as I’d have expected,” I say evenly. Snow hums and busies his hands by pushing away his (completely) empty plate.

“So, uh.” Simon fidgets, restless. “What now?”

“I suppose I’ll give you a tour. Show you around the house so you don’t piss yourself looking for a bathroom.”

“Fuck off, I’d find it,” Snow huffs. I don’t think he’s really all that irritated though. It’s almost like he’s too much out of his element to remember that he’s supposed to be my mortal enemy—it’s almost as though he’s relying on me. Endearing as that is, it only makes me feel more and more like I’m taking advantage of him. I don’t know why in the Hell I ever thought this was a good idea.

“Sure you would, Snow,” I say anyways, riling him up. “But, you know, just to be sure.”

“Fine, fine,” Snow agrees. He pushes himself up from his seat and then watches as I follow. As I turn to lead him from the room, I want to grab his hand again, but without my father watching, I have no excuse. I ball my hands into fists and keep them close by my sides.

SIMON

I’m starting to think that Baz lives in some sort of hybrid National-Trust version of the TARDIS. His house looked massive from the outside, but inside it feels even bigger. But more than that is how fucking creepy some of the upstairs areas are. Downstairs a lot of the rooms are wood-panelled, but the floors are marble, upstairs everything seems to be made of pure wood. Everything looks as though it were pulled directly out of a period drama, everything in my rooms at my care homes looks as though it were pulled directly out of IKEA. Baz mentions that they can’t move the furniture around in some of their rooms, that people from trusts come to do articles on the manor from time-to-time, and for the life of me I can’t work out whether or not he’s joking.

Baz takes me round the house, pointing out the various bathrooms and his father’s rooms, telling me not to go in those under any circumstances, and then deposits me in front of an oak door at the end of a dingy corridor that looks like it’s haunted by at least three different ghosts.

“This is your room,” Baz says. I look at Baz, and then again at the door, and then again down the corridor.

“What?” I say dumbly, as though I haven’t heard him. Baz crosses his arms and leans his weight onto one leg, jutting his hip out.

“Your room. This is it. Go inside. Your bag has already been brought up and put in there by one of the maids.”

“I thought I’d be staying in your room.” Baz’s face flushes at my words, and I can’t work out why. We’d been sharing a room for the past seven years, and it’s not like we were really a couple. Besides, weren’t we meant to be making things more believable for his dad?

“Why in the name of all that is holy did you think that?” Baz asks me, and for a moment I feel embarrassed, then I remember that as far as I was concerned, I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

“Because we always share a room. And besides, isn’t that more believable?”

“More believa—Snow, you’re not sleeping in my bed with me,” Baz cries. It’s like I’ve asked the git to sleep with him, how stubbornly he’s insisting I sleep alone in the spare room. I glare at him.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stay in your fucking spare room, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” I tell him, irritated, as I push open the door. The bedroom is massive, that much I can tell just by the view the doorway gives me.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, be decent at seven and I’ll get you for breakfast,” Baz says as he pushes me with one hand into the room and leans in to pull the door closed behind me. I stand there, like an idiot, looking around the dimly lit room and decide to unpack.

There’s a strange noise coming from under the creaky bed.

The strange noise gets louder when I lay in the creaky bed. Something is rattling in the corner, behind the wardrobe. Something is tapping on the window-panes.

I last an hour before I’m standing outside Baz’s bedroom door, calling out to him uneasily in the dark of the hallway, figuring it’s better to take my chances with Baz than it is with whatever freaky shit-show is going on in that bedroom.

#snowbaz #simon snow #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz fic rec #snowbaz fic #baz grimm pitch #basilton pitch #tyrannus basilton pitch #carry on fanfiction #carry on fandom #wayward son fanfic #simon snow fanfiction #baz fanfic #fic rec #cibcty

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seanfalco · 4 years

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So I had a thought for another ValdoxReader, if you want. Your repeat-Reader is a minor noble. You know who else comes from nobility? Jask. So maybe he and the reader are old friends (or even formerly arranged betrothed?) and she and Valdo run into him on the road. A jealous snark off ensues and/or Something happens and our beautiful bards have to set aside their differences for the reader's sake?

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Valdo Marx x Reader / Former lover!Jaskier x Reader Word Count: 2.5 k Rating: T Tag List: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @nevadawolfe @magic-multicolored-miracle @wayward-dream a/n: Sorry I’ve been away for a bit, been overwhelmed with some stuff and working on some original fiction. :3 This takes place after ‘A Matter of Honor’ & I got a little carried away trying to push through this writer’s block, oops. I hope you enjoy it though. <3

Another day, another courtly party.

Upon arriving you were met with talk of another world renowned bard slated to perform that evening, much to your paramour’s chagrin and you wondered just who the mysterious performer might be.

Valdo’s sharp green eyes surreptitiously scanned each room you entered, no doubt searching for his competition, though he would never admit that he actually saw anyone as such, and you fought back a grin; squeezing his arm reassuringly. He turned to you and smiled, his expression softening, and that was when you saw him across the room, recognition flashing across your visage before you could stop it.

Valdo noticed instantly, his gaze seeking out what had caused your reaction, his warm smile twisting to a disdainful sneer.

“Ah, Jaskier,” he hissed. “So that is the other entertainment they invited. I would have thought the Noble host had better taste than that talentless wastrel who spends his time pandering to the masses.”

Arching an eyebrow at the venom dripping from Valdo’s words you glanced past him at the other bard -- the man you once knew as Julian.

“So… you know him, do you?” you asked.

“Unfortunately,” Valdo answered coolly, raising his chin to peer haughtily across the room at his rival. “From my days at Oxenfurt Academy,” he explained and you wondered how Jaskier hadn’t noticed the icy glare currently piercing his shoulder blades -- surely the hostility in your lover’s gaze would itch.

It was obvious Valdo despised Jaskier enough as it was, you could see no reason why you should disclose your own history with Julian Pankratz as well. For that would surely only fan the flames and that was not a fire you wanted to fight this evening. All you had to do was keep the two bards apart.

Simple enough, in theory.

Jaskier performed first, which seemed to mollify Valdo slightly. You heard him mutter something about him ‘getting the audience warmed up for him’ and you shook your head ruefully.

Careful to keep your expression neutral during Jaskier’s performance, you slipped your hand in Valdo’s, twining your fingers with his and pulling him off to the side for a few stolen kisses, hoping the distraction might help lighten his sour mood -- all the while wondering if omission of the truth was the same as a lie or not.

When it came time for Valdo to take the floor he brushed shoulders with Jaskier, his icy sneer a match for the other bard’s fierce glower.

Wonderful, you thought with a sigh; obviously Valdo’s disdain for Jaskier was mutual and all the more reason to keep the two apart.

Settling in to watch, your eyes followed Jaskier as he left the room and a small sigh of relief passed through your lips. Soon the large hall was filled with people dancing -- some gracefully and others rather drunkenly, for the host was far from stingy with the wine and you rose from your spot at the table to find more of said wine to refill your cup and possibly peruse the sumptuous spread of deserts.

Nearly being trampled by a spirited couple twirling across the floor, you stumbled backwards into a pair of waiting arms, catching you before you could fall. Your savior set you upright and you straightened your skirts as you distractedly thanked him, finally raising your face, your voice failing as you found yourself met by a pair of clear blue eyes you hadn’t looked into in years.

“Julian!” you exclaimed once your voice had returned and he flashed you a grin, the cheeky one you remembered all too well, which was usually accompanied by trouble.

“[Y/N], it really is you,” he replied, looking over you as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. “I caught sight of you earlier, but thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. How are you?” he asked. “You look… stunning.”

Smiling politely you waved away his compliment. “You look good yourself,” you replied, taking note of his thread of gold embroidered doublet, wondering who his tailor was and imagining Valdo in something similar.

“I’m well,” you continued, refocusing your attention on Jaskier, a genuine smile slipping through. “I’ve been traveling lately, seeing the world.”

“Oh?” he asked, surprise flitting across his boyish features. “On your own?”

“No, I have someone I’m traveling with,” you answered, somewhat enigmatically as you poured yourself a drink, your eyes searching for Valdo amidst the crowd. Luckily he was still preoccupied and hadn’t seemed to notice you speaking with his rival.

“Well, where is he? Or she? I’d love to meet the lucky person who’s managed to pull you out into the world.” Jaskier asked, glancing around as if expecting your beau to appear at your side any moment.

Choking on your wine only bought you a handful of seconds to think as you swallowed, a lame excuse springing to your lips. “Ah, he’s… around here somewhere. Perhaps I’ll introduce you later.”

Jaskier appeared a trifle disappointed, but he soon perked up again as he asked if you happened to catch any of his performance. As you caught up, you found it rather ironic that you’d nearly married a man who had run off to become a bard, only to end up in love with another bard. How different would your life have been, you wondered, if Julian hadn’t broken off your arranged betrothal to seek his adventure?

“Would you like to dance?”

“What?” Jaskier’s question pulled you out of your thoughts and you gaped at him, mouth moving soundlessly for a moment. “Oh, I dunno, uh, maybe later,” you floundered, certain that Valdo would see if you took the floor with Jaskier, even for one song.

“What, are you worried your lover will get jealous?” Jaskier asked with a laugh, flashing that rakish grin as he spread his hands.

Before you could answer, you felt an arm wrap around your waist and you jerked, glancing over to find Valdo at your side. “Jealous? Of you Pankratz? I think not.”

Jaskier’s surprised face might have been comical in any other situation but as he stared wide eyed and gaping between you and Valdo you chewed your lip.

“Am I missing something?” he asked incredulously. “[Y/N], this must be a joke, because you can’t seriously be with-with him. With Valdo Marx,” he nearly spat the name, while Valdo glared back, equally disgusted.

“I assure you, it is most certainly not a joke,” Valdo shot back, bristling. “The only joke I see here is you.”

Jaskier spluttered angrily as Valdo ignored him and turned back to you.

“[Y/N], please tell me you don’t truly know this poor excuse of a bard? ...Because it seems as if you two are already acquainted.”

“I, uh…” you hesitated, not quite meeting his eyes which flashed momentarily with betrayal. “Yes, Valdo,” you admitted, though quick to assure him it wasn’t what it looked like -- as if you were going behind his back. “I know Julian from a long time ago. We were friends as children, but I haven’t seen him for years. How was I to know that you two were… rivals?” you asked, a frustrated snap to your voice.

“Rivals? More like bitter enemies,” Jaskier grumbled under his breath, though you ignored it, keeping your eyes trained on Valdo’s.

“You… may have a point. I don’t recall ever mentioning him, nor my distaste for the drivel he peddles as music before tonight.”

“Hold on a moment,” Jaskier butted in, his eyes narrowing with mischief. “We were more than just friends, I’ll have you know. [Y/N] was my first kiss and we were very nearly married.”

“Julian!” you hissed warningly, no trace of amusement in your tone.

Valdo’s eyes hardened as his lips went taut; his arm around your waist tightening perceptively. “Not exactly something to boast of, Pankratz, as I’m assuming you were the one who broke it off, no doubt to chase your dreams of fame,” he sneered. “You are a greater fool than I thought, if you let [Y/N] go so easily.”

“Oh my Gods,” you groaned, completely fed up with the pair of them and their bickering. “You two are acting like children. Valdo,” you exclaimed, turning to the man at your side. “I have no feeling for Julian other than friendship, and Julian,” you said, next directing your attention to the other bard. “Stop antagonizing Valdo just to make him jealous! It is cruel and beneath you. I understand neither of you care much for each other and that’s fine, but in my presence at least all I ask is you be civil, like adults, for my sake.”

Giving both of them one last stern glare you slipped out of Valdo’s arm and stalked out of the hall, leaving them both quite speechless and thoroughly chastened. Without a word Valdo took off after you. Prideful as he oft was, he was loath to admit you had a point, though he knew it was true, and his pride was certainly not near as important as you were.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jaskier cried, scrambling to catch up to Valdo, falling into step with him with a frown. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find [Y/N] and apologize to her,” Valdo explained shortly, purposefully quickening his stride so Jaskier would have to as well if he wanted to keep up.

Jaskier’s frown deepened as he noticed, breathing beginning to labour as he worked to keep pace. “Well, I’m coming too!” he announced. “Don’t think I’m going to let you look like the mature one here,” he puffed, swinging his arms forcefully.

Valdo glanced over at him and scoffed. “Oh please, Pankratz, you will never be mature, no matter how much you age.”

“You take that back!” Jaskier gasped, blue eyes widening at the insult.

“I will not,” Valdo replied sharply.

“You--! You… rapscallion!” Jaskier cried, grasping for a suitable retort, thoroughly scandalized.

Valdo’s lip curled with amusement as he continued to look for [Y/N].

Up ahead a commotion shook the small gathered crowd, pulling Jaskier and Valdo up short. Glancing at each other curiously they proceeded to push to the front.

“What’s going on?” Jaskier asked at the same time Valdo demanded, “What’s happened?”

“Oh! Valdo Marx…” The chief servant withered visibly when he turned to see who had arrived. “I’m afraid there’s been a-an accident.” The man blanched further under Valdo’s level gaze and Jaskier hovered next to him anxiously.

“What do you mean? What sort of accident?”

“A d-disgruntled member of the kitchen staff came out wielding a large knife, raving mad and-and abducted one of the guests.”

“Which guest?” Jaskier exclaimed sharply, though he and Valdo could already guess.

“Why… the young lady that accompanied you, Valdo Marx,” the man’s voice wavered as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “We’ve alerted the guards, but --”

“Which way did he take her?” Valdo demanded, cutting the steward off.

“Uhh, that way,” he answered, pointing down the hall. “Deeper into the estate, but -- wait, it’s dangerous!” the man called as Valdo already turned in the direction indicated, hurrying down the hall, Jaskier right at his heels.

“Are we really doing this?” Jaskier panted, jogging now to keep up.

“I am, Pankratz,” Valdo replied, barely seeming to break a sweat. “I could care less if you tag along or not.”

“Oh please! Just admit you might need my help!”

Before Valdo could answer, the telltale sound of a struggle could be heard from the balcony up ahead and he shushed the other bard, pulling him off to the side. The two crouched down, moving closer so they could get a clear view of the madman, brandishing a long dagger and pulling [Y/N] along behind him.

“Get your hands off me!” you cried, struggling in the servant’s grip. “What do you think this is going to accomplish?”

“Shut up wench!” the man hissed, pressing the blade closer to your skin as you drew back. “I just want what’s owed me. And the ransom I’ll get for your pretty head will do just the trick. If you cooperate I won’t have to hurt you.”

“So what’s the plan?” Jaskier whispered, blue eyes flicking back and forth between [Y/N] and Valdo.

“You really want to help, Pankratz?” Valdo asked, his sharp green eyes never straying from the knife at his beloved’s throat.

“I do! I care about her too!”

Valdo thought for a moment, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. “Good, then a distraction will do nicely, I think.”

Jaskier nodded, thinking quickly. “That, I can do. Now, watch a professional at work, Marx.”

Standing and straightening his blue doublet Jaskier stepped out into the hall with a flourish, his hands spread, and an ingratiating smile on his face.

“You there, don’t come any closer!” The servant cried as soon as he spotted the bard, holding the dagger out toward Jaskier.

“Oh my, there you are,” he stalled, flashing a small smile for you. “I’ve er, come at the bequest of the uh, host to find out what it is you are after and how we might get [Y/N] back safely.”

The dagger lowered slightly as the servant obviously believed him. As Jaskier kept the man talking, you swallowed, catching movement off to your left and quickly averting your eyes, lest you alert your kidnapper. Without warning you felt Valdo slip around behind you, the glint of steel visible in his hand before the arm around your waist went slack and the dagger clattered to the ground.

Pulling you away and into his arms, you buried your face against Valdo’s chest as several guards rushed in and hauled the servant to his feet as he clutched at his side, blood running through his fingers.

Taking a shaky breath you glanced over at Jaskier who slowly approached before tilting your face up to Valdo’s.

“Are you alright, my darling? You’re not hurt in any way?”

“I’m alright now, thanks to you two,” you murmured, tracing Valdo’s jaw before reaching out to take Jaskier’s hand and squeeze it. “You know, I’m sure you’ll hate to hear this, but you two make a pretty good team. Perhaps you might translate that to your music?”

Both men recoiled at your words, eyeing each other with disgust.

“Songbird, are you quite certain you haven’t retained some sort of head injury?” Valdo asked wryly and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, I’m serious. You should think about it.”

“I think this may be the one and only time I agree with Valdo Marx, [Y/N]. I don’t see that happening any time soon,” Jaskier exclaimed, propping his hands on his hips, though he couldn’t quite keep the grin from his face. “I think the only time we’ll put aside our differences will be the next time you get kidnapped.”

“There will be no next time!” Valdo cried, frowning disdainfully at Jaskier, his arms tightening protectively around you.

#valdo x reader #valdo marx x reader #platonic!jaskier x reader #x reader #reader insert #the witcher fic #valdo marx imagines #reader request #magic multicolored miracle #my writing

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dvp95 · 4 years

Text

quiet on widow’s peak (9)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 29.6k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The sleep Phil has is restless and patchy. He wakes up so many times, spikes of panic cutting through the calm as he tries to remember where he is and who's breathing next to him. Dan is either a very heavy sleeper or very good at pretending to sleep, because Phil jerking awake never makes them stir.

It's a comfort, to look at Dan and see their blurry face slack with a peacefulness that wasn't there all night, but Phil doesn't do it for too long. Watching someone sleep is the pinnacle of creepiness. He just looks for a couple of seconds until his heart rate slows back down and he can roll onto his side. He faces away from Dan so he isn't tempted to keep looking at them, staring at the boring wall instead and waiting for sleep to momentarily take him again.

He's still tired when he wakes up properly to Dan tossing and turning, but he decides that's his cue to be awake.

"Hey," he murmurs, reaching for Dan's hand. He squints, but he can't tell if Dan is having a nightmare or if they're awake without getting even closer to their face. "It's okay. You're okay."

Dan takes a deep, shuddering sort of breath and cradles Phil's hand in both of their own. It's like they're afraid he's going to let go. "Sorry, fuck."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," says Phil. His stomach is doing a weird twisty thing at the sound of Dan's voice all husky with sleep. As long as he acts normal, it's fine, right? It's hard to convince himself of that when Dan's hands are pressed to his own and making him feel impossibly small. "How did you sleep?"

"I mostly slept fine," Dan says, and Phil nods like he didn't already know that.

"Good. You needed it."

For a moment, Dan is quiet. Then, they shuffle onto their side so they can properly face Phil, who has to fight the urge to hide away from their gaze. It's a good thing that he can't see the depth and warmth and sparkle of Dan's eyes without his glasses on.

"You didn't sleep very well," they say like it's a fact. Phil doesn't bother trying to deny it, he just shrugs. "You could have woken me up."

"Why would I do that?" Phil asks, puzzled by the offer.

Dan smiles, and Phil reaches for his glasses. He feels so vulnerable without them, and the sensation of not being able to see the way Dan is smiling while Dan can probably read every tiny emotion on his face is anxiety-inducing.

He leaves his other hand in Dan's. Maybe it would be easier if he just let go, but he finds that he doesn't want to.

The world comes into focus, and Phil blinks over at Dan like it's his first time seeing them. They look so different with their lashes clumped together and lines creased into their soft cheeks by the pillow. Curls are in complete disarray, and Phil presses his fingers into his palm so he doesn't try to brush the frizzy, unruly mess off Dan's forehead. Their smile doesn't fade when Phil just kind of stares - if anything, it gets even wider.

"You stayed with me all night," says Dan. Their tone is dry, but Phil imagines there's not a small amount of sincerity behind it. "You didn't have to, like, be alone."

Alone isn't something Phil had felt at all. Dan's steady breathing and the warmth of them emanating from their core even when they weren't touching were the only things keeping Phil grounded every time he woke with a start. He doesn't know how to say that to this person he barely knows, though, wouldn't know how to say something so open to most of the people in his life, so he just chuckles.

"No use in neither of us getting any sleep," he points out.

Dan is very warm, and Phil can feel his palm starting to get sweaty where it's trapped between both of theirs. He makes an apologetic face and pulls his hand back, patting it on his flannel pyjamas. Dan doesn't seem bothered by the lack of contact, but they also don't seem relieved - Phil can't tell what they're thinking at all, if he's honest.

"So," says Dan. "Where do we go from here?"

Before Phil can even think about it, he echoes the question in falsetto. It's louder and more obnoxious than he intends it to be. He swings his legs out of bed and reaches for his phone on the nightstand to try and hide a blush. "Uh, we go eat breakfast. Lunch, I guess."

"You lied," Dan says to his back. "You are always thinking about Buffy."

"Not always," Phil says weakly.

"Often enough."

"Once More With Feeling bypasses my brain entirely. It's just a primal call and response to anyone as obsessed with the show as teenage me was."

"I've never seen the show the whole way through," says Dan. "But Buffy is a style icon of mine."

Phil's tired brain offers him a half dozen mental images of Dan in various Buffy outfits before he shakes his head to try and clear it. He's never been particularly interested in boys wearing girls' clothes, but the concepts of gender identity and presentation are so blurry when it comes to Dan that he's going to have to rethink that position. They're not 'girls' clothes' on Dan. Maybe there's no such thing as 'girls' clothes' at all.

It's too early in the day for a deep dive on his own perceptions of gender, though. He thinks that sort of existentialism can wait until after his second or third coffee.

Phil's parents eat lunch with them and do their best to make small talk, but only Chris is On enough to properly converse with them. At Phil's umpteenth 'huh' of the early afternoon, they give up entirely and migrate to the lounge to watch tv.

For a long few seconds, the kitchen table is quiet. Then, Dan stands and starts to clear everyone's plates.

"You don't have to do that," Phil says, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I need to do something with my hands or I'll lose the plot," says Dan. They dump the dishes carefully in the sink and start running water. Having their back to the group seems to give them the courage to add, "I don't have all my meds with me. I didn't exactly expect to be out all night."

"What d'you take?" Chris asks.

"Little fucking nosy of you," says PJ.

"Well, one of us might have what he needs, love. I'm not just asking for the hell of it."

Phil feels a bit like his mum has possessed him when he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "You really shouldn't share medication," he says when Chris gives him a look.

It makes Dan laugh, anyway, so Phil feels like he's done something right. They still don't turn around, just washing everybody's dishes and looking so weirdly at home in Phil's clothes, Phil's old kitchen. Phil doesn't realise he's staring at their back until someone kicks him under the table.

"Earth to Phil," Chris murmurs. He's resting his chin on a hand and smirking, but his eyes are too sharp for how little sleep he must have gotten. Phil feels heat rise to his cheeks and pulls his coffee closer to use the steam as an excuse.

"I don't need anything, really," Dan hums. "Thanks for asking. My brain just struggles a bit."

"A big mood, as the kids say," Chris says sagely.

Dan laughs again. It isn't as loud as Phil knows it can get, but it still fills the room and makes everything seem a bit brighter. "Do the kids say that?" they ask. "Is that what they say?"

"I believe it is," says Chris.

There is another stretch of silence. Phil watches his friends' faces as the elephant in the room weighs on them all. He's making a bet in his own mind about who will be the first to break when Dan turns around and bluntly says, "I still don't think that was a ghost, but I really fucking hated it."

"Sorry," says PJ, "but what else could it have possibly been?"

"I dunno," says Dan. They cross their arms over their waist, holding onto their own elbows. Phil is beginning to recognise the position as a protective one for them. "But I'm sure there's an explanation. Sleep paralysis is normal."

"The way it happened was not normal."

"What do you think it was, Dan?" Sophie asks. Her tone is much kinder than PJ's, but she seems just as skeptical.

Dan's dimple is pulling downwards in unhappiness or discomfort, so Phil waves a hand to get everyone's attention on himself instead.

"Why don't you guys tell us what exactly happened to you," he suggests, meeting Dan's eyes almost apologetically. He knows that none of them want to relive it, but it's easier if they're all on the same page here. "And we can toss around theories later."

PJ says, "It was a demon. I could see it. It was tall and humanoid-ish and had a Cheshire Cat smile and it kept going closer to Chris and Soph just to watch me panic. Then it would laugh and sharpen its claws on the wall. It felt like hatred and fear in a physical being. I really don't think our protection sigils did fuck all, but it didn't actually touch any of us, so maybe they helped a bit?"

Dan says, "It was nothing of the sort. I saw the same shit you did, Peej, but that doesn't mean anything. Haven't you ever heard of mass hysteria? Folie à deux - not the album - isn't unheard of. Maybe there's a high level of carbon monoxide. Maybe the asbestos got to us. I don't fucking know, but there's a hundred explanations before you hit demon. But, yeah. It looked like what PJ says. It felt like I was frozen for a fucking week, not just a few hours, it was awful. Zero out of ten, would not do again."

Sophie says, "It smiled at me and I felt cold."

They pile into the basement to recuperate so they aren't bothering Phil's parents. Or, more accurately, so Phil's parents aren't bothering them. Most of the games are packed up, but Phil finds the Wii and its small collection of disks in a box under the stairs. He sets it up, hands his friends the controllers, and sits back to zone out while they tear each other apart at Mario Kart.

Phil doesn't consider himself a skeptic. He knows that his threshold of belief is a lot lower than he makes it appear to be in his videos, but he'd never call himself a Scully. He always thinks about the supernatural aspects of any case he's looking into, even if he doesn't commit a hundred percent to the mentality that it must be something weird. He usually just prefers the weird option to the more common and boring reality of things.

So this thing with the Wilkins place is downright terrifying. Not only is it in Phil's proverbial backyard, too close for comfort in a lot of ways, but he hasn't had an experience quite so chilling since he was sixteen and dipping his toe into this hobby at Martyn's side.

He and Martyn still aren't sure what exactly left those finger-shaped bruises on Phil's ankles, but it's become a funny story in the years since.

Maybe this will be something to laugh at in a few years, too. Phil hopes so.

"You sure you don't want to play?" Dan asks, breaking into Phil's reverie. They're in first place and not even looking at the screen, their concerned brown eyes focused on Phil. Phil gives them a small smile and shakes his head.

"No, I'm alright."

"Phil, please take the controller from him," says Chris. He seems annoyed, but Phil can never tell how much of that is a show. It's possible that Chris isn't actually competitive at all and just likes to work Phil and PJ up by acting like he, too, would rather eat a whole head of lettuce than lose. It's also possible that Chris genuinely feels that way. "He's not even fucking trying and he's kicking our asses."

"Maybe you deserve to have your ass kicked a bit," Phil says, watching the screen to see how easily Dan ducks around various obstacles.

It still jolts a bit, hearing the people around him make an assumption - however logical it is - about how Dan wants to be addressed. Phil knows it isn't his place to correct them, especially since it seems like they're not using any less correct terms than he is, but it still rankles a bit.

"Fuck's sake!" PJ exclaims, looking like he's a hair away from throwing the Wiimote at something. He's never actually hit that level of gamer rage, but getting lapped by someone who keeps checking their phone during a race seems to be getting on his nerves. Phil reaches out and pats at PJ's mess of curls.

"You'll be okay," he says, dry. "They're just better than you, you'll live."

Maybe the pronoun use is a little more pointed than it needs to be, but Dan gives him such an exasperatedly fond grin that Phil can't bring himself to regret it. There is a brief beat of quiet, and then PJ groans again.

"It's not fair," says PJ, gesturing dramatically with the Wiimote. Sophie leans out of the line of fire. "This is unacceptable. We have to play a game they're bad at, now."

"I don't care what you call me," says Dan. They sound more amused than anything else. "As long as you know I'm winning anything we play."

"That's why they call him Winnie," Chris says in that very mild voice he uses for absolute nonsense. He puts his own controller aside and flops onto his back on the basement floor, stretching. "I can't do it, I can't play another round of this farce. I'm going upstairs to let my future mum-in-law dote on me."

Phil sighs. He can feel Dan's eyes on him again, and he shrugs helplessly in their general direction. He does not control the Chris. "Please stop saying things like that. Dan is going to think I'm mixed up in… this."

He gestures vaguely at the three of them, and Chris' eyes sharpen like he's spotted prey.

"Oh, so you want Dan to know you're horrendously single, then?" Chris gives Dan a wide, conspiratorial sort of grin. "He's useless at this, you know."

"Me rejecting you doesn't make me useless," Phil huffs. He can feel a flush creeping up his neck, because Chris is more right than he wants to admit, and Dan is smiling back at Chris like they're in on the joke.

"I think it demonstrates a lack of taste," Chris sniffs.

"You know what I think?" Sophie asks, stretching her arms above her head. "I think I need a shower."

"Me too," Dan says with an unnecessary little sigh. Phil pinches his own thigh to circumvent the mental images before they start. It's annoying to have such a good imagination, sometimes. "And I need to take my meds. Is there a bus that runs around here or something?"

"Don't worry about taking the bus," says PJ. "I'll drive you."

"I don't mind," says Dan.

"I mind," says PJ, more firmly. He stands like he's planning on dragging Dan to the car himself if Dan tries to say no again.

Dan's shoulders relax forward. Phil knows the anxiety of riding unfamiliar public transit all too well, and he definitely wouldn't make Dan do something so harrowing after they got roped into ghosthunting. He's glad that PJ is on the same page again, keeping Dan in that sense of protection that being a team gives them.

It's only been a weekend, but Phil is already reluctant to let Dan go home and leave the team bubble. He wants to insist on coming along, but he knows PJ probably wants solitude on the drive back.

Still. Phil chews his lip and looks down at his phone so he doesn't have to see the looks on his friends' faces when he says, "You can keep the pyjamas. If you want them."

"Okay," Dan says softly. "I will, thanks."

He knows that he should look up, should smile at Dan or stand and hug them before they leave his life, but that all feels so big at this moment. Phil's anxiety lets him wave and murmur a goodbye before he's left alone in the basement. At least, he thinks he's alone, until he sighs heavily and Chris responds from the floor. "Oh, you're fucking mooning over him, aren't you? This is awful. I preferred the ghost."

Phil takes a shower after his friends have, to be polite, and it feels incredible to wash off the dirt and dust from the attic. It feels less incredible when the door opens.

He hadn't bothered locking it, because his parents' shower is loud and it should be obvious that he's in there. At least the curtain isn't see-through. He takes a moment to just stand under the spray, bewildered, before it occurs to him that he can ask what's going on. It probably isn't a serial killer. "Er, hello?"

"Hi," Chris' voice comes, tense. "We've got a problem."

"I'm a little busy," Phil says pointedly.

"Well, get your hand off your knob and get out here," says Chris. "We need to figure this out before Peej gets back."

Phil rolls his eyes, but doesn't bother arguing about why exactly he's busy. He rinses the last of his mum's conditioner out of his hair and squints at the unfocused, opaque shower curtain like he'll be able to see Chris if he just tries hard enough. "Figure what out, mate?"

"All of the footage is fucked," Chris says, blunt. "It's corrupted to high hell. Every single second. There's no evidence we were even there at all."

#quiet on widow's peak #words words words

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freddiesaysalright · 5 years

Text

Peace Like A River Part 5

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a stand up comic with a pretty dark past. She has a three new lights in her life: her daughter, Violet; her anonymous correspondent, Dear Friend; and Gwilym Lee.

Word Count: 3.5K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @simmisblog, @assembledherethevolunteers, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @readinghorn, @riddikuluslypotter, @doingalrightt, @misslolasworld, @lemurian-starship, @ravenedges-lies, @painkiller80, @imgonnabeyourslave, @crazyweirdocalledfriday If you want to be added, let me know!

A/N: Okay, some good ol’ fashioned aftermath lol. Hope you guys enjoy this part where reader tests out a few things. More drama and miscommunications to come (of course)!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Part 5 here we go!!!

The next day, you woke to your phone ringing. It was nearly ten in the morning. You looked around wildly for your daughter and your assistant, but then heard them in the bathroom singing the toothbrush song, and you quickly relaxed. Then you answered your phone.

“Hello?”

You hadn’t bothered to check the caller ID.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s Joe,” said the voice of Joe Mazzello.

“Oh, hey Joe, how are you?” you asked, completely confused.

“I’m good, but you might need to come and see Gwilym,” he returned.

You frowned. “Why?”

“Apparently, he got stood up last night,” Joe explained. “He’s only just gotten back to the hotel and he’s shit faced.”

You sucked in a breath. Had it really been that bad for him?

“W-what do you expect me to do?” you wondered.

“I don’t know, but he’s asking for you,” he answered. “Please?”

“I dunno, Joe, it might not be a great idea…” you trailed off.

You really had no idea how you could be helpful. Also, drunk men frightened you.

“Please,” Joe repeated. “He’s in bad shape. He needs you, Y/N.”

That drove a sharp pain into your chest. Gwilym didn’t need you. You were the one who hurt him, even if he didn’t know it. It sounded like Joe and the guys needed your help more than Gwilym needed your presence. But you couldn’t know that unless you went over there.

You sighed. “Okay. Which hotel are you in?”

“You’re coming?!” he gasped.

“Yeah, just give me a few minutes to get dressed and I’ll be over there soon,” you assured him.

He thanked you a few times and then gave you the address. You hung up just as Stacy emerged from the bathroom with Violet clean and dressed, hair combed and everything.

“Well, aren’t you pretty?” you said.

“Morning, Mommy!” she greeted, flinging herself onto your bed and wrapping her arms around you.

“Morning, sweetie,” you returned, kissing her head. You looked at Stacy. “So, Joe called this morning.”

She looked at you, perplexed. You explained everything to her while Violet started picking out what she wanted you to wear. You put it on piece by piece before heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth and do something with your hair. You had no time for makeup.

“I dunno, am I doing something totally stupid?” you wondered.

“No,” Stacy replied, but she had an odd smile on her face. “I actually think this is perfect.”

“How in the world is this perfect?” you wondered.

“Maybe now you and Gwilym can start to feel things out normally, without the distraction of the letters,” she explained. “Let him fall in love with this side of you too.”

You blinked. It was an interesting theory, but you didn’t want to be a consolation prize for the loss of Dear Friend.

“Ugh, we’ll see,” you said. “I’m not getting anywhere near that topic while he’s drunk.”

“I know you think he won’t,” she said. “But I think it’s worth a shot. You guys have something.”

You checked your phone, ignoring her.

“Let’s go,” you said, stuffing it into your pocket along with your little wallet.

The three of you walked over to the other hotel and found the boys in the lobby. Gwilym was apparently unable to sit down as they were repeatedly having to grab his arm and bring him back over to the couches. They had to act fast because whenever he stood up, his steps were wobbly and careless. He nearly ran into a trolley that an employee was pushing, but Ben caught him, sparing everyone the disaster of the carefully packed luggage sprawling over the floor. You halted as you watched it all unfold. You’d never seen Gwilym out of control before, and it completely unnerved you.

Stacy looked over at you, worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you said, releasing a shaky breath.

“Gwilym is safe,” she said assuredly, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. “He’s not gonna hurt you.”

You swallowed and nodded before walking as confidently as you could over to them.

“Y/N, hey!” Joe said once he spotted you.

“Y/N’s here?” Gwilym said, looking at Ben. “Oh, this is embarrassing.”

“You’re the one who demanded she come,” Ben reminded him irritably.

“What’s wrong with Mister Gwilym?” Violet asked Rami.

“Well, Mister Gwilym drank too much, um...chocolate milk, and now he’s feeling sort of funny,” he answered.

You walked around to the couch so you could see Gwil. He looked awful. He still wore the clothes he had on the previous night. His hair was disheveled and the skin beneath his eyes was dark with weariness. He saw you and his face lit up, but you couldn’t return the smile. You were absolutely on edge.

“What’s up, Gwil?” you asked, standing a solid foot away from where he sat.

“My, uh, Dear Friend, never showed up,” he slurred. “So I realized I’m gonna be alone forever.”

“Sweetie, that’s ridiculous,” you returned. “It’s just one time.”

“No, she was it,” he returned dramatically. “The love of my life. And I bet she walked in, took one look at me, and walked out.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s get you to bed and you’ll feel better after some sleep.”

“Very well,” he agreed.

“So you do it when she tells you but not when your friends do?” Ben shot indignantly.

“Who cares, dude?” Joe returned, elbowing Ben. “As long as it gets him to his room.”

You took an uneasy step toward him and extended your hand. He reached out and took it, allowing you to help him off the couch. Only, once he was up, he stumbled right into you. You yelped in surprise as you both crashed to the floor, the other guys not fast enough to stop it. Gwilym fell on top of you. His body was heavy and he was slow to get up. Your heart began to beat wildly as panic overtook you.

“Gwilym, please!” you urged, pushing on his shoulders. “Get up!”

He started to lift himself, and Joe and Ben were quick to relieve you. You scrambled to your feet. You heard Violet giggle and almost laughed yourself, but you were too scared.

“Let’s just get him upstairs,” you said. You turned to Stacy. “You two stay down here, I shouldn’t be long.”

She nodded. You spotted the book and wilted flower on the end table and grabbed them quickly. Then you walked with Joe and Ben - Gwilym between them, arms across their shoulders - toward the elevator. Stacy’s phone rang and she looked at Rami.

“Oh, this is my boyfriend,” she said. “Do you mind watching Violet while I step outside?”

“No problem,” he agreed, and she left. He looked at Violet. “So...you wanna watch Baby Shark?”

“Yeah!” she cheered and crawled into his lap, while he pulled the video up on his phone.

Upstairs, Joe and Ben were now practically dragging Gwilym down the hall. You opened the door to his room and they deposited him face down on the bed.

“We’ve got to get to an interview,” Joe said. “Can you take it from here?”

“Uh, I guess so,” you said. “But isn’t Gwilym supposed to go with you?”

“He’s no good in that state,” Ben replied. “We’ll just tell them he’s sick.”

“O-okay,” you said.

They thanked you and told you to call Joe if there was an emergency. Then they were gone. You looked at Gwilym, who rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

“My love life is over,” he complained. “Nothing will ever happen to me anymore.”

You sighed. You weren’t sure you could dig him out of this hole. You placed his book and carnation on the nightstand. An idea came to you. Perhaps you could get things back the way they were and do what Stacy suggested - see if Gwil could fall for you as you and not Dear Friend.

“Wait, it was Pride and Prejudice with a carnation, right?” you said.

He nodded.

“When I left, I saw a woman outside holding those exact things,” you lied excitedly. “She stopped me as I came out the door and asked if that was what you had too.”

Gwilym’s eyes were trained on you as you spoke. “What did you say?”

“I said that it was and she looked sort of sad,” you went on. “She asked me if I was a friend of yours and I said yes.”

He sat up quickly, and you took a nervous step back.

“Then what happened?!” he demanded.

“She started to get upset,” you said, feigning a guilty look. “I think she saw you hold my hand. She said she wasn’t sure about this anymore and that she needed to reconsider. Before I could tell her that it isn’t like that between us, she ran off down the street! I couldn’t catch her.”

“Oh, no,” he muttered, and flopped back down on the bed. “It really is over.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” you said.

“I’ve ruined it,” he moaned.

“No, Gwil,” you said gently, sitting beside him at last.

He put his hand on your knee and you tensed. But you quickly just took it and held it between your own.

“You have not ruined it,” you encouraged. “You’ll think of some way to make it up to her. I know you will.”

He ran his freed hand down his face. He mumbled something you didn’t hear so you leaned closer.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Tell me,” you pressed.

“I just thought…” he trailed off. “I just thought perhaps it would have been better if I had taken my shot with you two years ago.”

Your eyes went wide. You remembered that you had sort of had a flirtation, but it wasn’t serious feelings. At least, certainly not on your end. But you were still pretty fresh out of your marriage at that point. There was no way you would have accepted him, even though you were attracted to him.

“I know things were still complicated for you then,” he went on lazily. “But I have only ever wanted to...un-complicate your life.”

What a load that was. Things were simple when Dear Friend was anonymous and Gwilym was just an old friend. Now, the two were one in the same and you were indisputably in love with him. You had a feeling things were only going to be more complicated now.

“That’s sweet, Gwil,” you said, stroking his hand. “But it never would have worked. I would have turned you down flat.”

He giggled. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, shooting him a soft smile. “Look, don’t take this personally, but I was afraid of you. I was still afraid of every man. I didn’t trust that I liked you. I would have run from it if you tried to take that step.”

“I would have chased you,” he replied simply.

You shook your head. “Let’s get you some water.”

You rose from the bed and walked over to the fridge. You opened it and let it cool your warm face. His words had made your cheeks burn. You were glad he was drunk and the memory would be hazy. You grabbed a bottle of water and returned to him, holding it out. He took it and drank deeply.

“That’s good,” he said, placing it on the nightstand.

“Have some more,” you said.

He obeyed. A little bit dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and when he put the bottle down, you reached over to wipe it away with your thumb. He swallowed and held your gaze for a long moment as your palm rested against his cheek.

Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close.

“Gwilym, what are you -”

He cut you off with a kiss. His mouth was cold from the water he’d just consumed, but you could still taste the whiskey on him from the previous night and following morning. Every instinct screamed at you to stop him. But you had never been kissed like this. His lips were soft and eager, but not forceful. The temptation to lose yourself in this was strong. It would be so easy to melt into him and pursue your pleasure. But he was drunk. You yanked yourself away.

“Gwilym, you’re drunk and you’re hurting,” you reminded him. “You don’t want this.”

“Yes, I do,” he argued, leaning in again.

“No, stop,” you said, pulling away and breaking the hold of his arms around you. “Get some sleep, okay?”

You put your hands on his chest and gently pushed him down on the bed. He settled into the squishy pillows and started to close his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s alright,” you assured him. “No big deal. Just sleep and call me when you wake up.”

“You might have to remind me,” he admitted.

“I’ll text you,” you said.

You pulled out your phone and did so, telling him to call you when he saw it. His phone dinged from the nightstand and he thankfully ignored it for now. You walked to the end of the bed and pulled his shoes off for him before covering him with a blanket.

“You sure you can’t stay?” he asked, opening one eye to look at you.

“No, I can’t,” you answered. “But I’ll come back when you wake up.”

“Alright then,” he mumbled and settled back in.

His breathing slowed and evened out. He was asleep. You looked at his face a moment longer. You lips still burned with the feeling of his against them. Your stomach churned with a fresh heat and desire. Then you switched off the light and hurried out the door, terrified that if you looked at him any longer, you would curl up beside him and stay forever.

You came to the lobby and Stacy stood up, looking confused and concerned.

“Let’s go,” you said sharply, without stopping to explain.

You took Violet’s hand and led them out the door.

Hours passed. Gwilym awoke with a pained groan and rolled over, grasping for his phone. He looked at it through his bleary eyes and moaned again. He turned the brightness down and then tried once more. He saw a text from you.

Call me, it said. I’ll come over and explain everything again.

His brow furrowed. Had you been to his room? He couldn’t remember. The last thing he could recall was that sixth shot of whiskey at the bar next to the hotel. He was a bit horrified to think you had seen him drunk. Even so, he dialed your number.

You were watching TV, but not taking in a thing that was happening on the screen, when your phone buzzed beside you. Knowing who it was, you answered.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice gravelly. “What happened?”

“It’s kind of a lot,” you said. “Want me to come over?”

“Please,” he returned.

“Be right there,” you said.

“You’re the best.”

“I really am,” you teased.

You heard him chuckle before you hung up. Then you looked at Stacy next to you.

“Gwilym?” she asked.

You nodded. “I’m gonna go check on him. I’ll be back in time for the show, though.”

“I know you will,” she replied.

“Is Mister Gwilym okay now?” Violet wondered, looking up at you from where she lay on the bed.

“I think so,” you told her. “I’m just gonna make sure.”

“Okay, Mommy,” she said, and snuggled down again.

You kissed her on the cheek. You walked back over to the guys’ hotel and tried to think of how much you were going to explain. If he didn’t remember kissing you, you decided you weren’t going to tell him that. You didn’t want to make him feel bad about it or anything, or like he had been unfaithful to Dear Friend. You were only going to tell him the story from before, that you’d seen her as you left.

When you entered his room, you heard the shower running in the bathroom. Gwilym’s clothes were strewn about the floor. He probably did feel pretty gross after wearing them for so long. You made your way over to the bed and sat down. It was still a little warm from where he lay for those few hours.

Suddenly, you heard a small squeak and the water stopped. The bathroom door opened after a few seconds, letting some steam swirl out into the room. Then Gwilym emerged, a towel around his waist while he ran another through his hair. He started when he saw you.

“Jesus!” he gasped.

“Hiya,” you greeted with a smirk. “You could have told me you were gonna shower, I would have waited to come over.”

He chuckled. “It’s no big deal. I wouldn’t have wanted to wait.”

“Tell me what you remember,” you said.

He pondered a moment and you tried to focus on his face. Your eyes wanted to wander down his bare chest and tummy, but you couldn’t let yourself go there.

“It’s not much,” he admitted. “You were talking to me about Dear Friend. But I don’t remember what you said.”

“Anything else?” you pressed.

He shook his head. “No, it’s all blank.”

This was a lie. He was sure he remembered kissing you, but had convinced himself he dreamed it.

“Alright,” you began. “I’ll remind you of what I said.”

You gave him the story. Seeing Dear Friend outside the cafe, her hurt at seeing the two of you, and that she’d run off before you could explain. As you spoke he gathered some clothes and then disappeared into the bathroom to dress. He left the door open so he could hear you as you wrapped up. When he came out again, he had on joggers and a t-shirt.

“I see,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Well, I guess that’s done.”

Your heart skipped a distressed beat.

“What, just like that?” you challenged.

“What can I do?” he returned. “I can’t find her. I haven’t any idea what she looks like. I still don’t even know her name.”

“But still, she’s supposed to be the one,” you went on. “You can’t just give up.”

“Again, what would you have me do?”

“Write to her,” you said. “Explain that you and I are just friends. Old coworkers. You were just comforting me. Tell her the truth. She’ll get your letter, and if it’s meant to be, she’ll forgive you, and write back.”

“I dunno, Y/N,” he said, running a hand through his wet locks. “Maybe...maybe this was all a silly fantasy and this is a sign that I need to let it go.”

“Gwilym,” you said seriously. “You told me that you love this woman. If that’s true...how can you be so willing to throw in the towel? Go after her!”

He words from earlier suddenly rang in your ears.

I would have chased you.

You shook your head. Those were not words you could count on. He was drunk when he said them and did not recall them now. They meant nothing.

“Just send a letter,” you said. “What harm could it do?”

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m just afraid, I guess.”

“Of what?”

“That she won’t write back and then it really will be over.”

“You’ll never know unless you try,” you told him. “But you’ve got to take the chance.”

He looked at the floor. “Alright, Y/N. I’ll write to her and try to clear things up.”

“Good,” you sighed with relief.

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Gwil.”

The following week, when you were in Charleston, you got a letter from Dear Friend. It felt much different now, knowing it was Gwilym and how you felt about him. Still, you opened it eagerly to see what he had said.

Dear Friend, it began. I am so sorry about last night. It was a serious lack of communication, I think. The woman you met was Y/N, a friend of mine. She had just broken up with someone and was in need of some comfort, which I provided. Please don’t misunderstand, the feelings between her and I are platonic. It was all rather silly, you see. I hope one day we can look back on it and laugh. I’m sorry if it caused you any pain. I do want to say, though, that Y/N is very important to me. I hope that will not be a point of contention going forward. Hoping to hear from you soon. Yours, Dear Friend.

This genuinely surprised you. It was reassuring to Dear Friend, while saying firmly that he would not sacrifice his relationship with you for her. That told you that perhaps there was something to what Stacy said. Perhaps Gwilym could see you as both Dear Friend and yourself. Perhaps you could meet him there and feel like you deserved his love and loyalty. All of it was up in the air. You just needed time to sort it all out.

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