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renaissanceclassics · 8 months ago

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Up from Slavery: Part 2

of 18 parts. Chapter I. A Slave Among Slaves

I was born a slave on a plantation in Franklin County, Virginia. I am not quite sure of the exact place or exact date of my birth, but at any rate I suspect I must have been born somewhere and at some time. As nearly as I have been able to learn, I was born near a cross-roads post-office called Hale's Ford, and the year was 1858 or 1859. I do not know the month or the day. The earliest impressions I can now recall are of the plantation and the slave quarters—the latter being the part of the plantation where the slaves had their cabins.

My life had its beginning in the midst of the most miserable, desolate, and discouraging surroundings. This was so, however, not because my owners were especially cruel, for they were not, as compared with many others. I was born in a typical log cabin, about fourteen by sixteen feet square. In this cabin I lived with my mother and a brother and sister till after the Civil War, when we were all declared free.

Of my ancestry I know almost nothing. In the slave quarters, and even later, I heard whispered conversations among the coloured people of the tortures which the slaves, including, no doubt, my ancestors on my mother's side, suffered in the middle passage of the slave ship while being conveyed from Africa to America. I have been unsuccessful in securing any information that would throw any accurate light upon the history of my family beyond my mother. She, I remember, had a half-brother and a half-sister. In the days of slavery not very much attention was given to family history and family records—that is, black family records. My mother, I suppose, attracted the attention of a purchaser who was afterward my owner and hers. Her addition to the slave family attracted about as much attention as the purchase of a new horse or cow. Of my father I know even less than of my mother. I do not even know his name. I have heard reports to the effect that he was a white man who lived on one of the near-by plantations. Whoever he was, I never heard of his taking the least interest in me or providing in any way for my rearing. But I do not find especial fault with him. He was simply another unfortunate victim of the institution which the Nation unhappily had engrafted upon it at that time.

The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used as the kitchen for the plantation. My mother was the plantation cook. The cabin was without glass windows; it had only openings in the side which let in the light, and also the cold, chilly air of winter. There was a door to the cabin—that is, something that was called a door—but the uncertain hinges by which it was hung, and the large cracks in it, to say nothing of the fact that it was too small, made the room a very uncomfortable one. In addition to these openings there was, in the lower right-hand corner of the room, the "cat-hole,"—a contrivance which almost every mansion or cabin in Virginia possessed during the ante-bellum period. The "cat-hole" was a square opening, about seven by eight inches, provided for the purpose of letting the cat pass in and out of the house at will during the night. In the case of our particular cabin I could never understand the necessity for this convenience, since there were at least a half-dozen other places in the cabin that would have accommodated the cats. There was no wooden floor in our cabin, the naked earth being used as a floor. In the centre of the earthen floor there was a large, deep opening covered with boards, which was used as a place in which to store sweet potatoes during the winter. An impression of this potato-hole is very distinctly engraved upon my memory, because I recall that during the process of putting the potatoes in or taking them out I would often come into possession of one or two, which I roasted and thoroughly enjoyed. There was no cooking-stove on our plantation, and all the cooking for the whites and slaves my mother had to do over an open fireplace, mostly in pots and "skillets." While the poorly built cabin caused us to suffer with cold in the winter, the heat from the open fireplace in summer was equally trying.

The early years of my life, which were spent in the little cabin, were not very different from those of thousands of other slaves. My mother, of course, had little time in which to give attention to the training of her children during the day. She snatched a few moments for our care in the early morning before her work began, and at night after the day's work was done. One of my earliest recollections is that of my mother cooking a chicken late at night, and awakening her children for the purpose of feeding them. How or where she got it I do not know. I presume, however, it was procured from our owner's farm. Some people may call this theft. If such a thing were to happen now, I should condemn it as theft myself. But taking place at the time it did, and for the reason that it did, no one could ever make me believe that my mother was guilty of thieving. She was simply a victim of the system of slavery. I cannot remember having slept in a bed until after our family was declared free by the Emancipation Proclamation. Three children—John, my older brother, Amanda, my sister, and myself—had a pallet on the dirt floor, or, to be more correct, we slept in and on a bundle of filthy rags laid upon the dirt floor.

I was asked not long ago to tell something about the sports and pastimes that I engaged in during my youth. Until that question was asked it had never occurred to me that there was no period of my life that was devoted to play. From the time that I can remember anything, almost every day of my life had been occupied in some kind of labour; though I think I would now be a more useful man if I had had time for sports. During the period that I spent in slavery I was not large enough to be of much service, still I was occupied most of the time in cleaning the yards, carrying water to the men in the fields, or going to the mill to which I used to take the corn, once a week, to be ground. The mill was about three miles from the plantation. This work I always dreaded. The heavy bag of corn would be thrown across the back of the horse, and the corn divided about evenly on each side; but in some way, almost without exception, on these trips, the corn would so shift as to become unbalanced and would fall off the horse, and often I would fall with it. As I was not strong enough to reload the corn upon the horse, I would have to wait, sometimes for many hours, till a chance passer-by came along who would help me out of my trouble. The hours while waiting for some one were usually spent in crying. The time consumed in this way made me late in reaching the mill, and by the time I got my corn ground and reached home it would be far into the night. The road was a lonely one, and often led through dense forests. I was always frightened. The woods were said to be full of soldiers who had deserted from the army, and I had been told that the first thing a deserter did to a Negro boy when he found him alone was to cut off his ears. Besides, when I was late in getting home I knew I would always get a severe scolding or a flogging.

I had no schooling whatever while I was a slave, though I remember on several occasions I went as far as the schoolhouse door with one of my young mistresses to carry her books. The picture of several dozen boys and girls in a schoolroom engaged in study made a deep impression upon me, and I had the feeling that to get into a schoolhouse and study in this way would be about the same as getting into paradise.

So far as I can now recall, the first knowledge that I got of the fact that we were slaves, and that freedom of the slaves was being discussed, was early one morning before day, when I was awakened by my mother kneeling over her children and fervently praying that Lincoln and his armies might be successful, and that one day she and her children might be free. In this connection I have never been able to understand how the slaves throughout the South, completely ignorant as were the masses so far as books or newspapers were concerned, were able to keep themselves so accurately and completely informed about the great National questions that were agitating the country. From the time that Garrison, Lovejoy, and others began to agitate for freedom, the slaves throughout the South kept in close touch with the progress of the movement. Though I was a mere child during the preparation for the Civil War and during the war itself, I now recall the many late-at-night whispered discussions that I heard my mother and the other slaves on the plantation indulge in. These discussions showed that they understood the situation, and that they kept themselves informed of events by what was termed the "grape-vine" telegraph.

During the campaign when Lincoln was first a candidate for the Presidency, the slaves on our far-off plantation, miles from any railroad or large city or daily newspaper, knew what the issues involved were. When war was begun between the North and the South, every slave on our plantation felt and knew that, though other issues were discussed, the primal one was that of slavery. Even the most ignorant members of my race on the remote plantations felt in their hearts, with a certainty that admitted of no doubt, that the freedom of the slaves would be the one great result of the war, if the Northern armies conquered. Every success of the Federal armies and every defeat of the Confederate forces was watched with the keenest and most intense interest. Often the slaves got knowledge of the results of great battles before the white people received it. This news was usually gotten from the coloured man who was sent to the post-office for the mail. In our case the post-office was about three miles from the plantation, and the mail came once or twice a week. The man who was sent to the office would linger about the place long enough to get the drift of the conversation from the group of white people who naturally congregated there, after receiving their mail, to discuss the latest news. The mail-carrier on his way back to our master's house would as naturally retail the news that he had secured among the slaves, and in this way they often heard of important events before the white people at the "big house," as the master's house was called.

I cannot remember a single instance during my childhood or early boyhood when our entire family sat down to the table together, and God's blessing was asked, and the family ate a meal in a civilized manner. On the plantation in Virginia, and even later, meals were gotten by the children very much as dumb animals get theirs. It was a piece of bread here and a scrap of meat there. It was a cup of milk at one time and some potatoes at another. Sometimes a portion of our family would eat out of the skillet or pot, while some one else would eat from a tin plate held on the knees, and often using nothing but the hands with which to hold the food. When I had grown to sufficient size, I was required to go to the "big house" at meal-times to fan the flies from the table by means of a large set of paper fans operated by a pulley. Naturally much of the conversation of the white people turned upon the subject of freedom and the war, and I absorbed a good deal of it. I remember that at one time I saw two of my young mistresses and some lady visitors eating ginger-cakes, in the yard. At that time those cakes seemed to me to be absolutely the most tempting and desirable things that I had ever seen; and I then and there resolved that, if I ever got free, the height of my ambition would be reached if I could get to the point where I could secure and eat ginger-cakes in the way that I saw those ladies doing.

Of course as the war was prolonged the white people, in many cases, often found it difficult to secure food for themselves. I think the slaves felt the deprivation less than the whites, because the usual diet for slaves was corn bread and pork, and these could be raised on the plantation; but coffee, tea, sugar, and other articles which the whites had been accustomed to use could not be raised on the plantation, and the conditions brought about by the war frequently made it impossible to secure these things. The whites were often in great straits. Parched corn was used for coffee, and a kind of black molasses was used instead of sugar. Many times nothing was used to sweeten the so-called tea and coffee.

The first pair of shoes that I recall wearing were wooden ones. They had rough leather on the top, but the bottoms, which were about an inch thick, were of wood. When I walked they made a fearful noise, and besides this they were very inconvenient, since there was no yielding to the natural pressure of the foot. In wearing them one presented an exceedingly awkward appearance. The most trying ordeal that I was forced to endure as a slave boy, however, was the wearing of a flax shirt. In the portion of Virginia where I lived it was common to use flax as part of the clothing for the slaves. That part of the flax from which our clothing was made was largely the refuse, which of course was the cheapest and roughest part. I can scarcely imagine any torture, except, perhaps, the pulling of a tooth, that is equal to that caused by putting on a new flax shirt for the first time. It is almost equal to the feeling that one would experience if he had a dozen or more chestnut burrs, or a hundred small pin-points, in contact with his flesh. Even to this day I can recall accurately the tortures that I underwent when putting on one of these garments. The fact that my flesh was soft and tender added to the pain. But I had no choice. I had to wear the flax shirt or none; and had it been left to me to choose, I should have chosen to wear no covering. In connection with the flax shirt, my brother John, who is several years older than I am, performed one of the most generous acts that I ever heard of one slave relative doing for another. On several occasions when I was being forced to wear a new flax shirt, he generously agreed to put it on in my stead and wear it for several days, till it was "broken in." Until I had grown to be quite a youth this single garment was all that I wore.

One may get the idea, from what I have said, that there was bitter feeling toward the white people on the part of my race, because of the fact that most of the white population was away fighting in a war which would result in keeping the Negro in slavery if the South was successful. In the case of the slaves on our place this was not true, and it was not true of any large portion of the slave population in the South where the Negro was treated with anything like decency. During the Civil War one of my young masters was killed, and two were severely wounded. I recall the feeling of sorrow which existed among the slaves when they heard of the death of "Mars' Billy." It was no sham sorrow, but real. Some of the slaves had nursed "Mars' Billy"; others had played with him when he was a child. "Mars' Billy" had begged for mercy in the case of others when the overseer or master was thrashing them. The sorrow in the slave quarter was only second to that in the "big house." When the two young masters were brought home wounded, the sympathy of the slaves was shown in many ways. They were just as anxious to assist in the nursing as the family relatives of the wounded. Some of the slaves would even beg for the privilege of sitting up at night to nurse their wounded masters. This tenderness and sympathy on the part of those held in bondage was a result of their kindly and generous nature. In order to defend and protect the women and children who were left on the plantations when the white males went to war, the slaves would have laid down their lives. The slave who was selected to sleep in the "big house" during the absence of the males was considered to have the place of honour. Any one attempting to harm "young Mistress" or "old Mistress" during the night would have had to cross the dead body of the slave to do so. I do not know how many have noticed it, but I think that it will be found to be true that there are few instances, either in slavery or freedom, in which a member of my race has been known to betray a specific trust.

As a rule, not only did the members of my race entertain no feelings of bitterness against the whites before and during the war, but there are many instances of Negroes tenderly caring for their former masters and mistresses who for some reason have become poor and dependent since the war. I know of instances where the former masters of slaves have for years been supplied with money by their former slaves to keep them from suffering. I have known of still other cases in which the former slaves have assisted in the education of the descendants of their former owners. I know of a case on a large plantation in the South in which a young white man, the son of the former owner of the estate, has become so reduced in purse and self-control by reason of drink that he is a pitiable creature; and yet, notwithstanding the poverty of the coloured people themselves on this plantation, they have for years supplied this young white man with the necessities of life. One sends him a little coffee or sugar, another a little meat, and so on. Nothing that the coloured people possess is too good for the son of "old Mars' Tom," who will perhaps never be permitted to suffer while any remain on the place who knew directly or indirectly of "old Mars' Tom."

I have said that there are few instances of a member of my race betraying a specific trust. One of the best illustrations of this which I know of is in the case of an ex-slave from Virginia whom I met not long ago in a little town in the state of Ohio. I found that this man had made a contract with his master, two or three years previous to the Emancipation Proclamation, to the effect that the slave was to be permitted to buy himself, by paying so much per year for his body; and while he was paying for himself, he was to be permitted to labour where and for whom he pleased. Finding that he could secure better wages in Ohio, he went there. When freedom came, he was still in debt to his master some three hundred dollars. Notwithstanding that the Emancipation Proclamation freed him from any obligation to his master, this black man walked the greater portion of the distance back to where his old master lived in Virginia, and placed the last dollar, with interest, in his hands. In talking to me about this, the man told me that he knew that he did not have to pay the debt, but that he had given his word to the master, and his word he had never broken. He felt that he could not enjoy his freedom till he had fulfilled his promise.

From some things that I have said one may get the idea that some of the slaves did not want freedom. This is not true. I have never seen one who did not want to be free, or one who would return to slavery.

I pity from the bottom of my heart any nation or body of people that is so unfortunate as to get entangled in the net of slavery. I have long since ceased to cherish any spirit of bitterness against the Southern white people on account of the enslavement of my race. No one section of our country was wholly responsible for its introduction, and, besides, it was recognized and protected for years by the General Government. Having once got its tentacles fastened on to the economic and social life of the Republic, it was no easy matter for the country to relieve itself of the institution. Then, when we rid ourselves of prejudice, or racial feeling, and look facts in the face, we must acknowledge that, notwithstanding the cruelty and moral wrong of slavery, the ten million Negroes inhabiting this country, who themselves or whose ancestors went through the school of American slavery, are in a stronger and more hopeful condition, materially, intellectually, morally, and religiously, than is true of an equal number of black people in any other portion of the globe. This is so to such an extent that Negroes in this country, who themselves or whose forefathers went through the school of slavery, are constantly returning to Africa as missionaries to enlighten those who remained in the fatherland. This I say, not to justify slavery—on the other hand, I condemn it as an institution, as we all know that in America it was established for selfish and financial reasons, and not from a missionary motive—but to call attention to a fact, and to show how Providence so often uses men and institutions to accomplish a purpose. When persons ask me in these days how, in the midst of what sometimes seem hopelessly discouraging conditions, I can have such faith in the future of my race in this country, I remind them of the wilderness through which and out of which, a good Providence has already led us.

Ever since I have been old enough to think for myself, I have entertained the idea that, notwithstanding the cruel wrongs inflicted upon us, the black man got nearly as much out of slavery as the white man did. The hurtful influences of the institution were not by any means confined to the Negro. This was fully illustrated by the life upon our own plantation. The whole machinery of slavery was so constructed as to cause labour, as a rule, to be looked upon as a badge of degradation, of inferiority. Hence labour was something that both races on the slave plantation sought to escape. The slave system on our place, in a large measure, took the spirit of self-reliance and self-help out of the white people. My old master had many boys and girls, but not one, so far as I know, ever mastered a single trade or special line of productive industry. The girls were not taught to cook, sew, or to take care of the house. All of this was left to the slaves. The slaves, of course, had little personal interest in the life of the plantation, and their ignorance prevented them from learning how to do things in the most improved and thorough manner. As a result of the system, fences were out of repair, gates were hanging half off the hinges, doors creaked, window-panes were out, plastering had fallen but was not replaced, weeds grew in the yard. As a rule, there was food for whites and blacks, but inside the house, and on the dining-room table, there was wanting that delicacy and refinement of touch and finish which can make a home the most convenient, comfortable, and attractive place in the world. Withal there was a waste of food and other materials which was sad. When freedom came, the slaves were almost as well fitted to begin life anew as the master, except in the matter of book-learning and ownership of property. The slave owner and his sons had mastered no special industry. They unconsciously had imbibed the feeling that manual labour was not the proper thing for them. On the other hand, the slaves, in many cases, had mastered some handicraft, and none were ashamed, and few unwilling, to labour.

Finally the war closed, and the day of freedom came. It was a momentous and eventful day to all upon our plantation. We had been expecting it. Freedom was in the air, and had been for months. Deserting soldiers returning to their homes were to be seen every day. Others who had been discharged, or whose regiments had been paroled, were constantly passing near our place. The "grape-vine telegraph" was kept busy night and day. The news and mutterings of great events were swiftly carried from one plantation to another. In the fear of "Yankee" invasions, the silverware and other valuables were taken from the "big house," buried in the woods, and guarded by trusted slaves. Woe be to any one who would have attempted to disturb the buried treasure. The slaves would give the Yankee soldiers food, drink, clothing—anything but that which had been specifically intrusted to their care and honour. As the great day drew nearer, there was more singing in the slave quarters than usual. It was bolder, had more ring, and lasted later into the night. Most of the verses of the plantation songs had some reference to freedom. True, they had sung those same verses before, but they had been careful to explain that the "freedom" in these songs referred to the next world, and had no connection with life in this world. Now they gradually threw off the mask, and were not afraid to let it be known that the "freedom" in their songs meant freedom of the body in this world. The night before the eventful day, word was sent to the slave quarters to the effect that something unusual was going to take place at the "big house" the next morning. There was little, if any, sleep that night. All as excitement and expectancy. Early the next morning word was sent to all the slaves, old and young, to gather at the house. In company with my mother, brother, and sister, and a large number of other slaves, I went to the master's house. All of our master's family were either standing or seated on the veranda of the house, where they could see what was to take place and hear what was said. There was a feeling of deep interest, or perhaps sadness, on their faces, but not bitterness. As I now recall the impression they made upon me, they did not at the moment seem to be sad because of the loss of property, but rather because of parting with those whom they had reared and who were in many ways very close to them. The most distinct thing that I now recall in connection with the scene was that some man who seemed to be a stranger (a United States officer, I presume) made a little speech and then read a rather long paper—the Emancipation Proclamation, I think. After the reading we were told that we were all free, and could go when and where we pleased. My mother, who was standing by my side, leaned over and kissed her children, while tears of joy ran down her cheeks. She explained to us what it all meant, that this was the day for which she had been so long praying, but fearing that she would never live to see.

For some minutes there was great rejoicing, and thanksgiving, and wild scenes of ecstasy. But there was no feeling of bitterness. In fact, there was pity among the slaves for our former owners. The wild rejoicing on the part of the emancipated coloured people lasted but for a brief period, for I noticed that by the time they returned to their cabins there was a change in their feelings. The great responsibility of being free, of having charge of themselves, of having to think and plan for themselves and their children, seemed to take possession of them. It was very much like suddenly turning a youth of ten or twelve years out into the world to provide for himself. In a few hours the great questions with which the Anglo-Saxon race had been grappling for centuries had been thrown upon these people to be solved. These were the questions of a home, a living, the rearing of children, education, citizenship, and the establishment and support of churches. Was it any wonder that within a few hours the wild rejoicing ceased and a feeling of deep gloom seemed to pervade the slave quarters? To some it seemed that, now that they were in actual possession of it, freedom was a more serious thing than they had expected to find it. Some of the slaves were seventy or eighty years old; their best days were gone. They had no strength with which to earn a living in a strange place and among strange people, even if they had been sure where to find a new place of abode. To this class the problem seemed especially hard. Besides, deep down in their hearts there was a strange and peculiar attachment to "old Marster" and "old Missus," and to their children, which they found it hard to think of breaking off. With these they had spent in some cases nearly a half-century, and it was no light thing to think of parting. Gradually, one by one, stealthily at first, the older slaves began to wander from the slave quarters back to the "big house" to have a whispered conversation with their former owners as to the future.

Chapter I. A Slave Among Slaves

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emergentrelationshipcenter · 1 year ago

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If You Are Doing Fine, Why Does Your Relationship Seem To Be A Pressure Cooker?

“I don’t want to bother you.” “I am sure that you are tired of hearing it.” “My story is too long and it’s too much to explain.”

These are all thoughts that people have when they are asked how they are doing and say they are “fine.” In my last blog post titled, “Not Everyone Is Fine During The Quarantine”, I wrote about the research that was conducted regarding Covid-19.

Since that last article, the nation has been facing political unrest and division. Not everyone is fine. So again, I am asking, why is everyone saying they are fine? I am concerned about so many things right now. One of my concerns is how folks in relationships are handling things.

I have been thinking about the impending consequences of the disaster we are experiencing. Whether we like to think about it or not, the aftermath of the pandemic is going to be momentous.

I saw the statistics in places that were hit before Covid-19 appeared locally, and their divorce rates are at a record high. People who were avoiding dealing with their relationship issues got pushed too far.

It’s like going on a vacation with someone you don’t really like. By the time you get back, you cannot stand the person and you can’t wait to get home, and then you don’t talk again or wait a few weeks or months. Except this is the person you live with, have children together, or at least have a lot of ties together.

So why do couples wait to seek couple counseling? And what is going to happen to their relationship?

Couples wait an average of 6 years to seek help for their relationship issue. That’s a long wait, but what if they don’t make it 6 years? My guess is that the quarantine is like a pressure cooker. Think about this for a minute: the average couple waits 6 years to get counseling help and many don’t even last 6 years. What will happen if we increase the pain?

We use a pressure cooker to make our food faster. Thanks to pressure, it cooks food in an estimated third of the usual cooking time. A struggling relationship, under normal circumstances, might be able to withstand the heat of waiting, but add in this current disaster and the consequences are sure to add much more. It’s a giant pressure cooker!

Couples often wait because they hope their relationship will get better on its own. They hope that their partner will arise from their hurtful behavior and see the error of their ways. The problem is that neither you nor your partner can see how this whole painful process started.

While you are waiting, more resentments are being collected, requiring more time spent healing from past hurts.

I can imagine that many people don’t think that someone else could help. Lord knows they have tried really hard on their own. I get that.

One thing I would remind you of is that therapy is something different, something you may not have tried yet. The couples therapy experience I offer is truly different from other relationship counseling experiences because it’s a relationship intensive that helps you get results quickly.

There is a famous saying: “If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always got.” — Henry Ford

I have been through hell and back in my own relationship and I really get the problem that most couples are facing. I can help you and your partner paint a picture of what you really want to create and then start taking steps to get there right way. If you want to make a powerful change in your relationship or marriage, do something that is really difficult. Look an angry partner or spouse in the eye and tell them you want to make a change.

Why don’t you reach out and get a guide, someone who can help you find out where you got lost and give you a road map? Don’t wait a moment longer. Get the therapy help you deserve. Click here to schedule with me. I even offer telehealth couples therapy or counseling online. Let’s create the relationship that offers the mutual support and understanding you are looking for.

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ramblesanddragons · 3 years ago

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Under The Moonlight

(For @lemonfodrizzleart based on her wonderful Mystery Farm AU mixed with Monster Falls. I really like Jackie as an OC and I hope I did her justice. A little treat for the spooky season. Normally I believe Gargrunk Stan can’t fly but maybe in this dimension he can!)

Words: 1967

Warnings: None! Just some fluff with a little bit of feels.

As the sun set low in the October sky Stan was trying his best to put on something nice. The wings were making it a little difficult. Maybe it would be easier to go shirtless than mess up a good flannel, but he wanted to look nice. Jackie was looking forward to this, he wasn’t going to let her down.

With a little fashion help from Kelvin, Stan was able to get his wings through some neatly cut holes. His tail wiggled into the hole in his jeans after a few tries. Shoes were a no go but at least his hat could rest in-between the horns on his head.

Getting ready for a date had never been so frustrating.

It was worth it though when he saw the smile on Jackie’s face. She was floating down the stairs, well more like fluttering. Even with all the draw backs of being a monster Jackie was enjoying being able to fly. The past few days she’d practically flown all over the farm.

Her dress was an off the shoulder affair in a deep black. A bit too fancy for a moonrise picnic but it was probably easier to deal with than anything else because of her own wings. He thin tail poked out of the bottom of the dress. Stan didn’t really care if it was too fancy. She looked incredible.

“Ready?” She asked.

Stan motioned to the blanket and basket in his hands and Jackie looped her arm around his stony one. Ford looked up from his notes. He was currently measuring the size of Kevin’s ears. It was only due to the golden fur covering his face that his twin wasn’t blushing up a storm being that close to his crush.

“You two be careful. I’m not sure how well any of the town folk would react to seeing you.”

“Look I’ve been planning this date for a week, Ford. No little monster curse is going ta stop us. You shouldn’t let it stop you either.”

Ford gave Stan a look that said, “Shut the hell up!” while Kelvin was distracted with the bone left over from his steak. Out of all of them he was rolling with this monster thing the best and seemed to embrace his wolfish side. Ford was indulging in riddles more but most of his focus was trying to find a cure. His twin needed to take a break before he burnt himself out. The occasional accidentally catnap wasn’t enough.

Stan could bother Ford to relax later. For now, he’d let him study Kelvin in peace. Maybe it would get him to finally ask him out. The official couple squeezed out the door with a wave and began to walk out into the orchard.

If this curse wasn’t lifted by next week, the fall apple festival they held each year would be turning into a costume festival as well. Sure, folks around town were used to the weird but even they had their limits. That was something for next week Stan to worry about. Right now Stan wanted to put all his attention on Jackie.

Jackie, who was also barefoot, would hop every few feet trying to catch a breeze. When she did, she’d flutter around the tops of the trees for a bit and return with a handful of apples.

“Honey, tonight’s ‘posed to be about relaxing.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just annoying to do it in the daytime. Sun hurts my eyes,” she explained. The picked apples were placed in bags and left by the trees. They could pick them up on the walk back.

“At least you can go out in the sun,” Stan grumbled.

Jackie gave him a sympathetic peck on the cheek and his grumbling morphed into a happy purring noise.

“It’s so cute when you do that.”

“Yeah, yeah just don’t tell Ford.”

She laughed and fluttered around the trees some more before they reached their picnic spot. The hill at the end of the orchard was silhouetted by the harvest moon. Maybe he needed to take Jackie on night dates more often. It was beautiful.

The two of them settled their blanket down and began to eat. Stan wasn’t as good of a cook as Jackie, but he had made the fanciest sandwiches he could with homemade sides. Every item had a somewhat ridiculous amount of meat in it to satisfy his new carnivore diet, but Jackie didn’t mind.

The two of them ate and talked and laughed. Stan offered her a blanket when the wind blew but Jackie declined.

“Apparently demons don’t get cold. It’s nice.”

“You know you might look like a demon, but I think of you as an angel baby.” Stan said with a smile. The smile faltered as Jackie laughed.

“How long have you been wanting to use that one? Very smooth lover boy,” she teased.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I love you no matter what you look like! Yeesh. I try to be sweet.” He rolled his eyes playfully before remembering that no one could tell when he was rolling his eyes anymore. His eyes were currently glowing orange orbs.

Jackie’s eyes had a reddish cat in the dark like gleam to them. They were staring deeply at him. “I appreciate. At first, I was a bit weirded out by being turned into a succubus of all things, but you haven’t made me feel weird or different. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. You’re amazing no matter what you look like.” Stan wrapped a stony arm around Jackie, and they sat and watched the stars for a few minutes.

“Hey. I just got a great idea. We should take advantage of this who demon and gargoyle thing while we can,” Jackie said playfully.

Stan gulped. “Well, I haven’t really pushed any ideas since I didn’t want you thinking that you being a succubus would effect anything. I love you for more than that and-”

“Let’s go flying!”

“That...that is not what I thought you meant.”

“Oh, that can happen later. I know you’ve had a hard time keeping your hands off me.” Jackie winked and hopped-up leaving Stan slack jawed in the dirt. She laughed and stretched her wings wide.

“I think we could get some good air from here but maybe we should head up on the cliffs.”

“I don’t think I can fly. Too heavy,” Stan said.

“I bet you can. If your furball and feathers of a twin can, so can you. Although just in case we probably shouldn’t start with the cliffs. Let's try from here.

The hill wasn’t high enough to set off Stan’s heights fear, but it was one of the best places to sled on the farm. With the right wind it could be enough for a decent take off as Jackie was proving. She ran a few feet and stretched her wings, diving down to catch speed then turning up. She whooped happily as she climbed higher and higher. It almost looked like she could touch the large moon.

“Come on baby you can do it!” She shouted from the sky.

Stan gulped. He took a deep breath and went down the hill at a run. He jumped like he saw Jackie do but then tumbled head over tail down the rest of the hill. As he finally rolled to a stop Jackie landed beside him.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Hard head remember.” For emphasis Stan tapped his head and it made stony thumping noise.

“How about I do it with you? That might help.”

“Jackie I... there’s something I haven’t told you.” Stan frowned, he hated admitting it. “I’m afraid of heights.”

Jackie tilted her head in confusion and then something clicked. “That’s why you get Ford to do anything that involves a ladder! That’s why you like to use the apple picking tool instead of climbing!”

“Yeah. Pretty pathetic huh.”

“Of course not! Being afraid of heights makes sense! It’s not like humans can fly...normally that is. I just can’t believe we’ve been together this whole time and I didn’t realize it.”

“I did my best to try and hide it.”

Jackie petted his head causing him to purr again. Her claw like nails made a scratching noise against his stone skin. “Don’t be afraid to tell me you’re afraid Stan. I know you got it in your head you’re supposed to be this tough, sturdy guy-”

“What gave you that idea?” Stan asked in faux offense. Jackie shot him a look and gestured to his gargoyle body. He chuckled and let Jackie finish her thought.

“What I was trying to say is that it’s okay to be afraid and all those other human things. You don’t have to put on an act for me.”

Stan’s smile faltered and he took Jackie’s hand in his. “...I know.” Logically he knew that but there were times he could still hear his pa’s voice in his head telling him to be a man. Men weren’t afraid of things. Men didn’t have feelings. Men were tough as stone. That wasn’t the kind of man he was though, deep down, despite his current appearance. Sure, he was tough, but he felt all these other feelings too and he didn’t want to deny them. It was just hard sometimes. He was thankful to whatever above that Jackie was patient with him about it.

They sat at the bottom of the hill until Stan’s head finished spinning. Then he hauled himself up.

“Let’s try again.”

“Stan, you got nothing to prove.”

“I know that but when am I ever going to have a chance like this again. With luck these wings are gone within the week.”

He trudged back up the hill and watched how Jackie took off running and caught the fall breeze in her wings. She swooped up and flapped her wings hard to get higher and higher. Waiting until the wind picked up again Stan charged down the hill on all fours. As dumb as he felt it worked and he was able to feel a lift on his body. He beat his wings as hard as he could and the ground under him disappeared. The sudden disappearance of the ground spooked him, and he stopped flapping. His stone body went tumbling again.

“Stan!”

“I’m okay. I almost got this. Stay there!”

Determined he tried one more time. This time the wind was with him as a strong gust rolled across the orchard sending leaves and some apples flying. He flapped with all his might and didn’t panic this time when he took flight. His body was heavy. He could feel the strain in his back from the effort, but it was worth it to see Jackie’s delighted face.

“How are you doing?” She lowered herself down a few feet to meet him where he was steady.

“Alright if I don’t look down or think about being 20 feet in the air.”

“Come on! Just keep your eyes on me.” She took Stan’s hand and together they started to soar through the starlit sky around the farm. As terrifying as it was it was also beautiful. The two of them danced in the sky for as long as Stan’s wings could hold him.

Landing was tricky but when they made it back to their picnic spot Stan managed to stay on both feet despite tripping. He was even able to catch Jackie in his hands as she landed.

“That was amazing,” she said breathlessly.

“You’re amazing,” Stan responded.

“You might not agree with that after this. Tag you’re it!” She yelled pushing him slightly. She took off into the air again.

“Hey now hold on!” Stan laughed and shouted after her, taking off into the sky again.

#Gravity Falls #My writing #Monster Falls AU #Mystery Farm AU #Stan Pines X OC

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benjiwyatt · 4 years ago

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do you have any ben/leslie headcanons! i love your posts abt them so much it's great to see someone get as emotional abt them as i am asjdkajhjd

i got this message and i was like "god, i dont really know if i have any headcanons" and then i opened my notes app and started typing and didn't stop for over an hour

i'm literally putting this under a break and organizing it into categories bc it's absurdly long

here it is

A COLLECTION OF BEN AND LESLIE HEADCANONS

PRE-RELATIONSHIP/S3

basically canon but leslie definitely had a crush on a young benji wyatt and followed the story religiously for the first couple months before she started college

ben is only slightly jealous leslie had ann go out with chris to try and get more money for the parks budget rather than leslie asking him out with the same goal. he knows it’s insane, unethical, and illogical but he’s still excited that he gets to spend the night with her on a date plus two other people even if it is to accuse her of bribery.

ann realizes early on that leslie was attracted to ben and teases her mercilessly about it. she thinks it’s absolutely hilarious that leslie wants to make out with "mean ben.” after april and andy’s wedding, she realizes it's more than just attraction and she lays off.

before ben can even think rationally about what he’s doing, he’s in line at bed, bath, and beyond with a crock pot in his arms, calling stephanie to ask her to send him their family’s chicken soup recipe

ann knew ben liked her from the beginning and was totally positive when she ran into him in the hospital asking for leslie’s room number while holding jj’s waffles and a tub of homemade soup.

ben realizes he’s falling in love with leslie when he is at city hall with her until 3am one night trying to budget for the amount of cotton candy machines she wants for the harvest festival. in his exhaustion, he naively believes her when she tells him she’ll go home in a bit so he leaves. he never gets a text from saying she made it home so he stops at jj’s the next morning and brings a takeout container of waffles and a coffee complete with an outlandish amount of whipped cream and sugar to the parks department. he finds her asleep in the conference room. he starts trying to convince sweetums to donate more cotton candy machines that afternoon.

chris had to have known ben liked leslie. he’s not an idiot. in the deleted scene from their wedding, they read out emails from their “tumultuous first week in pawnee” and chris writes to ben saying, “why are you so focused on leslie knope?” ben replies saying, “i’m not. whatever. shut up.” there’s no way chris is this oblivious. ben takes her out for a beer. ben pays out of pocket for a children’s performer to help her out. ben shows up on chris and ann’s date just because he thinks leslie might be there. chris can’t be this dumb. but when they take the city manager jobs in pawnee, he knows it can’t happen so he cuts ben off when he starts to ask about dating someone in city hall. he cracks down on the rule in front of leslie after the tom incident to hammer it in. he starts setting ben up on a bunch of dates to try and head it off. he sends them to indianapolis for the little league pitch because, realistically, he knows they’re the best bet for success but makes sure to interrupt their dinner and invites them to his apartment to continue to run interference the rest of the night. after their fights in 4.06-4.08, he hopes he won’t have to worry anymore. the next work day, they come into his office looking nervous and happy and he knows he’s about to lose the partner and best friend that’s been by his side for the past decade.

april and andy knew they were secretly dating. it went unspoken aside from a few implicit teasing remarks from april and a few suggestive attempted high fives from andy but leslie assured ben they wouldn’t tell anyone despite their ostensible behavior.

BREAK UP

ben had commissioned the li’l sebastian plush for leslie after he had died but the toy shop didn’t finish it until after they broke up. he felt bad not going to pick it up so he did despite not being able to give it to her. he kept it for all those months and sometimes thought about getting rid of it but could never bring himself to do it.

when leslie made personalized copies her books for her friends with individualized annotations and notes in the bylines, she had two copies for ben. there was one that she gave him during their breakup that was very simplified and watered down where the note basically just said “i’m really glad you decided to stay in pawnee.” then there was a second copy that she kept while they were split up that was totally covered in notes and random thoughts she couldn’t say during their time apart. she gives him that copy when they get back together and it may or may not be the best gift he’s ever received.

april was much less abrasive with them during the break up because she’s a sweetheart and wants her friends to be happy.

the first time leslie admitted she was in love with him was during a long night of drinking and crying at ann’s house

ben craved the taste of sugar during their breakup because he got used to tasting the sweetness when he kissed her

ben found himself unable to sleep at night without the sound of leslie talking in her sleep to comfort him

april texted leslie the night of the halloween party to let her know that ben and andy were at the hospital after a fight and everything was fine and she didn’t need to worry. leslie was mad at andy for a few days after and he couldn’t figure out why.

the only photo in ben’s bedroom was of himself, leslie, and li’l sebastian at the harvest festival. if he got caught staring at it and crying, he would just say he missed li’l sebastian so much.

april and andy started having star wars and star trek movie nights to try and cheer ben up

DOMESTIC

ben and leslie got in the habit of having weekly game nights with april and andy during the campaign since they were all basically living together. it became a tradition that kept going as often as they could make it happen, even after the kids were born. they try to have game night at least once a month. april pretends to hate it.

one of my absolute favorite ideas about them is that she sleeps much better when he’s around to keep her grounded. after they get together for good, she starts getting closer to 5 hours of sleep a night.

another favorite involving leslie’s sleeping: ben is typically accustomed to tuning out incoherent nonsense that she babbles in her sleep but she also has some of her best ideas when she’s not busy trying to focus on a million different things. when he hears her coming up with legitimately good ideas or making speeches or having solid debate arguments, he takes out the notebook he keeps in his nightstand to record her thoughts and quotes. he revisits and revises the notes to strengthen her statements and make them more professional and less rambling but makes sure to keep her distinct voice apparent in them.

ben prefers pancakes to waffles but he will go to the grave with that secret

this isn’t a headcanon because nbc posted it but one of ben’s holidays on leslie’s calendar is watch synchronization day which is the day they celebrate syncing their watches to, as leslie puts it, “always be in harmony, like our hearts” which is just one of the sweetest fucking things in the world

leslie makes ben read and watch all the harry potters because he didn’t get into them when he first tried. ben is much more of a success than ann. she buys him a ravenclaw scarf for christmas.

their first fight as a couple was a historical debate gone awry

since ben clearly has some affinity for custom stuffed animals, he has some made for the triplets.

they’re both dog people but they adopt a cat because sonia and stephen beg for one and it does fit their busy lifestyle much better. they love the cat. they get a dog when the kids are older and life is slightly less hectic.

they both love striped shirts and sweaters so much that they have to make a conscious effort to avoid wearing them on the same day and matching

leslie makes sweets and bakes desserts while ben typically handles cooking the actual meals

BASED ON EPISODES, QUOTES, AND THROWAWAY LINES

i always loved the ann/ben dynamic in bus tour because there’s been such an obvious shift in ann’s attitude towards him in this episode. maybe it’s because she and tom just broke up and she just turned chris down again and she’s frustrated with relationships but i think it’s her realizing ben isn’t going anywhere. since the campaign is winding down, she realizes that things aren’t gonna go back to the way they were because ben is now part of this and he’s clearly in it for the long haul. ann’s definitely jealous that ben is just as important to leslie as she is and she now knows she’s never gonna get that full attention back. ann sits ben down to have a real “don’t you dare hurt her” speech after this ep and before win, lose, or draw. this is when he tells ann he wants to marry her.

they discover they both adore the princess bride after ben says “as you wish” to her one night and after that it becomes their movie.

the wildflower mural becomes a thing between them when ben says he considered that to be their first date, prompting leslie to tell him what the mural means to her.

ben puts banjo boogie bonanza on one of the mix cds he gives leslie at the beginning of their relationship

harrison ford movie nights start after they both reveal they had a crush on him as a kid. ben was obsessed with han solo and leslie was into indiana jones’ whole history teacher vibe.

they basically hate each other’s taste in music and stop exchanging mix cds once that becomes apparent that they aren’t gonna find much common ground. they both love tom petty, al green, and etta james and music in that vein though.

ben makes leslie watch game of thrones just to try to explain why he’s called her khaleesi. she gets into it, not so much because of the show itself, but because of how passionate her boyfriend is about it.

they start learning basic french during the s4 campaign because they think it will be useful to have a basic multilingual vocabulary for their political careers and because leslie confesses she has always dreamed of seeing paris. they study spanish next.

ben makes leslie watch the star wars prequels just so he can complain to her during them. he doesn’t think she’s paying attention and then he reads about midichlorians in the paper.

ann is also in on ben’s plan to sneak vegetables into leslie’s waffles.

they will sometimes jokingly refer to themselves as the “dream team” or “dynamic duo” because, despite chris’s absurdity, it’s true

i’m open to literally any origin of this because no matter what it’s perfect but i like to think that “i love you and i like you” started at some point in season 4 when, at some point, leslie went “i like you” and ben replied “you like me?” “mhm” “hm just like me?” “yes i like you. i love you and i like you. both.” “mmm i love you and i like you too”

i barely even register some of these things as headcanons since they just live so solidly in my brain

this might be my favorite ask ever thank you for loving benslie enough to ask me this and be genuinely interested

if anyone read all of this, i love you

#most of me loves you for sending this ask but i just procrastinated so much work while writing this #ben x leslie #otp: deeply ridiculously #cherubsona #mail #this is truly absurdly long no one is gonna read this

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august-anon · 4 years ago

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Tickletober Day 13 - Wake up!

Fun fact: this is the very first fic I wrote when prepping for tickletober and that's why it's so plot-heavy lol. It's also one of my favorite fics I've written for tickletober, so I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, sorry for the bit of angst lol

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Ship(s): platonic Pines fam

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Dipper, Lee!Mabel, Ler!Stan (also Ford is here briefly)

Word Count: 1691 words

Summary: Stan may have difficulty recalling anything now, but at least he knows the kids will be a constant.

[ao3 link]

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

Stan sat at the kitchen table, staring down at Mabel’s scrapbook and flipping through pages. He hadn’t been able to stop since she’d given it to him a few days ago, after they all realized how much it had started helping his memory.

The thing was, Stan couldn’t remember much beyond this past summer, and even that was fractured at best. Ford told him stories, of course. Their mom, their dad, their brother. He’d told Stan about the Stan ‘O War, about how they’d always been there for each other, about shenanigans the two of them had gotten into. Stories from Ford’s perspective could only do so much, though. And Stan wasn’t as clueless as Ford thought he was, he could clearly see that Ford was holding a lot back.

Something had happened between the two of them. Possibly multiple somethings. And not good somethings, seeing as Ford wouldn’t crack.

It was disorienting and uncomfortable, to have so much of his life blank. He forgot names, faces, places. He had lapses, even with memories they thought he’d recovered permanently. Sometimes, on bad nights, Stan forgot who he was entirely again, and where he was, and why this strange man that looked like him was trying to tell him to calm down.

He didn’t know why he gave it all up. Stan’s family said, repeatedly, that what he did saved them, all of them. Even people he didn’t know or couldn’t remember. Stan wished that it brought him peace, knowing that, but it never did. He did know, though, that if it came down to it, he would probably make the same choice again in a heartbeat.

No one was hurting those kids, or his brother, ever again. Not if he could help it.

��Stanley?” Someone called from nearby. Stan got the notion that it wasn’t the first time they’d tried to get his attention.

He glanced up, seeing Ford in the doorway to the kitchen. He chuckled, slipping into a nonchalant persona that felt comfortably familiar, even if he hardly remembered it.

“Sorry, lost in thought, I guess,” he said, knocking a fist against his forehead. “Didja need something?”

Ford’s smile was tight around his eyes, like he knew exactly what Stan had been lost in thought about. “No, not at all.”

An awkward silence spread through the room again and an anxious feeling rose up in Stan’s chest. Was he supposed to be remembering something? Was this another routine he forgot, and now he was messing up the steps?

“Why don’t you go wake the kids?” Ford offered, cutting through the silence. “I can make us all breakfast. It’s starting to get late, anyway.”

Stan snorted. “Eight thirty is hardly late, Poindexter,” he said, but he was already rising from the table even as he said it, closing the scrapbook as he went.

Sure, the kids would probably be a bit grumpy. He would too, being woken up so early during a day off, especially in summer, but it gave Stan a task. Something to do that would (hopefully) be hard to mess up, memory or not.

So Stan dragged himself up the stairs to the attic and quietly pushed open the door to the kids’ room. He sighed when he saw the two of them curled up together in Dipper’s bed. He wasn’t surprised that they were having nightmares. He couldn’t fall asleep either, most nights, but instead of a face or voice haunting him, he had no name to put to his tormentor. Stan didn’t know if that made it easier or harder.

He heard them shuffling around at night when he couldn’t sleep, whispers carrying down through the old wooden house. Never enough for the words to travel, though, just the tone: angry, scared, tired, resigned. These kids acted far too old for their age.

Stan was rather tempted to just leave them and let them sleep. They clearly weren’t sleeping any better than him or Ford, the dark bruises under their eyes only accentuated by the shadows from the window. Really, Stan doubted anyone had been sleeping well, ever since what the town had dubbed “Weirdmaggedon.”

Maybe the kids would benefit from some time outside their realms of nightmares. He could already see Mabel’s face scrunching up in fear.

But how did he wake them? How did one wake an almost-teenager? Shake them? Poke them until they got annoyed enough to open their eyes? Talk really loud until it drew them out of dreamland? None of that seemed like it would lead to very happy children.

Stan sighed again and quietly entered the room, moving to stand next to the bed. Mabel made a distressed sound in her sleep and Stan couldn’t help but let out a sympathetic hum, tucking some of her tangled hair behind her ear. Mabel scrunched up her shoulder weird and a smile briefly tugged at her lips.

Now there was an idea.

Stan may not have had much memory left, but he knew a ticklish kid when he saw them. It felt a little rude to just tickle them right awake, though. Stan figured that would be pretty startling, while coming out of a nightmare. Instead he gently grabbed each of their shoulders and carefully shook them.

“Kids,” Stan said, voice low but not quite a whisper. “Kids, it’s time to wake up.”

Mabel’s face scrunched up, this time in annoyance and not fear. “Grunkle Stan, no,” she moaned, slurring her words in her half-asleep state and rolling over to bury her face in a pillow.

“Too early,” Dipper grumbled, and pulled the blanket over both of their heads.

Stan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, maybe it is a bit early for grumpy pre-teens. But you know who it’s not too early for?”

Twins gasps sounded from under the blanket, and Stan got the distinct feeling that they’d gone through this song and dance before. Well, at least it was reassuring that his personality didn’t seem to have changed much, despite the gaps in memory.

“Grunkle Stan, wait!” Mabel cried, and it already sounded like she was laughing.

“No, no!” Dipper yelled, but his voice was giddy and excited.

“There’s no Grunkle Stan, here,” Stan growled, ripping the blanket off the two of them. “There’s only… the Tickle Monster!”

Dipper and Mabel shrieked as Stan lunged.

Even if Stan himself didn’t remember, it seemed like his fingers did. One hand clawed into Dipper’s stomach, making him squawk and cackle, while the other quickly buried itself up under Mabel’s arm, making her shriek and squeal. Stan couldn’t help but laugh along with the two of them, their laughter being painfully contagious.

“Hey,” Stan said, a goofy grin spreading across his lips. “Did you know, my ex-wife still misses me--”

Dipper and Mabel both groaned through their laughter.

“But her aim is getting better!”

Stan laughed, and he was certain that if the kids weren’t laughing too hard to talk, they would be making the usual assortment of annoyed comments.

“Wow, kids, I know I’m funny, but I didn’t know my jokes were that good.”

Mabel’s legs had started kicking, trying to propel her away from the tickling fingers, while Dipper seemed to curl in on himself as he snorted and cackled. It was an interesting dichotomy, with them being twins, and reminded Stan a lot of him and Ford when they were younger--

Well well, looks like goofing off did some good for Stan, after all.

But Stan decided that he had plenty of time to focus on that, later. For now, he needed to finish these kids off and get them down to breakfast. Preferably soon, because the realization that Ford could not cook and would likely burn the Shack down had also just hit him.

Stan leaned down, deciding to do his big finish on Dipper first. He pushed Dipper’s legs back down and pulled up his sleep shirt just enough to see his belly. Then, he took a deep breath and blew the biggest raspberry he could in the center of Dipper’s stomach, making sure to shake his head and rub his stubble in on it, and almost breaking to laugh at the near-scream that left Dipper’s lips. He blew a handful of smaller raspberries in a few random places before pulling back and letting Dipper breathe.

Turning toward Mabel, she had already tilted her head back like she knew what to expect. And now that he thought about it, Stan did seem to be getting a weird sense of deja-vu, so maybe this had been routine, before. Stan darted forward to blow a big raspberry against the side of her neck, hoping he didn’t go deaf from her shrill laughter right next to his ear, and blew a handful of smaller raspberries as he moved to the other side of it. There, he blew one last big raspberry before pulling back.

Stan sat on the edge of the bed as the kids caught their breath. They recovered faster than he expected, and Stan suddenly found himself tackled backwards to the bed, the kids laughing as they piled on top of him. Stan laughed, too.

“Good morning, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel yelled, far too loudly for having been asleep just moments before.

“Good morning!” Dipper echoed at a much lower volume.

“Come on,” he said. “We’d better get down to the kitchen before Ford blows the whole place up. I’m sure you two could convince him to step away from the stove long enough for me to make something.”

Dipper and Mabel both gave him incredibly mischievous looks before rushing out of the room without another word. Stan huffed out a breath, watching them go. Then, he quickly rose to follow them. Either his brother was about to get absolutely wrecked by two 12-year-olds, or those kids were about to have quite the round two (six fingers did wonders for tickling skills, based on what was coming back to Stan) and he didn’t want to miss a moment of either scenario.

After all, he knew more than anyone, now, that the memories he made with his family were beyond precious.

#tickle fic #My writing #tickletober2020 #gravity falls tickling #lee!dipper #lee!mabel #ler!grunkle stan #ticklish!dipper #ticklish!mabel #gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #grunkle stan #grunkle ford

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sinceileftyoublog · 3 years ago

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Riot Fest 2021: 9/16-9/19, Douglass Park

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Much like Pitchfork Music Festival earlier this month, this past weekend’s Riot Fest felt relatively normal. Arriving at Douglas Park every day, you were greeted by the usual deluge of attendees in Misfits t-shirts and dyed hair, the sound of faint screams and breakneck guitars and drums emanating from nearby stages. The abnormal aspects of the fest, at least as compared to previous incarnations, we’re already used to by now from 2021 shows: To get in, you had to show proof of vaccination and/or a negative test no older than 48 hours, which means that unvaxxed 4-day attendees had to get multiple tests. Props to the always awesome staff at Riot Fest for actually checking the cards against the names on government-issued IDs.

For a festival that dealt with a plethora of last-minute changes due to bands dropping out because of COVID-19 caution (Nine Inch Nails, Pixies, Dinosaur Jr.) or other reasons (Faith No More/Mr. Bungle because of concerns around Mike Patton’s well-being), there were very few bumps in the road. Whether Riot Fest had bands like Slipknot, Anthrax, or Rise Against in their back pocket as replacements or not, it very much felt like who we saw Thursday-Sunday was always supposed to be the lineup, even when laying your eyes on countless “Death to the Pixies” shirts. Sure, one of the fest’s main gimmicks--peeling back the label on Goose Island’s Riot Fest Sucks Pale Ale to reveal the schedule--was out of date with inaccurate set times and bands, and it still would have been so had Faith No More and Mr. Bungle stayed, since Fucked Up had to drop out last minute due to border issues. But the festival, as always, rolled with the punches.

The sets themselves offered the circle pit and crowdsurfing-inducing punk and metal you’re used to, with a few genre outliers. For so many bands of all styles, Riot Fest represented their first live show in years, and a few acts knew the exact number of days since their last show. For every single set, the catharsis in the crowd and on stage was palpable, not exactly anger, or elation, but pure release.

Here were our favorite sets of the festival, in chronological order.

WDRL

Last October, WDRL (which, amazingly, stands for We Don’t Ride Llamas) announced themselves with a Tweet: “y’all been looking for an alt black band,, well here you go”. A band of Gen Z siblings, Chase (lead guitar), Max (lead vocals), Blake (drums), and Kit Mitchell (bass guitar), WDRL is aware, much like Meet Me @ The Altar (who, despite my hyping, I couldn’t make it in time to see) that they’re one of too few bands of POCs in the Riot Fest-adjacent scene. Their set, one of the very first of the weekend during Thursday’s pre-party, showed them leading by example, the type of band to inspire potentially discouraged Black and brown folks to start punk bands. Max is a terrific vocalist, able to scream over post-punk, scat over funk, and coo over slow, soulful R&B swayers with the same ease. The rest of the band was equally versatile, able to pivot on a dime from scuzzy rock to hip hop to twinkling dream pop. Bonus points for covering Splendora’s “You’re Standing On My Neck”, aka the Daria theme song.

Joyce Manor

Joyce Manor’s self-titled debut is classic. The best part of it as an album play-through at a festival? It’s so short that you can hear it and you’ll still have half a set for other favorites. So while the bouncy “Orange Julius”", “Ashtray Petting Zoo”, and ultimate singalong “Constant Headache” were set highlights, the Torrance, CA band was able to burn through lots from Never Hungover Again, Cody, Million Dollars to Kill Me, and their rarities collection Songs From Northern Torrance. Apart from not playing anything from Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired (seriously, am I the only one who loves that record?), Joyce Manor were stellar, from the undeniable hooks of “Heart Tattoo” to the churning power chords of “Catalina Fight Song”. After playing “Christmas Card”, Johnson and company gave one final nod to the original fest cancellation, My Chemical Romance, who were slated to headline 2020, then 2021, and now 2022. If you ever wondered what it would sound like hearing a concise punk band like Joyce Manor take on the bombast of “Helena”, you found out. Hey, it was actually pretty good!

Patti Smith

Behold: a full Patti Smith set! After being shafted by the weather last time around, a sunglasses-laden Smith decided not to fuck around, leading with the inspiring “People Have The Power”, her voice as powerful as I’ve ever heard it. Maybe it was the influence of Riot Fest, but she dropped as many f-bombs as Corey Taylor did during Slipknot’s Sunday night headlining set. After reluctantly signing an adoring crowd member’s copy of Horses, she quipped, “I feel bad for you have to cart that fucking thing around.” It wasn’t just the filthy banter: This was Smith at her most enraptured and incendiary, belting during “Because The Night” and spitting during a “Land/Gloria” medley, reciting stream-of-consciousness hallucinogenic lyrics about the power of escape in the greatest display of stamina the festival had to offer.

Circa Survive

“It feels good to dance,” declared Circa Survive lead singer Anthony Green. The heart and soul of the Philadelphia rock band, who cover ground from prog rock to post-hardcore and emo, Green was in full form during the band’s early Friday set, his falsetto carrying the rolling “The Difference Between Medicine and Poising Is in the Dose” and the chugging “Rites of Investiture”. While the band, too, can throw down, they’re equally interesting when softer and more melodic, Brendan Ekstrom‘s twinkling guitars lifting “Child of the Desert” and “Suitcase”. Ending with the one-two punch of debut Juturna’s introspective “Act Appalled” and Blue Sky Noise’s skyward “Get Out”, Green announced the band would have a new record coming soon, one you hope will cover the sonic and thematic ground of even just those two tracks.

Thrice

Thrice played their first show since February 2020 the same day they’d release their 11th studio album, Horizons/East (Epitaph). To a crowd of fans that came to hear their favorite songs, though, the Irvine, California band knew better than to play a lot of the new record, instead favoring tracks like The Artist in the Ambulance’s spritely title cut and Vheissu standout “The Earth Will Shake”. Yeah, they led with a Horizons/East song making its live debut, the dreamy, almost Deftones-esque “Scavengers”, and later in the set they’d reveal the impassioned “Summer Set Fire to the Rain”. But the set more prominently served to emphasize lead vocalist Dustin Kensrue’s gruff delivery, on “All the World Is Mad” and “in Exile”, the rhythm section’s propulsive playing buoying his fervency. And how about Teppei Teranishi’s finger tapping on “Black Honey”?!? Thrice often favor the slow build-up, but they offered plenty of individually awesome moments.

Smashing Pumpkins

William Patrick Corgan entered the stage to dramatic strings, dressed in a robe, with white face paint except for red hearts under his eyes. He looked like a ghost. That’s pretty much where the semi-serious theatricality ended. The Smashing Pumpkins’ first Chicago festival headlining set in recent memory was the rawest they’ve sounded in a while, counting when they played an original lineup-only set at the United Center a few years back. It was also the most fun I’ve ever seen Corgan have on stage. Though they certainly selected and debuted from their latest electropop turn Cyr, Corgan, guitarist James Iha, drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, guitarist Jeff Schroeder, and company more notably dug deep into the vault, playing Gish’s “Crush” for the first time since 2008, Adore’s “Shame” for the first time since 2010, and Siamese Dream barnburner “Quiet” for the first time since 1994 (!). Best, every leftfield disco jam like set opener “The Colour Of Love”, “Cyr”, and “Ramona” was quickly followed by something heavy and/or recognizable, Chamberlin’s limber drum solos elevating even latter-day material like “Solara”. At one point, Corgan, a self-described “arty fuck,” admitted that years ago he would have opted for more experimental material, but he knew the crowd wanted to hear classics, the band then delving into a gorgeous acoustic version of “Tonight, Tonight”. And while Kate Bush coverer Meg Myers came out to sing Lost Highway soundtrack industrial ditty “Eye”, it was none other than legendary local shredder Michael Angelo Batio who stole the show, joining for the set closer, a pummeling version of Zeitgeist highlight “United States”. Leaning into the cheese looks good on you, Billy.

The Bronx

Credit to L.A. punk rock band The Bronx, playing early on a decidedly cooler Saturday early afternoon, for making me put in my earplugs outside of the photo pit. Dedicating “Shitty Future” to Fucked Up (who, as we mentioned, had to drop out), the entire band channeled Damian Abraham’s energy on piercing versions of “Heart Attack American” as well as “Superbloom” and “Curb Feelers” from their latest album Bronx VI (Cooking Vinyl). Joby J. Ford and Ken Horne’s guitars stood out, providing choppy rhythms on “Knifeman” and swirling solos on “Six Days A Week”.

Big Freedia

The New Orleans bounce artist has Big Diva Energy, for the most part. After her DJ pumped up the crowd to contemporary Southern rap staple “Ayy Ladies” by Travis Porter, Big Freedia walked out and showed that “BDE”, firing through singles like “Platinum” and “N.O. Bounce” as her on-stage dancers’ moves ranged from delicate to earth-shaking. At this point, Freedia can pretty much do whatever she wants, effortlessly segueing between a cover of Drake’s “Nice For What” to “Strut”, her single with electropop DJ Elohim, to a cover of Beyone’s “Formation”. Of course, the set highlight was when she had volunteers from the crowd come up and shake and twerk--two at a time to keep it COVID-safe--all while egging them on to go harder. Towards the end of the set, after performing the milquetoast “Goin’ Looney” from the even-worse-than-expected Space Jam: A New Legacy soundtrack, she pulled out the beloved “Gin in my System”. “I got that gin in my system,” she sang, the crowd singing back, “Somebody gonna be my victim,” a refrain that compositionally not only leaves plenty of room for the thundering bass but is thematically a statement of total power--over sexism, racism, the patriarchy--even in the face of control-altering substances.

Les Savy Fav

During Les Savy Fav’s set, lead singer Tim Harrington at various points--*big breath*--went into the crowd, deepthroated an audience member’s mohawk spike, found a discarded manikin head with a wig on it, revealed the words “deep” and “dish” painted on his thighs and a drawing of a Red Hot on his back, rode a crowd member like a horse, made a headband out of pink tape, donned ski goggles, surfed on top of a door carried by the crowd, squeezed his belly while the camera was on it to make it look like his belly button was singing, and referred to himself as a “slippery eel.” Indeed, the legend of Les Savy Fav’s live show starts and ends with Harrington’s ridiculous antics, as he’s all but out of breath when actually singing dance-punk classics like “Hold On To Your Genre”, “The Sweat Descends”, and “Rome (Written Upside Down)”. We haven’t heard much in terms of new music from Les Savy Fav in over 10 years--their most recent album was 2010′s Root For Ruin--but I could see them and the extremely Aughts genre in general become staples of Riot Fest as albums like Inches, The Rapture’s Echoes, and !!!’s Louden Up Now reach the 20-year mark. Dynamic vocalists, tight bands, and killer grooves: What’s not to love?

State Champs

This set likely wins the award for “most immediate crowd surfers,” which I guess is to be expected when you begin your set with a classic track 1--album 1 combination. “Elevated” is the State Champs number that will cause passers-by to stop and watch a couple songs, the type of song that can pretty much only open or close a set. And because they opened with it, the crowd immediately ramped up the energy. It’s been three years since the last State Champs full-length, Living Proof, so they were in prime position to play some new songs. As such, they performed their bubblegummy “Outta My Head” and “Just Sound” and faithfully covered Fall Out Boy’s “Chicago Is So Two Years Ago” (releasing a studio version earlier this week). But the tracks from The Finer Things and Around the World and Back were, as usual, the highlights, like “All You Are Is History”, “Remedy”, “Slow Burn”, and set closer “Secrets”. At the end of the day, it didn’t entirely matter: The crowd knew every word of every song.

Bayside

Putting State Champs and Bayside back-to-back on the same stage made an easy decision for the many pop-punk bands at Riot Fest. Bayside’s been at it for twice as long, so the breadth of their setlist across their discography is more variable. Moreover, they’ve thrice revisited their discography with acoustic albums of old songs, so even their staples are subject to change. They provided solid versions of Killing Time standouts “Already Gone” and “Sick, Sick, Sick”, Cult’s “Pigsty”, and older songs like their self-titled’s “Montauk” and Sirens and Condolences’ “Masterpiece”. For “Don’t Call Me Peanut”, though, they brought out--*gasp*--an acoustic guitar! It was a rare moment not just for one of the most popular pop punk sets but the festival in general, a breather before Vacancy shout-along “Mary”.

Rancid

“Rancid has always been anti-fascist and anti-racist,” said Tim Armstrong before the band played “Hooligans”. It was nice to hear an explicit declaration of solidarity from the street punks, reminding the crowd what really matters and why we come together to scream and mosh. The band expectedly favored ...And Out Come The Wolves, playing almost half of it, and they perfectly balanced their harder edges with more celebratory ska songs like “Where I’m Going” from their most recent album Trouble Maker (Hellcat/Epitaph). My two favorite moments? The breezy, keyboard-laden “Fall Back Down” from their supremely underrated 2001 album Indestructable, and when they asked the crowd whether they wanted the set to end with “Time Bomb” or “Ruby Soho”. “We have 4 minutes left, and it’s disrespectful to play over your set time,” said Armstrong. It’s easy to see why Rancid continues to make an impression--instrumental and moral--on touring bands new and old.

Run the Jewels

The brilliant hip hop duo are masters of balancing social consciousness with the desire to fuck shit up for fun. Live, the former tends to come in between-song banter, the latter with their actual charismatic, tit-for-tat performances of the songs. However, Run the Jewels also are probably the clearest live performers in hip hop today, Killer Mike and El-P’s words, hypersexual and woke alike, ringing in the ears of audience members who don’t even know the songs. (Looking around, I could see people smiling and laughing at every dick joke, nodding at each righteous proclamation.) Some of the best songs on their most recent album RTJ4 (Jewel Runners/BMG) are perfect for these multitudes. Hearing both RTJ MCs and the backing track of Pharrell Williams and Zack de la Rocha chanting “Look at all these slave masters posin’ on yo’ dollar” on “JU$T” as the rowdy crowd bounced up and down was the ultimate festival moment. For those who had never seen RTJ, it was clear from the get-go, as Killer Mike and EL-P traded bars on “yankee and the brave (ep. 4)” that they’re a unique hip hop act. For the rest of us, it was clear that Run the Jewels keep getting better.

The Gories

It felt a little weird that legendary Detroit trio The Gories were given the first set of the final day--I’d have thought they’d have more draw than that. No matter what, they provided one of the more satisfying and stylistically varied sets of the festival, showcasing their trademark balance of garage punk and blues. Mick Collins and Dan Kroha’s guitar and vocal harmonies were the perfect jangly balance to Peggy O’Neill’s meat and potatoes drumming on “Sister Ann” and “Charm Bag”, while folks less familiar with The Gories were treated to their fantastic covers of Suicide’s “Ghost Rider” and The Keggs’ “To Find Out”. Smells like time for the first Gories album in 20 years!

FACS

I thought it would be ill-fitting to watch a band like FACS in the hot sun, early in the day. Their monochrome brand of post-punk seems better suited for a dimly lit club. But the hypnotic nature of Brian Case’s swirling guitar and Alianna Kalaba’s slinky bass was oddly perfect in a sweltering, faint-inducing heat. Just when you thought you might fade, squalls of feedback and Noah Leger’s odd time signatures picked you back up. Songs from their new album Present Tense (Trouble In Mind) such as “Strawberry Cough” and “XOUT” were emblematic of this push-pull. And everything from the band’s red, white, and black color palate to their lack of stage banter suggested a cool minimalism that was rare at a festival that tends to book more outwardly emotional bands.

Alex G

On one hand, Alex G’s unique combination of twangy alt country and earnest indie rock makes him an outlier at Riot Fest, or at the very least a mostly Pitchfork/occasional Riot Fest type of booking. On the other hand, like a lot of bands at the festival, he has a rabid fanbase, one that knows his back catalog hits, like “Kute”, “Kicker”, and “Bug”, as much as if not more than hyped Rocket and House of Sugar singles, like “Bobby” and “Gretel”. Backed by a band that knows when to be loose and when to tighten up--and the instrumental chops to do so--Alex G was better than he was a Pitchfork three years ago. He still sings through his teeth, making it especially hard to hear him on louder tunes such as “Brick”. But when the honesty of his vocals combines with the dreamy guitars of “Southern Sky” and circular melodies of “Near”, it’s pure bliss.

HEALTH

The formula for the LA industrial noise band has pretty much always been Jake Duzsik’s soft vocals contrasting John Famiglietti’s screeching bass and pedals and BJ Miller’s mammoth drums. Both in 2018 and Sunday at Riot Fest, the heat affected Famiglietti’s pedals, which were nonetheless obscured by tarp. Or so HEALTH claimed: You wouldn’t know the difference given how much their sound envelops your whole body during one of their live sets. Since their previous appearance at the festival, the prolific band has released two new records on Loma Vista, Vol. 4: Slaves of Fear and collaboration record Disco4: Part 1. Songs from those records occupied half of their excellent set, including battering opener “GOD BOTHERER”, “BODY/PRISON”, and “THE MESSAGE”. It was so wonderfully loud it drowned out K.Flay’s sound check drummer, thank the lord.

Thursday

Last time Thursday played Riot Fest, Geoff Rickly was battling heroin addiction, something he talked about during the band’s triumphant late afternoon set on Sunday. He mentioned the kindness of the late, great Riley Gale of Power Trip in extending a helping hand when he was down and extended his love to anybody in the crowd or even the world at large going through something similar. To say that this set was life-affirming would be an understatement; after 636 days of no shows, Rickly was at his most passionate. He introduced “Signals Over The Air” as a song the band “wrote about men beating up on women in the pit,” that a record exec at the time told them that it wouldn’t age well because he thought--no kidding--sexism would eventually end. Rickly’s voice, suffering from sound issues last time around, simply soared during Full Collapse’s “Cross Out The Eyes”, No Devolucion’s “Fast to the End”, and two inspired covers: Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” and Texas Is The Reason’s “If It's Here When We Get Back It's Ours”. The latter the band played because TITR guitarist Norman Brannon’s actually on tour with them, though Rickly emphasized the influence the NYC post-hardcore greats had on Thursday when they first started. Never forgetting where they’ve come from, with self-deprecating humor and radical empathy, Thursday are once again a force.

Devo

Much like the B-52′s in 2019, Devo was the set this year of a 70′s/80′s absurd punk band with some radio hits that everybody knows but with a swath of die-hard fans, too. It’s safe to say both groups were satisfied. You walked around the fest all day wondering whether the folks wearing Devo hats were actual fans or doing it for the novelty. By the time the band actually took the stage after a career-spanning video of their many phases, it didn’t really matter, because it was clear the band still had it, Mark and Bob Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale’s vocals booming throughout a massive crowd. They ripped through “Peek-a-Boo”, “Going Under”, “That’s Good”, “Girl U Want”, and “Whip It”, which caused the fans waiting for Slipknot (and presumably some Devo heads) to form a circle pit. And that was all before the first costume change. Mark passed out hats to the crowd, fully embracing converts who might have only known “Whip It”. The feverish chants of “Uncontrollable Urge” and synth freakouts of “Jocko Homo” whipped everyone into a frenzy. And the band performed the “Freedom Of Choice” theme song for the first time since the early 80′s! I had seen Devo before, opening for Arcade Fire and Dan Deacon at the United Center, but the atmosphere at Riot Fest was more appropriately ludicrous.

Flaming Lips

“The Flaming Lips are the most COVID-safe band in the world,” went the ongoing joke, as throughout the pandemic they’d give audience members bubbles for their bubbles to be able to play shows. The normally goofy and interactive band scaled back for Riot Fest. Before launching into their traditional opener “Race For The Prize”, Wayne Coyne explained that while the band is normally proud of where they come from--Oklahoma City--they’re saddened by the local government’s ignorant pandemic response and wouldn’t risk launching balloons or walking into the crowd because they might be virus spreaders coming from such an under-vaccinated area. To his and the band’s credit, they wore masks during the performance, even when singing; Coyne removed his only when outside of his bubble that had to be deflated and inflated many times and that sometimes muffled his singing voice even more than a mask. Ever the innovative band, they still put on a stellar show. Coyne autotuned his voice on “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1″, making it another instrument filling the song’s glorious pop melodies. Less heavy on props, the band favored a glitchy, psychedelic setlist that alternated between beauty (”Flowers Of Neptune 6″, “Feeling Yourself Disintegrate”, “All We Have Is Now”) and two-drummed cacophony (“Silver Trembling Hands”, “The W.A.N.D.”). They’ll give a proper Lips show soon enough, but in the meantime, it was nice to see them not run through the motions.

Slipknot

Apart from maybe moments of Slayer, I’ve never witnessed a headliner at Riot Fest as heavy as Slipknot was. Even the minor ethereal elements present on their most recent and very good album We Are Not Your Kind, like the chorus of voices during “Unsainted”, were all but abandoned live in favor of straight up brutality. Sure, there were moments of theatricality--Corey Taylor’s menacing laugh on “Disasterpiece” and pyrotechnics in sequence with the instrumentation on “Before I Forget” and “All Out Life”--but for the most part, Slipknot was the ultimate exorcism. Taylor’s new mask, with unnaturally circular eyes, seemed like it came from a particularly uncomfortable skit from I Think You Should Leave. They bashed a baseball bat to a barrel during the pre-encore performance of “Duality”. And the songs played from tape, like the gasping-for-breath “(515)”, were designed to contrast Slipknot’s alien appearance with qualities that were uncannily human. For a band whose performances and instrumental dexterity are otherworldly--who else can pull off tempo changes over a hissing, Aphex Twin-like shuffling electronic beat on “Eyeless”--the pure seething emotion on songs like “Psychosocial” and “Wait and Bleed” shone through. Like Smashing Pumpkins, and like so many other successful Riot Fest headliners, Slipknot abandoned drama for pure, unadulterated dirt.

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nomoregoldfish · 4 years ago

Text

Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 3/3

More smut (but I’m really bad at writing it, :////). Plot twist guaranteed. And I can’t believe I wrote 6K for this, FML. What has Chema done to me? I also made a few changes in the first two parts, read the whole thing on AO3.

You are woken by a phone call in the middle of the night. But you neither move nor open your eyes. You hear some numbers, Amado sounds irritated. It could be something related to tonight's dinner?

Your patience is wore out minutes after minute and Amado still hasn't returned to bed. You make a bold decision to wake up, and the Mexican is smoking by the window. Something keeps him up at night? That doesn't sound like the Lord of the Skies, the man who has had the world at his feet.

"You wanna talk, more sex or a bath?" You carefully propose.

"I was expecting for late night snacks you pull with some Asian witch shit." Amado lets you sit on his lap. "Hang on, I've got some leftovers from the kitchen."

You two settle for sharing the jacarandas mochi from a small food container in the bathtub.

"You like it?" You don't really need validation from Amado. It's just you spent hours coming up with the idea of improvisation, trying to make a traditional Japanese dessert more appealing to the Mexican guests. "I made the bean paste from scratch, less sugar. I understand most Mexicans are not used to sweet bean paste..."

"They don't deserve it." Amado suddenly claims. You don't get it. Who are they? "They are just a bunch of pigs in expensive suits, corrupted, stinky pieces of shit." Then Amado tells you almost everything. He invited the tequila exporters with the hope that the cartel could use their affiliate companies in the States as front to launder more drug money since tequila is one of the largest yet least regulated businesses between the US and Mexico. And the politicians are officials from Mexican Customs Bureau and SHCP.

"Fucking idiots. They thought I was gonna ask them to smuggle coke under the tequila crates. With all the fucking Pier 1 sofa and Ford pasenger seat manufacturers in Juárez, I've had more than enough trucks to move products across the border." When Amado brought up money laundering, the tequila exporters expressed concern regarding possible investigation of tax evasion from ATF, putting more pressure on Amado to increase their cut.

They eventually made a deal less favorable to the cartel and that's why Amado's a bit pissed when he's on the phone.

"Why are you telling me this?" For the first time that night, you ask softly.

"Those cabrón. They don't deserve what you bring to the table. You pour your heart and soul, making the best feast I've ever had. You deserve to know what happened."

You've never thought you'd hear that from Amado. He didn't have to tell you anything. It makes you lower your guard. You want to get closer to him, without any agenda.

"Does this mean my body won't be put in the trunk of one of your auto collections tomorrow?" You try to lighten it up.

Amado kisses you from behind. The position is awkward but neither of you care.

Making out with Amado in the bathtub makes the night better than your wettest dream.

The Mexican's gonna make you cum again with those magician hands of his.

"You...haven't told me if you like the jacarandas mochi." You're so screwed. Maybe you'll never get the answer because Amado's too busy sucking you tits.

Amado clears his schedule the next day. He brings you to the Asian boutique where he bought the Japanese painting.

"One of my guys found this place. I thought you might be interested..." That's cute from a drug lord. But you're not that kind of person.

"A) I don't need a Buddha artifact home to find my inner peace, and B) only Pacho wears shirts with Chinese characters taken from a poem back in the Tang Dynasty. Seriously, he's ridiculous. Come on, let's go."

Instead, you two spend the day trying different Asian food you can find in DF. From hotpot to Peking roasted duck, from pho to char kway teow. Amado seems to enjoy the Chinese food more than others.

"Most Asian restaurants in North America are run by the Chinese, from San Francisco to DF. Since you guys can't tell if an Asian cook is from China, Japan, Vietnam or Thailand, he or she would quickly learn dishes from other Asian countries. We are always the most hardworking people." You explain to him.

"Oh, I love hardworking people." He's so full of shit but you can't help smiling.

Amado finds a fortune cookie note saying "Happy New Year of Monkey." Then you explain Monkey is one of the Chinese zodiac signs which repeat every 12 years.

"So 1956...I am a monkey? Cool." He's surprisingly quick with math.

You write the Chinese character of monkey on a napkin and Amado seems fascinated by it. So you suggest that he could get the Chinese character tattooed, "Next time you can show that to Pacho. He probably would get one, too."

Holy shit, he's really doing it.

The way the tattoo parole Amado brings you to is cleared makes you believe it's part of the cartel business, which makes perfect sense.

"You don't have any tattoos? Not at all?" You're surprised when the tattoo artist prepares Amado's skin on his forearm, first cleaning then shaving.

"We've fucked three times, once in a bathtub," Amado grins, obviously in a good mood, "Don't you think it's a bit late to ask? Or I fucked you too hard you didn't notice?"

Thank God the tattoo artist doesn't even flinch.

OK, you have to get back at the fucker. So when the tattoo artist asks you for the character to make a design, you write pig in Chinese instead of monkey.

"Hold on, that doesn't look like what you wrote on the napkin. Let me see it." Right after the tattoo artist places an outline of the design on his skin, the Mexican stops him.

You're 100% sure Amado doesn't speak or write Chinese. How the fuck does he figure it out?

"What is it exactly? Tell me the truth or you will have an honest conversation with my brother." Amado makes the threat more scary by pointing at Vicente, who stands next to the door with two guns and a pink lollipop.

"Wait. He doesn't know shit. It was me...I wrote a different character." Your confession is quick, you don't want to see anyone get hurt over this beef.

You thought it's just a silly prank. Now you realize you're dealing with the most notorious narcos of the country. Amado may look like a businessman, reasonable, even decent. He's still capable of getting violent whenever he thinks it is necessary, to an extent you really don't want to know.

You take a deep breath, then apologize to Amado. You are ready for the consequence.

"Apology accepted. On one condition, you'll have the exact same tattoo as I do when the new design is done." Fair enough.

But you're a chef who often needs to cook right in front of customers. You can't let them see a tattoo on your forearm.

"How about here?" The Mexican is touching your breast as if no one's around.

It's a small tattoo, just one character. But it's near your heart and you're sensitive as fuck.

You can't move but your nipples are hard almost through the entire process. Amado's right beside you and he sees everything. Someone please help you ease the pain FFS.

The fucker doesn't act on it until you get into the car. Amado shuts the soundproof panel between the front and rear seats and the next thing you know, you're riding the man who just makes you get a stupid matching tattoo. It fucking stings, and itchy. Yet the pleasure is undeniable when your tits being teased, bit, sucked. Amado carefully avoids the tattoo, which makes you want him to scratch the itch even more. You scream his name when you cum with both extreme pleasure and pain.

Amado puts an arm around you when it's over. Two matching tattoos are right next to one another. Your heart is still beating fast from the afterglow, echoing his pulse.

You feel the caress on your beast, it hurts a bit yet the body warmth is nice. Is it how it feels to be marked by someone else? Not many people will ever see it, plus it's not a specific name or symbol that would embarrass you later. It'd be a secret.

"You know what? You won't be able to find a dead body to stand in for you when you eventually betray me, sweetheart. No one else would get a tattoo like this."

What Amado just says feels like a kick in the stomach. It's cold and absolutely right. Have you been sloppy? Has Amado figured out something already? "Why would I betray you?" You ask, but he doesn't give an answer.

It's the last day of your stay. You have a very special package delivered from Japan.

You gonna make blowfish sashimi tonight for Amado.

Everyone knows it's toxic so it has to be handled with meticulous care. You make Amado watch every step — a set of fuguhiki, knives with thin blade is unwrapped, you pick them one by one to gut the fish, remove the deadly liver and ovaries, skin it and cut off its head. Then instead of cutting outward like most people do, you turn a knife to cut inward.

"Careful! You shouldn't hold knife like that." Amado almost jumps in to help. But you assure him it's OK. Then you show off the technique to cut extremely thin and translucent slices of blowfish.

To make the white meat more attractive, you set the slices in a large plate with red poppy flower pattern. They are so thin, the poppy flower is still visible when all's done.

"An ancient Chinese writer used to say, 'The taste of blowfish is worthy of death.'" You joke when you mix the sauce. "Don't worry. I'm a licensed blowfish-preparation chef."

Amado squints, "So you're testing me."

You want to tell him to just trust you, but you don't know how.

"There's no antidote for the tetrodotoxin. But I'll eat it, too. If it's poisonous, our muscle will be paralyzed bit by bit when we're fully conscious, eventually we won't be able to breathe. We're going to die slowly, painfully and desperately."

You take the first bite, Amado follows.

"Why are you so loyal to him?" Amado breaks the silence, "For one, you don't sleep with him. You obviously are not related. And as far as I know, money can't buy loyalty."

"I'll answer it if you answer my question first." The Mexican agrees. "You didn't want me for me, you barely knew me. You made the decision when Pacho said I was the best, he wouldn't last a week without me. You want him, or something that makes you his equivalent. Except being gay, I don't know. You won't fuck his boys, so I'm the next proxy. Am I correct?"

After a pause, Amado nods. Then it's your turn.

"How many female chefs do you know?" Amado is confused for a few seconds, then he gets it.

"There was no place for you in your line of work, just like there was no place for him in this game controlled by men, men who have multiple wives and fuck whores. He sees himself in you. So he takes you under his wings."

"Yes. Pacho is the only one who's believed me. He's also the biggest shareholder of my first restaurant."

Amado then asks what you gonna tell Pacho when you return. "I'll tell him you give really good heads. Maybe he should try it himself." You wink, "No, I'll let him know you're not a cold-blooded bastard. Even though you sometimes make awful choice by dipping sashimi in guacamole, you're appreciative of other people's work." You really mean it, you like Amado. But you'll probably never know if he buys it or if it matters.

After a while, you finish the whole plate of blowfish sashimi. "Seems we're not dead." Amado's poking your cheek with chopsticks.

"No, we are not."

"Last question, why did Pacho send you?"

"Amado, you would've done the same. You know that."

#narcos #narcos mexico #narcos imagine #amado carrillo fuentes #pacho herrera

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years ago

Text

GF - Where the Crop Circles Grow ch.4

Summary: When things get out of hand at the Pines’ family farm, Ford asks an old college buddy to assist investigating anomalies and Stan hires a farmhand. Who knew asking for help would actually get you somewhere?

For @lemonfodrizzleart. Part of her Farmer AU and featuring her OC, Jackie Asante.

Special shout-out to Mystery Trio Animated’s old video for inspiring me on how to get the ball rolling. (I’m trying a healthy combination of Mystery Trio shit and canon shit.) Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!!!

Ao3 link here.

ch.3 - ch.5

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”

“Yes, son,” Fiddleford sighed with a smile. “As I’ve told you for the last fifteen minutes, we’re finally here.”

“Yay!” Tate cheered and grinned as the beautiful woods fell out of sight and the four-year-old’s hidden eyes widened at all the open space to play in. He grinned at the sheep and horse and cow and he saw that sign shaped like a pinetree that read “Pines’ Farm” and thought that was funny. The road was made of dirt and rocks and made weird noises under Daddy’s blue truck.

The road led up to a big house with a triangle roof and a porch. On the porch, two men Tate had never seen before sat in chairs and stood, waiting. Suddenly Tate was nervous and shrunk back into his car seat.

Fiddleford noticed this and smiled at his son. Tate was a kind and intelligent boy, but was often quiet, except when he was alone with Fiddleford. It was like he saved all of his words for him. Fiddleford parked and got out, deciding to let Tate move at his own space.

“Fiddleford, glad to see you’ve made it safely!”

“Howdy there, Stanford, good t’see ya!” What started as a handshake turned into a manly hug with smiles and pats on the back. When it was over, Stanford patted his old roommate’s shoulder and said, “Fiddleford, this is my twin brother, Stanley. Stanley, well, you already know who this is.”

It didn’t take a genius to know who Stanley was either, not just considering the fact he did in fact look like Ford’s twin without being identical, but Fiddleford had heard enough stories and seen enough pictures to recognize this guy from a mile away. “Pleased t’finally meet ya, Stanley.” And he held out a hand to shake.

Stan laughed, took it, and shook him possibly slightly too rough. “Ha! Just Stan’ll do, Fiddleford… Jeez, that’s a mouth full. Mind McGucket or Fiddler or Fidds.”

Fiddleford winced. “Anythang but Fiddler since I ain’t one.”

Stan snapped his fingers and said sarcastically. “Darn. N’ here I was thinkin’ we could put a band together, with Ford’s piano skills n’ my beautiful voice.”

Ford snorted while Fiddleford smiled unsurely. “Well, I do play the banjo…”

“Great! We’ll call ourselves the Three Cowboys! I’ll get to writin’ our first song later.” Stan peered over Fiddleford’s shoulder and at the truck. “But first, did you even brin’ the squirt with you?”

Fiddleford looked back at the trunk and could barely see the top of his son’s head in the front passenger’s seat. “Nah, he’s there. He’s just shy.”

“Ah, well he’ll join us when he’s ready.” Ford said and moved to the trunk. “Here, let me help you with your things and show you to your room, buddy.”

“Well, thank ya kindly, Stanford, I reckon you can get this one. Oh, here, I’ll take that one, it mighty heavy.”

Ford and Fiddleford were chatting away like a pair of school girls as they went into the house, arms full of luggage. The McGuckets sure did bring a lot of crap. Stan shook his head with a smile and moved to the trunk, but on the way he swore he saw a little boy with bangs over his eyes looking at him, but then ducking under the car’s window again. Stan smiled and softly knocked on the glass. “Y’ello?”

The boy didn’t appear, but he did crank the window down. “Hi.”

“I’m Stan.”

“Tate.”

“Nice to meet you.” Stan said. “You know, your daddy n’ my brother are close friends.”

“I know.” The boy said quietly. “Daddy says we’re gonna live here a bit.”

“Yup.” Stan said happily, and then asked, “You reckon you’re okay with that?”

“Uh, huh.”

Stan had no idea what it was like to be shy as a kid. Ford might have, which is why he was inclined to let the boy get out of the truck whenever he pleased, but Stan wondered if maybe all it took was someone to show that they were happy he was here and would be even happier to see him happy. He went to the trunk, grabbed a big suitcase with Tate’s name on the tag, and then went back to the window. “C’mon, kid. I got a surprise for you in your new room.”

That got the boy to perk up. He poked his little head up, just enough to look at Stan’s soft smile and outstretched hand, and Tate grinned. “Okay.” He hopped out and closed the door behind him and took Stan’s hand.

Stan squeezed his little hand reassuringly and led the boy into the house. They crossed the living room together to get to the back hallway and Stan led him to the other bedroom, the one connected to Jackie’s Jack and Jill bathroom. Tate gasped with joy to find a bunk bed by the door with a new knitted blanket at the foot. He climbed up the ladder and jumped into the fluffy feather-stuffed mattress and laughed. “Wowie, Zowie! I get a bunk bed?!”

Stan barked a laugh and sat his suitcase on the bottom bunk. As a kid he had no idea that a lot of other kids in the world thought this was the coolest thing to have in a bedroom, it was just convenient for the Pines twins, but now they were grown and perfectly happy with two full beds in their attic bedroom so Tate could have a twin-sized bed in his new room. “You sure do. Don’t tell Ford I told you this, but he knitted you that blanket and if you’ll look in that chest there’s some more surprises for you.”

Tate scurried down to the floor and t the toy chest under the window. He gasped as he found it half-full with brand new toys. There was a jump-rope, some chalk, a wooden train, complete with engine, cars, and a caboose, and a football and a baseball with a bat. Tate’s voice was caught in his throat, leaving his mouth to open and close like a fish. He knew he should say thank you, but he was left speechless due to all of the nice new things.

“So, whatcha think, squirt?” Stan asked, and when Tate looked at him the farmer knew what the boy was trying to say.

~~~~~~~~~~

In Ford’s favorite workspace, the thinking parlor, there was a desk that used to be filled to the brim with Pa’s work-papers, but with the deed tightly secure in the family’s safe and after a furlough cleansing, there was now only one drawer dedicated to important old documents and the rest of the ancient desk was free to use for Ford’s investigations and ideas. Ford and Fiddleford stood there now, the Southern engineer watching his best friend pull things out from here and there, as if preparing for a school presentation. Fiddleford smiled as he saw how little his friend had changed.

Ford had suggested to leave Fiddleford to unpack once he showed him his room, assuming he wanted to rest after the trip, but Fiddleford had insisted that Ford show him the plans and Ford understood on a personal level; he was sure Fiddleford wanted to forget his problems for a moment and be distracted with an issue he can actually solve. So Ford laid out a map of Gravity Falls with little red xs sprinkled here and there and he pulled out a red marker and uncapped it.

“Right,” Ford started as he smiled at his old roommate. “As I said over the phone, Gravity Falls is a friendly enough town, but it has got to be one of the strangest towns there are. I hadn’t realized how strange it was until leaving for Backupsmore and I realized that some things weren’t normal. Not to mention, if you look at the map, a lot of anomalies I’ve noticed occur away from our farm, so as children it’s not like we were fully exposed to them.”

Fiddleford did in fact notice that there were no red xs on the Pines’ farm, or close to the barrier. There were one or two in the actual town itself, but most of the xs were in the woods and in the mountains. Probably whatever creatures were out there purposely stayed in the woods, like any other wildlife, to avoid mankind. Fiddleford nodded and said, “Alright, but what sort of anomalies have ya noticed?”

Ford pulled out a journal with a golden six-fingered hand on it and opened it to showcase some very well drawn sketches. Fiddleford stared to find unicorns, eye bats, two-headed snakes, dark vague shadows, and possibly a werewolf? Fiddleford blinked and muttered, “Uh… ya… ya sure it’s…”

“I swear on my life,” Ford said seriously. “I’ve seen some strange things out there, Fiddleford. I haven’t had a chance to get a proper look at any of it, but I’m hoping with your help I may finally be able to catch something, or at least some solid evidence, that proves I’m not crazy.”

Fiddleford detected a hint of bitterness by the end of it. He wouldn’t be surprised if anyone else Ford had explained this to had written him off as a whack-job. Fiddleford smiled and patted his shoulder. “Hey, I believe ya. Reckon somebody’s gotta catalog these critters. Why not it be us, right? So, suppose tomorrow mornin’ we just get on out there n’ explore the woods for some weird critters?”

Ford smiled back with determination and excitement gleaming in his eyes. “That’s the idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tate was watching TV in the living room while Jackie was in the kitchen with Stan by her side. Yes, Jackie did all the cooking and was good at it, but Stan knew how to make some stuff edible and it seemed like a fair trade; if Stan was going to teach Jackie how to run a farm, she might as well teach him a thing or two about cooking.

“So, what can you cook, Stanley?” Jackie asked while she seasoned some flour that was already in a big paper bag.

“Besides Stancakes?” He clarified. “Uh, I can do grits. That’s about it, missy.”

Jackie giggled good-naturedly and said, “Well, first thang you gotta know ‘bout cooking is this fellow right here.” And she held up a big container of Crisco. “The best thang they did since put mayonnaise in a jar.” Jackie spooned some of the thick white stuff out and put it on the hot skillet to melt like butter. “Gum in your hair? Squeaky door hinge? Crisco.”

When Jackie’s back was turned to work on the chicken, Stan stuck his finger in some of the Crisco; it looked pretty, almost like frosting for a cake. To hide what he did, Stan stuck his finger in his mouth; the taste wasn’t great.

“Bags under your eyes? Wanna soften some scaly feet? Crisco.” Jackie added as she dipped a breast in the egg wash then put it in the bag, then did the process again with another piece of chicken. “But it’s best for frying chicken. Mm! I love fried chicken! Gotta be my favorite! It takes a lot of work to make, but it tastes so good and it’s always worth it! Well, worth it to me, anyways.” Jackie rolled up the bag tight and held it out to Stan. “Shake that.”

“Oh, sure.” Stan took the bag filled with chicken and flour. He shook it and found that once he got a rhythm for it it was actually kind of fun. With a stupid grin on his face he rattled the bag really heavy, making Jackie laugh.

“Alright alright, Stan, the chicken’s already dead.” Jackie took the bag and opened it to see how well seasoned it was. “Yup, she dead. And well dressed for the funeral, too.”

Stan laughed and the timer dinged. “Oh, will you take out the cornbread, please?” Jackie asked as she stirred the green beans, the Crisco not quite fully melted yet, but almost.

“You got it.” Stan slipped on some oven mitts and opened the oven. There sat a beautiful skillet full of Mexican cornbread. This wasn’t just cornbread, this was cornbread with spices and bits of corn. The smell made Stan’s mouth water like a dog and he happily put it on a folded up towel on the table. “Sweet Lord!”

“Give it a minute to cool, Lee, geez!” Jackie said, able to read his mind and know he wanted to pick at it.

Stan stuck his tongue at the back of her head and watched her fry the chicken. The grease bubbled around the chicken and flew everywhere, like firecrackers. Stan took a step back as he got sprayed a little bit, meanwhile all Jackie did was flinch and asked, “Will you call the boys for dinner? It'll be ready by the time they get in here.”

“Sure.” Everyone was inside the house, so there was no sense in ringing the triangle; Stan poked his head in the living room to tell Tate dinner was ready and then knocked on the parlor door to tell the nerds that food was ready.

By the time Stan came back with Tate by his side, the table was set with pitchers of sweet tea and water on the table, big bowl of green beans, the skillet full of Mexican cornbread, and Jackie had just flipped the chicken. Stan licked his lips and playfully fought with Tate for space in the kitchen sink as they washed up.

Fiddleford followed Ford to the bathroom to wash and then to the kitchen. He stared happily at the set-up before him, and then his eyes widened at the stranger in the room. A dark-skinned woman used tongs to lift fried chicken out of a skillet and onto a tray lined with paper towels. She wore an apron over leans and a white t-shirt, her past-shoulder-length black hair tied in a loose, low ponytail to keep her hair away from her cooking. Fiddleford smiled; he had known the twins had hired help but he had no clue who that was; he had accidentally assumed it was another man.

The woman set the tray of steaming chicken on the table, wiped her forehead dry, and smiled at Fiddleford. “You must be Ford’s friend. I’m Jackie.” She introduced and held out her hand.

Fiddleford gently took it and shook her head with a smile. “Fiddleford H. McGucket, ma’am. It’s a pleasure t’meet ya.”

Jackie’s cheeks turned rosy at his politeness and invited him to sit. Soon they were all happily digging into the delicious dinner and enjoyed every bite.

Fiddleford was extremely impressed. The chicken crunched happily in his mouth and the chicken’s meat was soft and delicious. The green beans were flavored with bacon and onions, and the Mexican cornbread was very good. As Fiddleford munch on his bread while he listened to Stan tell a story, he couldn’t help but think how much better the cornbread would be with some butter. He checked the table for it, and perhaps he was overlooking it, but he didn’t see it.

“Jackie, may I have some butter, please.” Fiddleford asked politely when Stan was taking a break from his story to drink some water.

Jackie smiled and nodded. “Sure.” Let’s forget the fact that Ford was sitting next to Fiddleford and was the closest to the fridge. Jackie didn’t even notice, and she casually got the butter-dish out of the fridge, sat with it, and handed it to the southerner as he dipped his head and whispered “thank you” as to not interrupt Stan.

By the end of the meal, Stan was patting his gut happily and sighing heavily. “Yup. Jackie, I think you get better with every meal.”

While Jackie stood and took her dishes to the sink, her face grew warmer.

“Yes, that was delicious, Jackie, thank you.” Ford praised.

“Well,” Jackie opened the fridge and pulled something out. “I hope everyone left room for dessert.”

“Mm! Pie!” Stan gasped happily and rubbed his hands together; it didn’t matter if it killed him, he’d make room for Round 2.

“Lemon Meringue.” Jackie explained, sitting the pie down on the table as she took up the mostly-empty bowl of green beans and began to put the vegetables in a smaller container for the fridge; leftovers made for an excellent lunch.

Mouth watering and eyes as big as dinner plates, once Jackie sat down the small plates, forks, and pie knife on the table, Stan cut right into the beautiful dessert while Ford began to collect dishes.

Fiddleford, too full for pie at the moment, stood and stretched his arms over his head. “So, should we get back to work, Stanford?”

“Sorry, let me finish these dishes first.” Ford said as he began to clean. “Got to thank Jackie for the meal the best way I can.”

Jackie lightly shoved his shoulder as she brought over the skillet of cornbread and began to move it to a plastic container. “Hey, I don’t wanna eat canned meat or TV dinners any more than you do.”

“You know, Tate,” Stan mumbled with pie in his cheeks like a chipmunk. “If you’ll look in that cabinet there should be a jar with holes if you wanna catch some firefl-...”

“FIREFLIES?!” Tate excitedly interrupted, drained his cup of water, and dashed to where Stan said the jar would be. Lo and behold two jars with holes poked into the lids shined and Tate snatched one up. “Daddy, wanna catch some with me?” The boy pleaded.

“Sure, son,” Fiddleford said with a smile, playing with his boy sounding much better than returning to work that can be done another time, so they hurried out the kitchen door and were amazed to find dozens of blinking bugs out on the farm.

Tate grinned and ran with his father admiring the scene. Stan decided he could enjoy his pie just as much on the doorstep as he could at the table, and he took his dessert with him and sat with the door open to watch the McGuckets play. Jackie and Ford got a nice view of the scene from the sink and happily chatted away as they cleaned the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan yawned into his hand and he hummed a little song to himself. “Doo, doo de, doo, doo… gettin’ a midnight snack, gonna eat some…”

Stan turned on the hall-light, his eyes still sensitive to bright lights, so he could see his way into the kitchen without bumping into the table or walking into the fridge. He gasped in horror and then growled like an angry bulldog at the open fridge and spilt content. “Pie!” He finished his song bitterly with one knee before the open fridge. “Oh, c’mon! I was gonna eat that! Actually, this part here still looks good…”

With no one to judge him, Stan scooped up some lemon-filling with two fingers and hummed with satisfaction as the delicious taste grazed his mouth. On his feet again, Stan was about to grab some paper towels to start cleaning up the mess when something ran across his foot.

Stan yelled and jumped about a foot in the air before grabbing a hanging pan from the wall and holding it as he would a weapon. He first thought that the pie fell off the cramped shelf in the fridge, opening the door, but now he wondered if they had a late-night visitor. Wouldn’t be the first time a raccoon got into the house.

Stan carefully moved to where he knew a light-switch for the oven’s light was and he braced himself for whatever was coming. He flicked it on and saw something out of the corner of his eye run into the hall. Did a chicken escape the coop? “C’mere you…” Stan growled and ran down the hall.

Nothing appeared on the stairs for the attic, or further down the hall for Jackie’s room, so maybe whatever it was went into the living room. Pan still at the ready for some whacking, Stan crept into the living room and relaxed his old boxing stance to find it empty. The farmer scratched at his mullet to try to think what could have slipped away from him and gotten into the fridge. Stan was in the hallway, going to put the pan away and clean up the pie, when he noticed a small draft and he checked the front door. Sure enough, something had broken the screen in the screen door.

Stan groaned and closed and locked the main door. Tate must have forgotten to close the door when he went to the truck to get something for bed. Well, after chores Stan would just have to repair the hole.

When Stan re-entered his attic bedroom, his eyes immediately caught his twin asleep on top of a book, a flashlight on the floor by his dangling arm. That nerd had a bad habit of never stopping until his body made him. Shaking his head with a smile, Stan slammed the door loudly on purpose, making Ford jump awake with a grunt. “Huh?! Wh… Stanley?”

“You know you’ll sleep better on your pillow, not a book, right?” Stan asked as he took off his robe and let it fall on the floor by his bed, leaving on his boxers and t-shirt.

Ford snorted and readjusted his lopsided glasses. “What were you doing up?” He yawned into his palm.

“Well I was gonna have some more pie,” Stan said as he sat on his bed. “But somethang raided our fridge n’ ruined my midnight snack.”

“Was it a raccoon again?” Ford asked as he folded his glasses and put them on his nightstand by his book.

“Maybe, but I got a glimpse of it before it ran off n’ the little bit I did see didn’t look nothin’ like a black n’ white thief.”

“Well…” Ford yawned again and said dozily, “It’s too early to think. Goodnight.” And he laid on his right side, his back to his brother, and quickly fell asleep.

Stan chuckled as he shook his head and laid down for some shut-eye.

~~~~~~~~~~

After morning chores, Jackie walked in through the kitchen-door to grab something when she thought she heard the sound of a hammer down the hall. She peeked and found Stan on one knee in front of the door, working on putting a new screen over the door. “Broken screen?” She clarified as she stood by his side, her hands behind her back.

“Yeah, something chewed through n’ got into the house.” Stan shivered as he recalled the foggy memory. “It ran across my foot. Ugh, I can still feel it’s little fingers.”

“Yikes.” Jackie said and looked into the living room to find Tate coloring at the card table. “Well, since that pie’s gone, I’m gonna pick some blackberries for a cobbler. Should I make Tate help me or you got him?”

“Nah, some of those berries aren’t ready, you better pick ‘em.” Stan said as he stood up straight and wiped his hands clean. “I’m gonna take him with me into town to get some stuff from the store. Any requests?”

“Oh! Can you get some hot chilis, please?” Jackie quickly remembered.

“Sure. OY! Squirt!” Stan called and leaned against the doorway. “Wanna go into town with me? You can ride shotgun in the Stanmobile if you want?”

Tate grinned like a Cheshire cat and yelped, “Okay!” and then scooped up his crayons and book to put them away in his room.

“Sure you don’t wanna take Truffles into town?” Jackie asked, remembering Stan’s comment that the horse needs to travel every so often.

“With Tate?” Stan snorted. “Nah, wild thing isn’t ready for a kid. Let me break him a bit more n’ then we’ll see. Maybe take him out in the woods tomorrow. Maybe take a gal with me.” He added with a wink, making Jackie smile like an idiot as she shoved him in a playful manner.

“Well then good luck finding a date in town.” And she went back into the kitchen to grab a basket to berry-pick with.

Meanwhile, while Jackie worked on blackberry cobbler and Stan took Tate into town, Ford and Fiddleford were in the woods, equipped with a compass, a map, Ford’s journal, and a backpack on Fiddleford. A few days before Fiddleford arrived, Ford had placed several cameras in a variety of areas to try to get some idea of what they’re dealing with, a lead of some kind or evidence that there was something out there.

“Okay, that’s 1A, 1B, and 1C.” Ford checked off the map, his journal under his arm. “2A, 2B, and 2C were well intact. We just need 3A, 3B, and 3C. This way.”

“Ya sure ya know where you’re goin’?” Fiddleford checked. No offense to his friend, but all these oaks and pines looked the same to him.

“Don’t worry, I know these woods like the back of my hand.” Ford eased. “I used to spend a lot of time here with Stanley as kids. The trees are a great hiding place from bullies.” He chuckled at a memory and decided to share. “One time, we climbed up a big pinetree to hide from a group of kids, when one of the branches broke off and landed right on one of the kid’s head. Stanley says Pines got to stick together.”

Fiddleford laughed at the little joke as he followed Ford along the woods. They came to a small clearing and Ford stopped. “Here we are. Okay, up there should be Camera 3B. If you’ll get 3A down there, I’ll get 3B.”

“Gotcha.” Fiddleford found Camera 3A tucked into some leaves. He looked around for a third camera, and again, maybe he was just needing new glasses, but he didn’t see one. “Uh, Stanford, where’d ya put 3C?”

Up on a branch and untying a camera, Ford called and pointed. “Down there, by the rock.”

Fiddleford shuffled his feet in case he were to step on the camera, but he looked around and even felt the brush with his hands was startled to turn up empty-handed. “Uh… I ain’t findin’ it.”

“That’s odd, hold on, buddy, I’ll help you look.” Ford said and hopped down with the camera to search for Camera 3C. It truly wasn’t where Ford had placed it and it was nowhere around the clearing.

“Maybe a deer or rabbit took it?” Fiddleford speculated.

“Or a unicorn! Or a gremlin! Or a goblin!” Ford gasped with wonder sparkling in his brown eyes. “Or both!”

“Calm down there, Dr. Crackpot.” Fiddleford chuckled and made Ford smile. “Let's just get this film developed before we get our hopes up higher than a Georgia pine.”

“Great, now you’re doing it, too.”

“No! No, I just… it was either that or higher than the Empire State buildin’, n’ we’re in the woods…”

“With a Pines.”

“... with a lot o’ pinetrees.” Fiddleford laughed at their fun babble and they followed the compass for the farm.

By the time Jackie was pulling a sweet-smelling cobbler out of the oven and about to go outside to check on the sheep, Tate and Stan came home with some groceries. Tate immediately dug around a bag once it was placed on the table, pulled out some Gummy Koalas, and ran off. Jackie gave Stan a skeptical look, to which the farmer just shrugged and pulled out a white paper bag full of hot red peppers.

“Oh, great, thanks.”

“No problem, missy.” Stan said as Jackie lunged a hand into the bag and he pulled out a box of freezy-pops to put in the freezer. “What, gonna make chili? Mexican food? Spicy fried chicken?”

“Nope.” And Jackie bit into a pepper and munched on it with a big smile.

Stan yelped in shock and quickly shut himself up, but that didn’t stop him from breaking a bead of sweat and his eye twitching at her. “What in Moses’s name are you doing?”

“Having a snack.” Jackie explained as she took a second bite, only leaving the stem. “It’ll be awhile ‘til dinner.”

“What, apples n’ bananas not good enough for you?”

“Nope.” Jackie repeated and bit into another one.

“Gah!” Stan yelled and grabbed his hair as he stared at her. “How do you do that?! Stop that!”

“Nope.” Jackie said a third time and happily finished her second chili.

With shivers on his back and an impressed smile that was impossible to miss, Stan left Jackie to shake her head and munch on her snack in peace.

Tate, at this time, was running into the living room, hoping to eat his candy in front of the TV, but his daddy and his daddy’s friend were in the living room already, stringing pictures up and they had a bunch of adult-looking equipment. “Daddy, whatcha doin’?” He asked.

“Hey there, sport.” Fiddleford said and took the time to give him a side hug as he watched a photo develop in the liquid-filled pan. “Just developin’ these photos here. They’ll help us figure out what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Oh. Can I help?” The boy asked hopefully.

“I don’t know if there anythang ya can do.” Fiddleford moved his back to his son and smiled. “Whatcha got there?”

Tate grinned and showed his daddy the gummies. “Uncle Stan gave ‘em t’me! He’s real nice.”

“He sure is. Did ya make sure t’tell him that n’ thank him.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Good.” And Fiddleford ruffled his hat to mess with his hair.

Ford smiled at the father and son duo and resumed his work, recording their findings. None of the pictures so far got a full image of anything, but glimpses here and there showed that something strange was out there. Ford stared at one picture that showed someone very short and what looked like the bottom of a beard. And in another photo, when Ford looked back on it, he realized that wasn’t a twig; it was a pointy hat. “Fiddleford, come look at this.”

Fiddleford moved away from his son and towards his friend and he stared at the image that had caught Ford’s attention. “Oh… oh my…”

“I know.”

“Whatcha reckon that there is?”

Tate looked at the picture and noticed the red circle on another one. He grinned and called out, “Gnomes!”

The three turned to look back at the doorway of the living room and they saw Stan laughing at them, shaking his head. “Gnomes?! Ma used to use ‘em for an excuse for when socks went missin’, remember Sixer? There ain’t no such thing as gnomes. Except the stone ones you get at the store.”

“Ya don’t believe in gnomes, Uncle Stan?” Tate asked.

“Stanley doesn’t believe in the supernatural.” Ford answered with a roll of his eyes and he tried to resume his work. “Even as kids you couldn’t spook him with stories about monsters or ghosts or anything like that. But show him a picture of a r-...”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you, Poindexter!” Stan scooped up Tate, making the boy giggle, and held him under his arm. “I ain’t gonna let you poison this poor kid’s brain with nerd talk. C’mon, I’ll show you how to rangle in sheep.”

“Be careful, son.” Fiddleford called after them. “N’ stay outta the stalls! Don’t mess with Truffles!”

“Okay.”

The evening that came was cool and pleasant, perfect porch-sitting weather. Stan finished his freezy-pop first and read the joke that was now revealed to him for finishing his treat. “Okay okay, what is a ghost’s favorite ice-cream flavor?”

“Oh!” Tate gasped with his hand in the air, sitting on the steps with a banana-flavored pop in his hand. “Oh! Boo-berry!”

“It’s definitely Boo-berry.” Fiddleford said, sitting next to his son.

“How about cookies and scream?” Ford guessed.

Stan chuckled as he rocked in his chair. “I’m gonna say Corpse-mellon. N’ it… huh.” Stan looked all over the stick, but there was no answer to the joke. “It’s blank.”

“Blank stick?” Ford paraphrased. “That’s a bad omen, Stanley. Be careful, something terrible might happen.”

“Yeah,” Stan said slowly and shook his head. “You’re off your rocker, Sixer.”

“I am not!”

Jackie, who had been standing as she ate, sneakily pushed her foot down on the back of Ford’s rocker. On reflex, he leaned forward and Jackie released just in time for the six-fingered nerd to lose his balance and fall forward and on his face. The whole gang laughed while Ford got up red-faced. Stan patted Jackie’s back and howled with laughter, “I love this gal!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Jackie was checking the cornfields to make sure everything was in order when she could hear some familiar sheep sounds. She stretched her neck to look past some corn and she saw little Dot wiggling past the short fence and skip into the woods. Jackie yelled in shock and ran after the lamb, grateful that this time it wasn't storming and the sun was shining brightly. “Gosh darn it, Dot! Your ma sucks at keeping an eye on you!”

Because Jackie was so close this time and not blinded by rain, she actually managed to scoop up the lamb quickly. She smacked the lamb a little bit, Stan giving her permission to spank any naughty animals, and she hugged Dot so she would know she was forgiven. A snap of a twig made Jackie jerk her head upward and she listened and kept her eyes sharp. Now she knew Ford and Fiddleford were out in the woods again, close to a breakthrough according to the nerds, so she was sure it was one of them heading home or passing by. How funny it would be to come across each other. So you can imagine how shocked Jackie was to find a little bearded man standing on a rock and looking up at her.

Jackie bit her lip to keep from yelling; she wouldn’t like it if someone yelled at her due to the shock of her appearance, and she didn’t want to scare this weird creature away. The pointy hat and beard told Jackie that this was definitely a gnome. It’s beard was all over the place and gray and the gnome had a big-ish nose and a bit of an overbite with some misshapen teeth, but his eyes, though lopsided and slightly cross eyed, were warm and this creature gave off a kind atmosphere.

Jackie smiled and got on one knee with the lamb in her arms. “Hello.”

The gnome lifted a little arm and wiggled his fingers at her politely. Jackie freed a hand and held it out to him to either shake or hop on. Whichever he wanted. The gnome smiled at her and hopped up on her palm, sitting with his hands prompting him up from behind.

“What a nice lil’ guy.” Jackie complimented. “What’s your name?”

“Shmebulock. Senior.” The gnome croaked.

“I’m Jackie, nice to meet you.” The human smiled while the lamb sniffed the air around Shmebulock. “Wow, a real gnome. I’ve got a friend who’d love to meet you.”

“Shmebulock.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow, but decided to let it go. Maybe gnomes were limited in speech. Before she could ask another question, Shmebulock whistled loudly. Jackie barely had time to register that she was faced with dozens of other gnomes and she screamed in horror when they leaped from the trees for her and Dot.

Jackie’s scream was heard by Ford and Fiddleford, who were currently setting up the cameras again, dropped everything, no questions asked, and ran as fast as they could for Fiddleford’s truck and drove in the direction they feared Jackie was in danger. There was a thick dirt road leading deeper into the woods the men ran on and they saw a truly unusual sight at the edge of the trees.

Jackie was running for her life with a lamb in her arms, a crowd of gnomes behind her. Fiddleford stopped the car and Jackie hopped in the truck before it sped off to try to lose the gnomes. She huffed and puffed, her heart going as fast as the truck, and Ford opened the back window to check on her from the passenger’s seat. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Jackie breathed and Dot “bah”ed happily.

Ford smiled at them and gasped with amazement and wonder as one huge gnome, made out of dozens of small gnomes, ran after them, looking like Santa Clause on his period, red all over with sharp teeth and hat and a big beard. “Wow.” He awed and pulled out his journal to begin sketching.

“DRIVE, FIDDS!” Jackie yelled.

The giant threw gnomes like darts and some of them landed in the truck. While Jackie kicked one off the car, Shmebulock Senior was being slammed against the steering wheel by Fiddleford’s hand, but then one leaped on his face, building him and veering the truck off course. Ford punched the gnome off of his friend, only leaving behind a black eye on the driver.

“Thanks, Ford.” Fidds groaned.

“Don’t mention it. Hey, what’s that?” Ford asked and pointed ahead.

The three humans screamed as the truck ran right into an oak tree. They then held their heads and groaned as they stumbled out of the truck. Poor Fiddleford was a nervous wreck over the wreck. “My truck!”

“Don’t worry, I can fix it.” Ford tried to comfort his friend, ignoring the tire that just popped and the bumper that just fell off. “Probably.”

“At least we lost… oh, no we didn’t.” Jackie held Dot closer to her chest as the giant gnome was before them.

Ford stood in front of Jackie, Fiddleford, and Dot protectively, his arms outstretched, as the gnomes broke away to better surround them and insure there was no way out. The little men of the forest growled and snarled like animals, until a loud voice commanded silence. “ENOUGH!”

Slithering out from the shadows like a snake, but rather on a long white beard than a scaly body, came a gnome much older looking and much different from the other gnomes. This gnome carried a staff with a mushroom on top, wore purple instead of red, had a crown and a red cape, and his voice was as sour as lemons and his eyes were green with envy. Those green, empty, creepy eyes were on Jackie, and while all the gnomes bowed to their king, this guy dipped his head respectively to her.

“My Queen!” He cheered happily. “The time has come to fulfill your destiny!”

“EW, WHAT?!” Jackie yelled. “Nu, huh! No way!”

“Leave her alone!” Ford demanded.

“As it is written, in the Prophecy of Shmizzledorph…”

“Go away!” Fiddleford interrupted.

“... the Prophecy…!” But Ford threw one of his boots at the gnome and the king yelped out a sharp, “Ouch! Alright, fine! You want her back? There’s only one way…”

The gnomes around them giggled, anticipating that they would walk away with a new queen tonight. Jackie stuck out his tongue at them.

“You must answer… A RIDDLE!”

Ford, Fiddleford, and Jackie all blinked at the over-exaggerating king. Ford shrugged and said, “Fine, I like a good riddle.”

“What… IS A GHOST’S FAVORITE ICE-CREAM FLAVOR?!”

Now the humans were nervous. Nervous, surprised, and maybe a little bit impressed. The three huddled like they were about to play football and rambled off ideas.

“Boo-berry!” Fiddleford whispered.

“Cookies and scream!” Ford hissed.

“Stanford, go with Fidds’ answer.” Jackie voted quietly.

“But what if it’s not boo-berry?” Ford asked nervously. “Then you’ll have to be that creep’s queen.”

“But what if it’s not cookies and scream?” Jackie returned.

With a squeeze on his old roommate’s shoulder, Fiddleford gave Ford that softer facial expression and whispered, “Stanford, trust me.”

Ford thought for a moment, took in a deep breath, and nodded. The team broke away and Ford faced the king who was elevated by his own beard. “Boo-berry?”

The gnome was silent. Ford feared he was wrong, but then, “IMPOSSIBAAAAAAAAAAAAALE!”

The humans held each other as the gnomes were then all turned into stone, the little statues they were destined to become. With Fiddleford sandwiched between Ford and Jackie, they watched as the king turned to stone and a little bird landed peacefully on his outstretched hand.

“Huh,” Fiddleford quipped when their protective hug was loosening. “I didn’t actually think that would work.”

The trio worked together to push Fiddleford’s truck back home, but not without a souvenir. As Ford placed a gnome on the porch step, Jackie sat Dot down and let the lamb skip off to join the other sheep. “Thanks for saving my butt back there, guys.”

“Hey, we wouldn’t let you get dragged off into the woods to marry that creep.” Fiddleford reassured her teasingly with a light shove on the shoulder.

“And really, we should be thanking you.” Ford gently corrected. “Thanks to you we finally got what was on our cameras! And I have plenty to write about in the journal! Thank you, Jackie.”

The only lady on the farm couldn’t keep the smile off her face until Stan slammed the door open with Tate by his side. “Whoa, what happened to you three?” He asked, noting the scrapes, Fiddleford’s black eye, and the leaves in Jackie’s hair. “You get hit by a bus or something?”

“If we told you, you wouldn’t believe us, Stanley.” Ford said daringly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a prideful smirk on his smug face.

Stan grinned and crossed his arms over his chest while Tate ran into Fiddleford’s arms for a hug. “Try me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford yawned into his six-fingered hand as he ruffled his brown hair and wandered towards the kitchen. “Mm, thank Moses Stan didn’t eat all the strawberry cobbler.”

He turned on the light and gasped to find a gnome standing by the open fridge, helping himself to the cobbler, which was lying on the floor. The gnome screeched and scampered past his feet and Ford ran after it to see it run through a hole in the screendoor. The young scientist hurried out the door and watched the gnome run off into the woods. The stone-gnome on the step was gone.

“This is bad.”

#GF #gravity falls #i know im not funny but a girl can try #farmer au #gift #gnomes #lemonfodrizzleart #lemon is MY queen #love you girl!#i love ALL of you!#fanfiction

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inupibaldspot · 4 years ago

Text

Saviour : Chapter 21

"Why is it that every time you train with Vice Admiral you get injured so much?" Zack sighed as he put a band aid on Emilia's forehead. The child in-front of him had a bruise which now attained a blueish color and a bulge. "It never happens when Bogard-San trains you."

Emilia raised her hands and pressed on the band-aid and nervously laughed. "Garp-san has always been rough with his training. I used to run away from him when ever I got the chance back in Goa Kingdom."

"So.." Zack continued as he started putting his stuff back into the first aid box. "What was the training this time?"

Zack mentally prepared himself. Garp had always made up stupid training because he always felt left out when Bogard would train Emilia.

Just last week, the old man tied Emilia on a rope and threw her out of their marine ship.

"Gah?!" Zack shouted, panicking as Emilia, almost drowning , struggled to stay afloat since her arms were also tied up. "What are you doing Vice-Admiral?! Emilia will drown!"

"GAHAHA!" The old man crossed his arms and laughed proudly. "With this training Emilia will become one with the sea and become much stronger!"

"You do realize that doesn't make sense right?!"

"Huh...Are you doubting my training?" Garp stopped laughing and glared at Zack making him shiver under his gaze. "Guess you also need some training."

Garp also tied a rope around Zack and threw him off the ship and anyone who questioned his training method. And at the end of the day more than half of squad were in the sea, struggling to survive and fighting off any sea monsters.

"He blindfolded me and made me put of some ear plugs to cancel the sound. After that he beat me with my kendo stick." Emilia pouted. Although it might sound insane and impossible to counter back,she did think it might be helpful.

Without sight or hearing ability you start paying attention to every detail making you haki much stronger. But at the level she was in, all she got as a full on beating from the merciless Vice admiral.

Zack sighed. He goes too far sometimes but we cant go against him...

Just then something crossed his mind. "Emilia are you free during our break next week?" He smiled.

"You do know I am 10 turning 11 years right? How old are you?? 30?" Emilia said in a stoic tone. "And you call your self a marine..heh..."

Zack stilled for a moment before his face turned red in embarrassment at what Emilia was implying. "That's not what I meant! I'm not asking you on a date!!! Also I'm just 23!"

Emilia bringing her hands covering her mouth giggled. "I was joking" she then look at him in his eyes and smiled. "What is it?"

"I uh..." Zack scratched his hands at the back of his hands face blushing a bit. "I thought I would like you to meet my girlfriend"

Emilia eyes widened a bit.

"You know we have started dating for a while but I liked her from way before and ..." The man continued on.

"Why" Emilia's soft voice questioned making the guys stop his ramble.

"Why not?" Zack said as he smiled. "We've known each other for almost 2 years now Emilia and now I want the two people precious to me meet, that's all!"

This was the first time in a while,at least ever since she left Goa kingdom, her heart filled with joy giving her a giddy experience.

"No that not what my question meant. Why would anyone be dating you??" Emilia lied, just to tease him abit.

"I swear you're nice to everyone except me."

"That's because I feel comfortable enough to do that to you"

.....

"Emilia!" Garp called out looking at the girl who was simply looking at the sea with a dazed look. The weather was good and she didn't have anything to do.

Hearing her name being called out she turned around and faced Garp, slightly tilting her head.

"Starting tomorrow we will have a break of 3 days. I'm thinking of going to Goa Kingdom" Garp said as he put his hands in his pocket and walked towards the girl. "Do you want to come as well? You can meet the boys."

"No." Emilia simply said

"Eh...what did you say." His eyebrows knitted her asked. She didn't want to go with him...or meet the boys...? Was his precious granddaughter in her rebellious phase...?

"I've made plans with Zack so I'm going with him tomorrow." Emilia explained.

Zack who heard the conversation,gulped loudly.

Garp's face was blank for a few seconds before he shouted.

"ZACK!!! HOW DARE YOU STEAL MY PRECIOUS GRANDDAUGHTER AWAY FROM ME?!".

...

Emilia walked beside Zack. They were currently in marine ford headquarters and as some of you may know beside the Main offices at the center there are residential areas at the sides.They were currently headed there.

Emilia looked at Zack holding a bouquet in his hands,a small smile on his face, obviously looking forward to meet his lover. Emilia also noted that she didn't have to walk fast next to him unlike when she did when ever she was walking beside Garp or any of the other grown ups. Zack simply slowed his pace down so that's she could walk without rushing him self.

Soon they reached in front of a door of a small house. Inhaling deeply Zack knocked. This man was really out there getting nervous to see his own lover. This almost made Emilia want to tease him then and there.

Few seconds later the door creaked open. A woman with short blonde hair and green eyes appear her face showed a surprise expression at first and then a wide smile formed.

"Zack!" The woman laughed and opened her arms and jumped towards the man attempting to hug him.

"Wait Claire!!!"

"AH!!! THE BOUQUET!!!"

......

"Hehehe Sorry about that." Claire said, face a bit red,blushing. "And you are?"

"My name is Emilia. Ainsworth Emilia." Emilia replied as she sat down on the chair of their dining table. "Currently I'm waiting to get older so that I join the marine. Till then I will still be with the marine crew but I wont be able to do any official work." She explained assuming that Claire will soon ask what she was doing with the marine.

"Eh? Marine. Directly at the age of 13?"Claire gasped "How old are you right now?"

"I'll be turning 11 soon."

Claire eyes widened and the strayed to look at Zack asking for confirmation.

"Sorry the say this but she is right. That little girl doesn't act liked her age at all. Even her strength is like an elephant" Zack sighed "Must be from Garp's side of the family" he muttered as he picked his cup from the table and sipped on his tea.

Emilia eyes widened slightly... She forgot to tell him Garp and her aren't related by blood...

"You!" Claire raised her hands and smacked the back of Zack's head making his choke on his drink and Emilia winch at the sound of him getting hit. That must have hurt.

"What was that for?" Zack managed to say in between his cough,hands at the back of his head rubbing it to sooth the pain even abit.

"You should never compare a lady to an elephant,dear!" Claire shouted. "On top look at Emilia! There no denying that girl is really beautiful! Super cute!!" She pointed at Emilia.

Zack's eye twitched and look at Emilia only to get annoyed at her giving him a smug expression. This brat is enjoying this...

"Claire,I didn't notice that at all!" Zack said as he held Claire's hand. "That must be because no one is more beautiful than you" Zack said ,hoping his lover wont be angry at him anymore with this cheesy line. Emilia really tried her best to hold back her expression. She almost gagged in disgust at the show of affection in front of her.

Claire eyes widened and a blush formed on her face. "Oh you!! You make me blush!" Claire brought one hand on her face,smiling and the other hand slapped Zack making him fall from his chair.

"ACK!"

.....

Emilia watched Claire chop some vegetables. Right now Claire was making lunch for them. Zack had currently went out to buys some meat, Claire wanted in her beef stew.

"Do you want me to help,Claire san? " Emilia asked as she walked towards the blonde woman.

"Claire is fine." She corrected Emilia." And Emilia you're the guest. You can just sit down and relax. Besides I'm almost done chopping these up haha."

Emilia didn't move. It made her feel abit awkward, going away when someone was working also since back in Goa kingdom, it was Emilia who did most of the cooking,after all those boys were horrible at it.

"Emilia..." Claire said as she put her knife down and walked towards the sink to wash her hands. "Can..Can you tell me how Zack is at work?"

Emilia said nothing for a few seconds.

Claire laughed abit. "You see..." she started "He never really talks about these and always avoids talking about it... He isn't strong at all but he always wanted to be a marine. He accepted his weakness and so then studied really hard so he can get in as a navigator in the marine."

"But he probably still feels abit insecure by it." Claire's eyes dropped and smiled sadly. "But for me...Since I knowing how hard he always worked always made me proud of him..."

After that there was a brief silence.

"He is weak." Emilia said. Claire's eyes widened at the girl's bluntness. "Even I can also probably beat him. He panics every time we face an enemy..."

"But then he always makes sure to check up on me and make sure I am safe...He is the friendliest and kindest person in the crew. Even when I joined that crew, he was one of the first people who treated me as a person and not a burden since most thought of it that way as i am a child."

"He is also very knowledgeable" She continued. "He really taught me alot related to navigation. He is also one of the few people who I've opened up to."

"He gets frustrated when I make fun of him but then he never actually gets angry. That's the kind of person he is.Everyone on the ships likes him." Emilia smiled. "So I don't think you have to worry, Claire. And even if there is danger,I'll be sure to protect him."

Claire teared up and kneeled down to hug Emilia ,smiling "Thank you, Emilia".

If me and Zack will ever have a child, I want the child to be like you, Emilia.

"I'm Back!"

Zack shouted from the entrance and walked directly towards the kitchen. "Here Claire."

"Thank you ,darling." Claire said taking the grocery bag from Zack, kissing his cheeks and walking towards the kitchen.

"Emilia." Zack called out. "Follow me" he said and walked towards another room.

Confused but nevertheless Emilia followed Zack in a room. Zack opened the room. It was filled with boxes stacked one on top of another. Zack then crouched down and took out one of the boxes. A rectangular looking box which was quite long.

He blew on top of the box to make the dust go way and then opened it.

"What is it?" Emilia questioned curiously, trying to peek to see what was in the box.

"Here" Zack pulled out the item and handed it to Emilia.

"A sword..." Emilia was surprised.

"It was my grandfather's. He used this when he was also in the marine." Zack explained. "My dad didn't want to be a marine so this sword was directly given to me by my grandfather before he passed away."

"Is...Is it okay for me to have this?" Emilia asked gripping gently on the sword. "It must be precious to you..."

"It is." Zack smiled. "But I don't know how to use this nor do I think I can ever fight."

Zack brought his hands up and placed them on Emilia's head. "Besides it's always better to make use of things. Take good care of it,Emilia"

"I will."

"Also Emilia " Zack continued,making the girl look at it. He closed the previous one box and slid it to it's original place. "That sword has a name."

"A name..." Emilia whispered. This sword was a meitou.

"The name is Tenryu" He said. "Beautiful name,isn't it?" The question making Emilia nod.

Emilia was touched. For Zack to give something of such importance for him to her.

"But it looks like you'll have to grow more,for you to use it. Hahahaha" Zack laughed. "That sword is longer than you."

Maybe now was the moment to see if the sword got blunt or not. Emilia glared at Zack.

Just then Calire called out from the kitchen saying the lunch was ready. The food was delicious, The couple infront of Emilia were cheerful and kind. This made her feel as if she was back...back in her own world...

I miss them...

......

A/N: This chapter and few coming chapter will have alot of time skips and few more new characters which are not there in the canon One Piece will be introduced.

So I would like to apologize in advance if that may bore you.

Anyways Thank you for reading and Be Safe!

#one piece #one piece ace #one piece sabo #one piece imagines #one piece imagine #portgas d ace #ace #ace imagine #saviour #sabo #luffy

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