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bigification · 8 months

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Midas Touch - Prologue

About a year ago, we were out on a joy ride. Me and my buddies Greg and Blake would always go on joy rides late at night. We would rip it through these long backroads, it was nothing but dirt and sparse shrubbery. But we'd always pass this creepy looking government building. We never knew what it was, it only said "Government of the United States of America" on the gate, it never said what the facility was actually for. It was pretty small, but it always had one car in the dimly lit parking lot, no matter how late at night, even on the weekend. We were speeding past it just like any other night, and without warning, an explosion erupted from the building. The right side windows shattered as the car was thrown to the left. The last thing I remember was feeling an immense pressure in my chest and a sharp pain in my right ear. I woke up face down in the dirt. I tried moving, and was shocked at how little it hurt. It did hurt, but not as much as you'd think after getting flung out of a car. I slowly turned myself over and saw Greg slouching out of the broken window of the car, not too far from where I laid. Blake seemed to have been flung from the car early, because he was laying by the road. I sat on the floor as my hope drained away, I thought they were dead.

I don't even know how long I sat there for, my only measure of time was counting the crackles coming from the fire. But it was finally interrupted by the roaring of an engine. It was an eighteen wheeler. The brakes squealed as it stopped right beside where Blake was laying. An average looking man came running out of the truck, and it just gave me enough hope to get up. I hobbled myself to my feet and began stumbling to the truck. The man ran to Blake and he put a hand out, to my surprise, Blake reached out and grabbed it. Relief swept over my body, he's alive. But the moment their hands touched, something weird happened. The man froze in place. It was hard to see what happened next, it was dark and my vision was a bit fuzzy. But the man's silhouette went average sized, to large , to massive in the span of seconds. As I got closer, all I could see was a fat guy hanging under his tiny shirt. Am I hallucinating? Am I dying? The man seemed to unfreeze and he reached down to grab Blake's hand again, this time pulling him to his feet. Even weirder is that it seems the man pulled Blake in for a hug after pulling him up. I continued to make my way towards the road as Blake hobbled over to the man's truck. The man then focused his attention on me. He slowly ran his fastest towards me, all his fat bouncing with each step. As he got closer, I confirmed that his gut was spilling out under his shirt. Honestly his shirt looked more like a bra, containing his massive moobs. He smiled with his chubby cheeks as he got close, he thanked God I was okay and told me to get in his truck. He then grabbed Greg's limp body out of the car and carried him to the truck.

I was kind of in and out of consciousness once I was in the man's truck. All I caught was that he was driving us to his house, and that the nearest hospital was too far. He did seem really jolly for a guy who just found three nearly dead guys on the side of the road, but I am not in the position to question it right now. I could also see that Blake was periodically staring at the trucker's body. Maybe I wasn't hallucinating? Maybe he saw it too? I mean he must have, he was right there.

I have no idea how long the drive went on, but I seemed to be staying awake for longer and longer as time went on. I heard the trucker talking to Blake, who seemed to be the only one of us who could actually stay awake. He talked about how he was driving some equipment through the backroads when he found us. He said we were lucky he was so close to his home, considering we were in the middle of nowhere. But before I knew it, we made it to his place. I think he had called his sons to help sometime during the drive, because there were two younger men waiting on the driveway. The trucker parked and hopped out of the car. I couldn't exactly hear what he was saying to his sons, but I heard one of them comment on his shirt being too small. It was starting to confuse me, why would the son comment on the small shirt but not react to the fact that his dad was like three times fatter than he was before. Are we the only ones that see something is off? Anyway, there wasn't time to think about it. The trucker ran inside, presumably to get medical supplies. Blake seemed capable enough to get himself out of the truck on his own. I just sat there as one of the sons opened the door nearest Greg. He grabbed Greg's arm, and similar to the trucker earlier, he froze in place. The man looked in his mid twenties, but it didn't last long. The young man quickly aged into his thirties, then his forties, and into his fifties. He looked older than his father. His face had slimmed down and matured, and wrinkles formed on his skin. His patchy beard grew out into a more full and bushy beard and his hairline receded quite far. It was hard to see from where I was sitting, but it seemed as though hair on his arms and chest had grown much thicker. It also looked like he had grown a bit of a pot belly, but not big enough to be too noticeable under his shirt. The man unfroze and continued to pull Greg out of the truck as if nothing had happened. What the fuck is going on? I don't have time to think about it as the other son opens the door on my side. He reaches for my arm, and as expected, he freezes in place the moment he touches my skin. I watch close up as the young man starts to grow, but not like the other two. I felt his hands begin to expand as he was touching my arms, and I see his biceps grow until they're ripping through his sleeves. His pecs balloon out until they burst out of his shirt, and a defined six pack forms on his stomach. His jawline sharpened as his face became more sleek. I could see his shorts tighten around his thighs as they grew, even his shoes looked like they had gotten tight. Just like the other two, he resumes as if nothing happened. He picked me up like it was nothing and carried me into his home.

I'm dropped off on a dining table in the middle of the living room. Blake seemed to be sitting on the couch with an ice pack on his head, but he seems shocked at the sight of the two sons, who are completely unrecognizable from the men that he saw before. I turn my head and see Greg laying beside me on the table, I let out a sigh of relief when I see that he's breathing

I end up sitting there for what feels like forever. They gave me a bunch of pills and I didn't really feel much after that. I ended up falling asleep for a while. I woke up and it was light out. I was really sore, even more so than when I woke up after the crash, but can still muster the strength to get up. Greg is passed out on the couch across from me, so I don't bother waking him. I wander around for a bit and see Blake and the trucker's family having breakfast. They invite me to join, so I do. I was too exhausted to really contribute to the conversation, but I was still paying enough attention to get an idea of what was going on. The first thing that I noticed was that the trucker and the son that carried me inside were shirtless, I assume because none of their shirts fit them. And everyone seemed to just act as if things were normal despite the fact that the father is three times the size he was before, one of the sons is now older than his father, and the other son is about doubled in size from pure muscle. The father was always cheery and smiling. He mostly talked about how it was a miracle that we were all okay. It was either that, or he was cracking a joke about something. He was actually surprisingly funny. The son that grew old seemed to be a little more reserved, but when he did talk it seemed to always be some sort of advice. He seemed really smart to be honest. The son who grew strong seemed to be the one usually driving the conversation. He was always the loudest and most assertive, he was really charming. He also wouldn't stop flexing, like he would flex his bicep and just stare at it for a bit, and he would bounce his pecs every once and a while.

Eventually, Blake and I excuse ourselves to talk privately. Once we're out of earshot, he just unloads about all the weird shit that has happened since the crash. FINALLY! I knew I wasn't crazy. He explains what he thinks is going on. He noticed that the man who touched him grew fat, the man who carried Greg in grew old, and the man who carried me in grew strong. He also mentioned that it didn't seem to happen to the men a second time, as he had touched all of them since and nothing happened.

Now that it has been a year since the crash, I always wear gloves. Greg and Blake do too. It didn't take long after the accident that we started accidentally touching people. Whether it was someone grabbing our arm, or simply brushing past someone, it happened often in spite of our best efforts. Now we cover up as much of our body and always wear gloves. Though we did find out a lot about our powers from accidentally touching people.

For one, it only works on adult men for some reason, and it only works once between the three of us. Once someone has been transformed by one of us, they're immune. Each of our powers comes with physical and mental changes, changes that nobody except us seems to notice. Mine makes them grow a lot of muscle, and sometimes makes them grow taller and hairier. It tends to make them more dominant and assertive, more confident, and more charming. Blake's makes them grow extremely fat and usually makes them hairier. It makes them happy, caring, kind, and funny. It also tends to make them have an extremely high appetite. Greg's makes people grow old, which tends to have many side effects associated with getting old. Their hair will turn grey, their skin wrinkles, and they tend to get a bit fatter, just not nearly as extreme as with Blake. It makes them mature, wise, and usually a bit reserved.

Inevitably, basically all of our family members and close friends have fallen victim to our powers. My brother and father are now jacked and go to the gym all the time, despite never going before hand. Blake's father was fat before but now, saying he's obese is an understatement. I've been over for dinner many times since then and man can that man eat. All of the men in Greg's family are about a generation older than they used to be. I'm sure he gets a lot of good life advice from them tho.

As for our friends, there are some funny stories behind that. One time, we were playing beer pong not too long after the crash. Blake was blackout drunk and stumbled over after he threw a ping pong ball. Our friend Darren went to catch him, by the time Blake was back in his feet, Darren was nearly 300 pounds. Darren obviously doesn't know what really happened, but he still talks about the day he went home and his clothes were suddenly 5 sizes too small.

This one was pretty recent. Pete was a guy we met well after the crash, and well after we had transformed all of our friends. So by that point we had been much less careful around our friends because it didn't matter as much. But we kinda forgot we should be careful around Pete. We were hanging out and just decided to start wrestling, I have no idea why. Well when Pete and I started to wrestle, his hand brushed my face. Let's just say he went on to destroy everyone at wrestling that day.

Greg is probably the most careful out of all of us, but he eventually slipped up. Honestly it wasn't even his fault, the one place we can't really cover up is our face. But one time, we were watching the Superbowl and our friend Jim is super into football. It was a close game but his team was down a bit. They scored a touchdown last minute and he jumped out of his seat, accidentally hitting Greg in the face. He's 49 now. And it does look weird considering he is the only one in the friend group that Greg touched, so he is the only 50 year old among a bunch of twenty something's. But luckily anyone who knew him before he was transformed doesn't seem to notice that he's much older than us. And funny enough, Pete now has a group of friends that are his age, but he still hangs out with us too.

I think all three of us had some pretty bad slip ups early on though. Greg went to a job banquet without gloves and ended up shaking hands with most of the men there. A significant portion of their staff have already retired because of him. Blake went to a concert without covering up, we have no idea how many people he transformed, but he thinks it could be dozens. I went to a gay bar and made out with a bunch of guys. Though it is nice to have every guy you fuck be jacked, it's not exactly ethical. I did also find out that my power makes their dick bigger too, I wonder if Blake and Greg's do too.

I have been thinking about it a lot lately though, i might just give up on ethics and just have some fun with it. At least mine doesn't do as much harm as Blake and Greg's do. I get to have fun and they get to have a six pack.

#male tf #muscle tf #fat tf #reality change #getting older #masculine

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callipraxia · 2 years

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New Concoctions and Old Scrapbooks

Summary: While the rest of the family is out on one of its missions to help Stan recall the events of the past thirty years via interviews with people he's scammed, Ford tries Mabel Juice and discusses the secrets of Pineses past with its creator.

“You look like you could use some Mabel Juice.”

For several seconds after Mabel made that announcement, Ford had no idea how to respond to it. It didn’t immediately make sense, and on examination, it only got more confusing. Finally, adjusting his glasses anxiously, he said, “some…what?”

It was a peculiar situation they found themselves in. At the moment – and for the first time ever that Ford could recall – he and Mabel were the only occupants of the house. Dipper and Soos were out with Stanley, going to interview yet another person he’d conned at some point in the past thirty years. Ford had thought Mabel had gone with them, but apparently (unless he was hallucinating, which he didn’t…think he was. He might not have slept in days, but he was sure he wasn’t that far gone) she had not. And she thought he should consume….

“Mabel Juice,” she said brightly. “Grunkle Stan says it’s like coffee and nightmares had a baby!” She shoved a glass with an alarming number of paper umbrellas sticking out of it into his hand without further ado. “Go on, try it!”

Ford supposed he should have had reservations about the wisdom of this course of action. The juxtaposition of the words ‘coffee’ and ‘nightmares’ brought back bad memories. He was about sixty percent sure the purple concoction in the glass could, under the right circumstances, go fluorescent. The number of paper umbrellas alone meant it could not be safe for human consumption. Instead of acknowledging any of these points, though, he shrugged and did as ordered.

“So?” asked Mabel. “What do you think?”

That this substance may actually taste stranger than whatever it was I drank with those octopus-armed warrior piglets, and…oh. Oh my.

Mabel laughed, and he realized he’d said the last three words out loud. Or at least, he hoped it had only been the last three words. Mabel did not need to know about the octopus-armed warrior piglets. Though, at the moment, it seemed like it might not be nearly as bad as he suspected it normally would seem….

“Are you supposed to think you can feel an uptick in the amount of electrical activity in various parts of your brain?” he asked. “And find yourself in an unusually…optimistic mood?”

“Sounds about right,” said Mabel with satisfaction. “I’m pretty sure that being gloomy just means you’ve got too much blood in your caffeine-and-sugar system.” Her face turned down, though, even as she began drinking her own glass of the Substance through a straw. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Hm. Wouldn’t Dipper disprove your hypothesis, though?” If Dipper ever switched from soda to anything remotely alcoholic, he’d be an extreme sort of drunk within the week. Ford chose not to even think about what would happen if the kid ever stumbled across various other substances the multiverse had to offer.

“Yeah, except Dipper’s always…just so…Dipper, isn’t he?” She laughed at her own remark and Ford did as well, though it was objectively lacking in the elements of Humor. “Plus, he doesn’t drink Mabel Juice, and Mabel Juice…sometimes it might have Pitt Cola in it, but all just drinking that will do is make you jittery and stupid eventually. That’s why he ended up being Bipper that time.”

“If this doesn’t eventually make you jittery and stupid, then I may need to form another rift in the fabric of space and time,” said Ford. “From the feel of it, this stuff would make you a killing in the interdimensional trucker market. You and Dipper could both go to college without any scholarships and still not need to work afterward. Well. After you figured out how to convert the currency, if you chose to stay in this dimension.” 46\’ was, he had learned over the decades, considered something of a backroads dimension, barely contacted, certainly not part of any of the major treaty groups. Interdimensional currency would be difficult to explain to banks around here at present.

“Ha, ha,” said Mabel. “If I ever decide to sell it, I might just stick with PopsiCo, though. I don’t know if I like the multiverse all that much. It made you disappear, and then it made Bill show up, and now….” Her face turned down again, and she forsook the straw in favor of gulping from her glass. “Now Stan barely remembers us and the world almost ended and…yeah.”

“Well, those aren’t really…things the multiverse did,” said Ford. “More consequences of my stupidity.” He sighed and looked at the scrapbook in front of him – one of the stash of them they’d found hidden around the place. It seemed Stan must have laid claim to almost all of the old collection after their parents had died. This was a very good thing as far as helping Stanley get his memory back, but it didn’t help at all with the times when Stan was so blandly pleasant that it was quite obvious they weren’t quite working as quickly as might have been hoped. Stan had – much to Ford’s horror, though he hoped the kids were optimistic enough to have not noticed - seemingly picked up that overt reminders of the absence of his memory pained the rest of them, but seemingly had not picked up that him being mild-mannered and agreeable just hammered home the degree to which he still wasn’t quite himself. A lot of terms had been used over the years to describe Stanley Pines, but ‘blandly pleasant’ was not, Ford was quite sure, among them….

Ford decided to have more of the Substance. It didn’t quite sparkle as much this time, but that was, sadly, a common feature of uppers in every place he’d been – well, either of the stimulants themselves or simply of how the human nervous system processed them. To his surprise, Mabel scooted her chair over closer to his and looked at the scrapbook, too.

“Dipper says we shouldn’t ask you guys about all this stuff,” she said. “At least not now. Did you or Stan make this?”

“Not this one, I don’t think. At least not the majority of it. Where we are now, I think our mother was still the…main contributor. I don’t know where she got it from, but she was the first Pines to start putting everything in albums like this.”

“Is that her?” asked Mabel, pointing to a picture of Caryn, who looked – in the snapshot, anyway, which had treated her fake finery more kindly than any eye ever had – resplendent in her full psychic getup. She’d still had palm-reading clients come to the house or worked the odd public event when they were young, before phones had become prevalent enough for the phone psychic line to bring in a respectable income alone, and someone – probably Stanley – must have convinced her to pose sometime in that era.

“Yes. Or rather – Princess Grand Mistress Coranina Romanoff, I think that’s what she called herself when she still did that kind of thing.”

“Romanoff? Like Anastasia or something?”

“Well, I think that’s why she threw the ‘princess’ bit in, but it was her real maiden name. Just means that one of her distant ancestors was a Roman citizen, so you got your famous ones…and then you got her family. They kept a bit better track of things than Dad’s family did, so we heard all sorts of garbled half-remembered stories that had been passed down since before anyone left Belarus…I suppose that’s how she and Stanley learned to spin yarns so well. I’m pretty sure you and Stanley didn’t get any of the creativity from Dad’s side, anyway.”

“And that’s him?”

Ford looked at the black and white photograph of a somber-looking young man in uniform, who bore an unmistakable resemblance to Mabel’s grandfather and both great-uncles for very simple reasons. “Oh, yes. It’s always odd seeing that picture…that was taken when he joined the army, I suppose. That was before we were born. I don’t know where Ma got it from, though. He didn’t meet her until after the War, and I can’t imagine he was any happier about talking about it than he was ten, fifteen years later.” He turned over a page and found another image of Filbrick, still young but beginning to look more like he had by the time Ford had been extant and old enough to form memories about him, standing outside of Pines’ Pawns with his face as close to a smile as it generally had ever gotten and with a small child, so heavily bundled up in winter attire as to be rendered almost featureless, beside him. “I bet Ma took this one, though. Let’s see…”

As carefully as possible, Ford lifted the image from the page and turned it over. Sure enough, the handwriting on the back was his mother’s: Filbrick w/his one true love, and also Sherman, Jan. 1946.

“Wow,” said Mabel, reading it, too. “1946. That was, like, practically when there were dinosaurs, wasn’t it?”

“Remind me to prepare you some lessons on geology sometime,” said Ford, wincing in something like pain at this remark. Mabel shook her head and he said, “what?”

“That was a joke, Grunkle Ford.”

“Oh. Sorry. Yes, it was a long time ago. This must have been when Pa first got the pawn shop – G.I. Bill, you know. Government loans. Cheap mortgages.”

“What did Great-Grandma mean about his one true love, though?”

“I think it was a joke,” said Ford, after a slight pause to adjust to the idea of his mother being called ‘Great-Grandma.’ “About how proud he was of the shop. At least, I’m pretty sure Pa liked the shop better than anything else in the family….” Not that that meant much. From what Ford recalled, his father had been growing gradually more disillusioned with the shop, too, by the time he’d left home for good.

“That’s so sad,” exclaimed Mabel. “I need more Mabel Juice just thinking about it.” She picked up a pitcher and refilled both of their glasses. There was an alarming noise of something hard striking glass. Ford frowned, though not because of the noise.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Sad?”

“If he really liked a stupid pawn shop – “ Ford winced again just imagining the magnitude of the storm of temper which might have broken over Mabel’s head had Filbrick heard that remark – “more than his family. I mean, Grunkle Stan doesn’t even like the Mystery Shack more than us! Most of the time. But that’s how I got my grappling hook, and how Dipper got his hat. He just gave them to us because we were sad one day.”

Ford blinked. “If Pa’s dead, he must have rolled over in his grave,” he remarked. He had, since his return, assumed that the old man had died in his absence, but he had never actually gotten confirmation of the fact, and of course, at the moment, Stanley didn’t remember one way or the other. The failure of an outraged ghost to appear and curse out its great-granddaughter, though, made him wonder for a moment if Filbrick might still be alive after all. “I imagine he’d be nearly as angry about that as he was whenever Stan got caught stealing things around the neighborhood.”

“Hmm.” Mabel stared into her drink and stirred it with the straw still in the glass. “Grunkle Ford? Can I ask you something?”

This sounded ominous. Like the kind of thing that should prompt him to be somewhere else as fast as possible. People didn’t ask permission to ask questions about matters that weren’t going to be painful, awkward, or generally unpleasant in some way. “Ah – yes?” he said, and even he noticed it sounded more like a question than an answer. “I suppose so?”

“What did everyone do after…you know. After Grunkle Stan…wasn’t at home anymore?”

There was entirely too much blood in his caffeine-and-sugar system at the moment. He considered trying to rummage through the cabinets in search of more sugar, but with an effort, he restrained himself. For one thing, he had not kept himself in relatively good condition this long just to let himself go now. For another, it might offend Mabel, which he did not wish to do. He was still half-surprised she had remained on speaking terms with him after…everything, and he didn’t want to push his luck in any respect there. How, though, to answer her question….

“Nothing,” he said finally, unable to think of a better answer after several attempts.

“Nothing?”

“That’s correct. We did…absolutely nothing.” He had another drink of the Substance – it did seem to taste better the more one drank of it, which made him worry more about what was in it, but never mind – and cleared his throat. “I mean, of course we did things. Ma took calls on the psychic line. Pa ran the shop. I went to school. What I mean is…as far as we could, we just…kept going as though nothing had happened.”

Mabel’s eyes were huge as she looked at him, clearly struggling to get her mind around the idea that had just been presented to her. “But…how?” she asked, twisting pieces of her hair around her fingers.

Ford shrugged. “Ma answered the phone. Pa ran the shop. I went to school. We…almost never talked about it. It came up with Pa once – some of the others at school didn’t realize Stan had had a sparring partner at home, so I, er, had to correct their impression that Stan’s absence meant they could behave the same way they had when we were in elementary school….”

“Huh?”

“One of the football players tried to push me over into a trash can, so I very happily took my feelings about…everything out on his face,” Ford translated. “Pa…wasn’t very happy with me about that incident.”

To put it mildly. It had been more than forty years and Ford could still hear the old man’s voice in his head as clearly as he had when Filbrick had been speaking. Comments about how Ford should have known that he’d need to keep Stanley in line, that he should have known Stanley would do something stupid if Ford didn’t watch him at every moment. How his failure to divine this meant that everything that had happened was entirely Ford’s fault, and how everything that happened going forward would also be his fault, up to and including whenever word got back to them that his brother had either died in a ditch or in prison, as there weren’t really any other ways the story could end….

He also remembered the remarks he’d made in reply. How much worse it had gotten from there. How Ma had reacted. It was all like a video tape, though, as if he had watched it happen from the outside. That was only part of why he didn’t think he cared to elaborate any more on it to Mabel.

“As for Ma….” He sighed. “I don’t think any of us really thought that Stanley would stay gone. I think we all thought he’d sleep a night or two in his car and decide that Pa was the lesser of two evils. But he didn’t.”

He glanced at the stack of unopened albums. He had yet to go through them to make sure they were all in chronological order, or who had compiled each one. He hadn’t even counted them. If he did, he might figure out if any had been made at any point between 1978 and the beginning of Mabel’s summer scrapbook. Well, unless he counted Stan’s box of road memorabilia that Dipper had remembered; it was almost possible to arrange those scraps of life into a neat timeline, even without a book to hold it all that way.

Maybe, he thought, it made sense that Ma and Stan had been the types to hoard little pieces of reality. Neither of them had ever wanted much to do with the real world, that was true…but maybe there was something to be said, after all, for at least having the ability to look at something and discern what was real from what one had made up once one was self-aware enough to know how much would invariably be made up. He wondered what it said about him that he couldn’t, so far as he could recall, ever entertained such an impulse himself in all his long years of exile. Maybe he was the real coward between the three of them, in that he didn’t even want to entertain the possibility of learning what parts of his memories were real and which ones he had redone in more flattering shades over the years.

“Right now, of course, the key thing is helping Stanley remember…most things,” he said. “But you and Dipper should look at these someday. Learn what you can from all of our errors, so you don’t repeat them.” He looked at Mabel and was surprised – not to mention a little alarmed – to realize that her lip was trembling. “Mabel?”

“I don’t think Mabel Juice is going to cut it for this one,” she said, and then she stood up and hugged him.

This was so surprising that he had no idea how to respond, beyond awkwardly patting her on the shoulder in reply. Before he could think of a better answer, the front door opened.

“Ah – thank you, Mabel,” he said, and then – smoothly enough that he surprised himself – switched back to the hopefully-cheerful (he could never tell if he was moving his face right when he tried to make it assume given expressions, but so far, nobody had said anything about this one being inappropriate or bizarre-looking, so maybe it was within the realm of done right) expression he sometimes had to force but rarely dropped during the day lately.

“Productive expedition?” he asked as the rest of the family entered the kitchen.

Stan shook his head slowly. “The people in this town have got to literally be the dumbest humans on Earth,” he said, and almost sounded like himself.

“They should try this…beverage Mabel’s invented,” said Ford. “I think I may have started thinking in higher dimensions for a few minutes there.”

“This….” Stan frowned at the glasses, looking as though he was thinking very hard about something. “Oh, yeah. Make sure you don’t choke on the parts that aren't supposed to be there. It’s…you who does that, isn’t it?” he asked Mabel. “You put toys in…whatever that is.”

“That’s how the magic gets in,” said Mabel, beaming. "And it's the magic that makes it work."

#forduary #forduary2023 #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #stanford pines #mabel pines #mabel juice

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kazoosandfannypacks · 1 year

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"Open to Interpretation" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 9/16: Blue Skin Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: General Word Count: (1.7K/24K) Summary: Emma Swan is appalled at works by modern artist Killian Jones- until a handsome stranger convinces her otherwise- and after introducing himself as the artist in question, he invites her out on a date. As their relationship develops, they find that they might not be as different from each other as originally though. Chapter Summary: Emma talks about Killian with her coworkers. Emma and Killian drive to the graduation the next day Tags: au, fluff, captain swan, modern au Author's notes: n/a Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

Thursday night's shift had gone pretty well for Emma- she was only blatantly objectified by three of the customers at the truck stop, and it was a slow night. She was also particularly proud of herself- she'd managed to pack for her weekend with Killian's family, clean up a little so she wouldn't come back to a messy apartment, and even get the dishes done that morning- and that afternoon she'd finally had the time and motivation to finish the painting she was working on- so she went into work with a sense of accomplishment. On top of all that, her two favorite co-workers were working the same shift as her.

"I still can't believe you're meeting his parents tomorrow," Ruby said, during the lull after their dinner rush.

"I almost don't believe it either," Emma said.

"Don't you think you're moving too fast?" Lily asked.

"I'm going to his step-brother's highschool graduation," Emma said. "It's not like we're getting married and starting a new life in Oklahoma or something cliché like that."

Lily shook her head, "I just want you to take care of yourself, Em. You're just getting off a rough breakup, and…."

"And what?"

"All I'm saying is," Lily said, "you've been running from one bad relationship right into another since we were seventeen."

"This is different," Emma said, "Killian's a really great guy."

"Okay," Ruby said, "besides the fact that he's a professional artist and, in your own words, 'equal parts emotional and intellectual' and 'hotter than Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean,' what exactly makes him different from the last one?"

Emma rolled her eyes, but she still smiled at the thought of the great catch she'd landed.

"For one, he actually has a soul," Emma said, "and he appreciates my music taste."

"That's what you said two exes ago," Lily said.

"Okay," Emma said, and leaned a little closer so no one else around would overhear, "but when all he got from me was a good night kiss, he took 'no' for an answer, and didn't push me any further."

"Really?" Ruby asked, both herself and Lily seeming a bit taken aback.

"I can't say that about any of the last ones," Emma said.

"Or half our customers, for that matter." Ruby rolled her eyes as a trucker across the room whistled for her. She grabbed a nearby pot of coffee and brought it to him for a refill.

"Okay, so he's got that going for him," Lily said, "just watch yourself."

"I will," Emma said.

After all, she'd always been good at that.

Fourteen hours later, Emma and Killian were driving down backroads, blasting country music on the radio and singing along.

"You really don't have to do this," Killian said.

"What, sing along to the radio?" Emma asked.

"No, love," he said, "you don't have to come to this with me."

"I want to," Emma said, "I like getting to know you."

"You may not like it so much after today," Killian said, "though now that I think about it, it's hardly fair."

"What?" Emma asked.

"On our last date I revealed much about myself," he said, "but I've still yet to learn much at all about the mystery that is Emma Swan."

"Oh?" Emma looked at him, "what's there to know?"

"Everything," he said, "where did you grow up? What do you do for a living? What do you do for fun?"

"Do I tell him I grew up in the system?" Emma thought, "and I work at a truck stop? And do I tell the greatest artist I've ever met that I paint too and risk the shame of showing my art to him?"

"I moved around a lot as a kid," Emma said, "I'm a waitress, and when I'm not doing that- or finding a date at the art museum- I hang out with friends sometimes, I guess."

"A waitress?" Killian asked, "what restaurant?"

"I'd be hard pressed to call it that," Emma rolled her eyes and sighed.

"More of a dive than a diner or a drive in?"

"Try truck stop," Emma said, instantly regretting her words.

"Truck stop?" he asked, "that's pretty cool."

"Cool?" Emma asked. There was nothing cool about being a waitress at a truck stop.

"Truckers are important people," Killian said, "they spend days away from their families so other families can go to the store and buy groceries."

"Spoken like someone who's never met a trucker," Emma said.

He didn't respond, and instead he glanced over at her, a split second's eye contact as he said, "My older brother was a trucker."

Emma shrunk down in her seat, knowing what had happened to his brother and how deeply he respected him.

"I'm so sorry, Killian," she said, "I…."

"No, that's alright," Killian laughed, "he didn't hold the other truckers in high esteem either."

"I don't blame him," Emma said.

She didn't want to talk any more about the truck stop, and Killian seemed to notice, switching the conversation to something else.

"So, you moved around a lot as a kid?"

"Yeah," Emma shrugged, unsure how to bring this topic up either.

"Did your dad travel a lot for work or something?"

"Which one?" she rolled her eyes.

He turned to look at her, a bit confused, hoping for further explanation.

Emma leaned closer to him and spoke quieter, despite the fact that they were the only ones around.

"I grew up in the foster system," she said.

He turned back to her again, this time smiling a little.

"Small world after all," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"My younger brother, Liam," Killian shook his head, "my step mom adopted him out of the foster system before she met my dad."

"Really?" Emma asked.

"Yeah. Do you honestly think I'd lie to you about something that important?" Killian asked.

"I don't know," Emma teased, "are you the kind of person who'd 'forget' to tell me you painted the art we're debating, or who'd 'forget' to mention you're promoting the benefit dinner you're taking me to?"

"That's hardly the same thing, Swan," he said.

"I know," Emma smiled, "and I do appreciate you sharing that."

Her workplace and her family- or, her lack of the latter- were two of the things she was most scared to admit to- and if Killian could accept them so casually, maybe he'd be just as accepting of any other skeletons in her closet.

Killian turned the radio off.

"Hey, Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember at the banquet when you said I can talk about what happened when I'm ready?"

She turned back to look at him, to make sure he was still serious.

"About your late wife?"

"I think I'm ready to talk now," he said, "if you want to listen."

"Of course," Emma said.

He sighed, "I guess there's not too much to tell," he shrugged, "other than everything."

Emma put a hand on his arm and smiled. He looked down at her, gave half a serious chuckle, then smiled sadly.

"Milah and I were highschool sweethearts," he began, his smile shifting to a happy one as he recalled the memories, "just two kids whose parents said we'd never make it. Her parents didn't think an art major could support her, and my dad, well, he didn't think anything I did was good enough. But we proved them all wrong.

"Shortly after I graduated from art school, Milah and I got married. We didn't have much, but we had each other, and I was the happiest I've ever been."

He glanced over at Emma, and she nodded for him to continue.

"Her diagnosis came out of the blue," he said, "she'd been showing a few symptoms, but assured me it was no big deal. It was just a routine check-up. And then my world shattered again."

"Again?"

"When I lost my mother, I still had my brother, Lee. When I lost Lee, I still had Milah. When I lost Milah," he shook his head, "I lost everything. The only family I had left was my dad, who had a shiny new family of his own. My friends were few, and far between- all I had left was my art, and I lost myself in it. I painted more in that first year without her than I ever had in my life."

Emma nodded, unsure what to even say to all that.

"As you might've figured, that's why the benefit dinner last week mattered so much to me," he said, "at risk of sounding self righteous, a lot of the commission I earn for most of my art goes to the Humbert fund, working to end that terrible disease. I'd go as far as to say I'd give my own life if it meant ridding this world of endocarditis."

Emma tried to put herself in Killian's shoes for a moment, tried to consider the pain of losing everything, taken unfairly from you in just a moment.

"How do you even live after that?" Emma thought. She'd had her fair share of breakups, but she'd never lost someone she loved who actually loved her in return.

"Those paintings," Emma said, "Sad Song, Grief. You painted them that year."

"You're quite perceptive," he bit his lip.

"I'm so sorry about all that you went through," Emma said.

"It's alright," he shook his head, "I wouldn't be where I am in my career if I hadn't lost her. Still, I'd trade everything I've done for one more moment with her."

Emma nodded, and they both sat in silence a moment longer. She let go of his arm and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you for sharing that," Emma said.

"Thank you for listening."

Emma let go of his shoulder and slumped back in her seat. He'd just been so vulnerable with her- he let her see clear through to his heart.

"What was that poem you quoted at the museum?" Emma asked.

"Masks?" Killian asked.

"That's the one."

"'She had blue skin, and so did he." Killian said, "He kept it hid, and so did she. They searched for blue their whole lives through- then passed right by…" he paused to look at Emma, "and never knew.' Why were you asking?"

"I think you just took off your mask," Emma said, shaking her head, "and you're not the only one with blue skin."

#captain swan #once upon a time #killian jones #emma swan #ouat #cs ff #cs fanfiction #cs au #once upon a time season 6 #lily ouat #ruby lucas

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rebirthofartemis · 10 months

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I’m not wanderlust for the beaches of Australia, the mountains of Japan, or the city life of Dubai. I crave the freedom of the road.

Driving down a highway in Ohio at 5am, watching the sunrise along the horizon, reflecting on how the fuck I got here.

Taking those little exits to explore the backroads. Having a cup of coffee at the local diner in Michigan, peaches from a fruit stand off the road in Georgia, or scavenging for rocks and plants in the woods of Kentucky.

The conversations with strangers. Mother always taught me to never do that, but I say just trust your gut and be prepared for anything. Don’t let fear stop you. Ask questions. Compliment others. Share your knowledge and skills. Always trust your gut.

Gas stations have become my favorite place. Seeing the truckers stopping off the interstate to get coffee and a shower, the 3rd shift cashiers with wild stories, and a nice cold Redbull. (Love’s and Buc-ee’s are top tier)

What is a destination without the journey? You’ve got to romanticize the journey and add to your story. International travel is good for the soul, when done mindfully. But something about exploring and learning about my home land is fulfilling. The roads I’ve traveled have taught me more about life and culture than any school book has.

I miss the time on the interstates. Screaming my favorite songs, dancing without care, processing thinking thoughts, and feeling the wind in my hair. I miss the feeling of freedom on my own time.

#frustrated with this hip injury #can’t sit comfortably for long periods #I-75 #interstate #explore #wanderlust #united states #driving #journey #romanticize #travel #it’s the little things in life

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papaljx · 3 years

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I'm just glad that it wasn't snowing when I made this delivery. #truckerslife #truckerproblems #trucker #trucksofinstagram #trucksoffacebook #trucksoftwitter #truck #backroads #hillcountry (at Mansfield, Ohio) https://www.instagram.com/p/COk6Gc4Ju60/?igshid=iz7m7ga8gc4n

#truckerslife #truckerproblems #trucker #trucksofinstagram #trucksoffacebook #trucksoftwitter #truck #backroads #hillcountry

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roadsidepeek · 3 years

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Travel hungry. Zingo’s Cafe used to be a 24 hour truck stop pulling in hungry truckers and travelers alike from nearby Highway 99 with its neon sign. While the 1965 era cafe no longer serves up food around the clock it’s still a good stop and reminder of the old Kern County. Bakersfield CA #roadsidepeek #roadside #cafe #bakersfield #cali #neonsigns #neon #nightphotography #eats #route #neonlights #roadsideamerica #backroads #exploring_shotz #truckstop #gas_food_lodging #wanderlust #picoftheday https://www.instagram.com/p/CZpPSicJMwi/?utm_medium=tumblr

#roadsidepeek #roadside #cafe #bakersfield #cali #neonsigns #neon #nightphotography #eats #route #neonlights #roadsideamerica #backroads #exploring_shotz #truckstop #gas_food_lodging #wanderlust #picoftheday

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superfluffysupernatural · 2 years

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Longing for Something Greater

AO3 Link

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: None

Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Additional Tags: Canon Typical Horror & Violence

Summary: Truckers and people alike use all of the rest stops that line the US highway. It's not the type of hunt Sam and Dean take. The kind where it isn't contained to a single person or house or plot of land but it seems to have been the one thing that has been bothering the people who stop there. The ghost of a woman who shares a striking resemblance to someone Sam and Dean know all too well.

Here in the Golden State, we don’t only want you to enjoy our incredible national resources and famous hospitality, but we also want to make sure you have a place to pull over, use the restroom, or get a drink. With hundred of rest stops statewide, many located near famous monuments and landmarks, you’ll have no problem finding one if you use our maps. If you recently used one of our rest stops, please leave an honest review below. Report on the stop’s condition, its cleanliness, and anything else. The better feedback you give, the more we can improve.

-California Tourism Coalition, Los Gusanos Chapter

There was something wrong with those rest stops. So much wrong with them. Anyone would be able to know. The reviews might have looked normal but any further digging might include more than just the normal story about almost shitting your pants on a family road trip. It wasn’t out of the normal for Sam and Dean to stop at one either when they were out on the town or just on another hunt. So looking into the reports made on the site made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he hadn’t even been there yet.

Dean stood at the end of the room, looking over his shoulder and out the room towards the strip of sidewalk outside. No one was there. So long as no one saw the exit of the hotel then there was nothing else that either of them could do in the way of security. There were so many people wishing that they were already out of town. But it took a lot more than just a few hours to pack up years' worth of equipment in a matter of hours. It took all night to pack up the motel room and even then surely there were more of their equipment stored in the cracks and crevasses of the room.

“Come on,” Dean lugged out his own duffel bag into the rain. “No use wasting any more time here.”

Their next hunt was across the country and would take a few days at least to get there. Something about a weird rest stop in California. As he said, it was not their normal hunt. Not like they weren’t completely turned off by the idea of going to one stretch of highway or another to see what’s going on. But either way, they were going to investigate which meant hitting the road and getting as much information as possible about what has happened.

Sam pulled his luggage out of the room and brushed past Dean as he headed toward the car. Dean turned back to the still-open door of the room that they should have already vacated. There were still a few bags inside the room that Dean would have to go back and get after he put his own bag in the backseat. Sam turned on his heel and made his way back past Dean before he made any attempt to move. It felt like Dean’s feet were made of lead and somehow, deep in his stomach, he could feel that something was going to go wrong. He didn’t know what…but he had no idea what was going to happen.

Dean placed his bag into the backseat just as Sam came out with the rest of the bags and set them in the trunk. The car rattled. It was no baby but it was much better for getting around in the backroads of the California Wilderness. There

“Well, I was there on July 22nd from what I remember. Could have been the 21st. Maybe it was the 22nd because it looks like I passed through the area with some canned goods around the 22nd. Anyways, I had to go back in the woods for a while so it was great to have a place like that out in the middle of nowhere. I mean, it’s a pretty hard place to find. It’s being some trees but you can easily see it from the highway.”

“Sir, did you see anything weird while you were out there,” Dean pressed in hopes of finding some more answers though he received nothing on the other end. A sigh left his mouth as he shut off the phone. “Maybe there really is nothing there.”

“Maybe…maybe not. Apparently, this only happens during the season.”

“And when does the season end,” Dean asked, not really sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Tomorrow.”

“It’s a two-day trip, Sam,” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Only a fifteen-hour trip if we take the highways and don’t stop. We can make it there by tomorrow if we’re fast enough,” Sam seemed way too confident in his position to be convinced otherwise.

Fiona stumbled out of the car and onto the gravel. Her eyes adjusted to the bright lights that lined the roof. It took a moment but as soon as the light was no longer obscuring her vision, she moved forward on shaky legs. Her arm was wrapped around one of her friends. Somehow, all but one of them had managed to get drunk as shit off of the cheap, gasstation whiskey they had picked up a few miles back. There were still a few beers in the back of the car and a bottle dangled delicately between her fingers as she tried to stay upright. The bag of potato chips they had also brought with them crunched in-between her and Doug’s body.

“We’re gonna go on that hike I told you about,” Nikki’s words were less slurred than Fiona would have liked. But one of them had to stay semi-sober to keep Colt company. “It’s only fifteen minutes.”

Fiona faked a gag. Only seconds later did it turn into a real one. She doubled over, the contents of her stomach threatening to spill onto the ground like the potato chips that were once wedged between her and Doug. She lifted her head up and placed a hand on Doug’s back.

“Okay, we’re ready.”

Fiona trailed after Nikki into the forest. Doug walked a bit faster and easily made it up to the front in no time. Nikki was a few paces ahead of her. Colt was behind her somewhere. They didn't have any kind of compass but if her sense of direction was as good as it was then they were heading north.

It was a short walk but soon they made their way to a clearing. It was beautiful. The stars danced overhead and not just because she had snorted a line of coke off of Doug’s hand just before they got out of the car. They all decided to take a seat under a circle of trees that had been made into a clearing. The chips and some sandwiches were the only things that they had brought up there.

“Ugh,” Doug groaned. “I’ve gotta pee.”

Doug stood and turned around to stand away from the others. He had already begun to pull down his pants when Colt yelled out that we should all go back to the rest stop. Of course, at even the slight mention of having to pee, Fiona realized how full her own bladder was. The trek back would be hard enough as it was as drunk as high as they were but it would be even harder on a full bladder with limited fine motor skills. Not to mention the darkness that surrounded them and the vast wilderness. If any of the park rangers caught them out there, they’d probably arrest all of them on the spot.

As soon as they all got back to the parking lot, they began to peel off to the rest stop. Women’s restroom on one side and the men’s on the other.

“Guys, do y’all see that,” Colt’s voice was louder than his normal speaking voice but less so than his normal screaming voice. “I think it’s a mountain lion.”

Colt had a pocket knife in his hand so they would be safe at least a little bit from whatever creature came near them. They were in the area.

“Stay behind me,” Colt cautioned. “I’ll go see what’s there.”

Colt stepped into the darkness. Doug tried telling some lame joke about a fridge. Nikki laughed even though she didn’t. Colt yelled at us to come out. It wasn’t a mountain lion. He was okay. She should have mentioned Phil, a total square who had also gotten drunk (thank fuck) with them. He seemed to be just as freaked out even though he didn’t see anything. Colt was freaked but he seemed to be calming down okay. He turned towards the rest of them.

Fiona’s eyes stopped on what Colt seemed to be so freaked out by. A woman. She was walking out to the stop. Tall, about 25-30. She was wearing a suede jacket and slacks. Looked like a tourist. There were no other cars in the area so she shouldn’t have gotten there alone. She waved hello and walked over to the car and took a seat beside it-leaning against it like she owned it-like they had known each other forever. She looks over the car and feels it. She asks how much it costs. Colt mentioned how sad she looked. Maybe she was a convict or something but that doesn’t make sense. There were no prisons for miles. Then, she looked at the group and just started crying. They all saw it. One second she was crying and the next she wasn’t. The second they turned to look at a snapped branch in the wind and turned around again, she was gone.

After that, they all decided that it was best to go to the bathrooms and leave.

“Can’t say I saw a ghost there. The bathrooms were filthy though. Soap was everywhere, Sinks were filled with it. My husband said that there was more of a mess in the men’s room,” the woman on the other end paused. “America is crumbling at the seams these days. I remember when you could take a trip on the highway and feel safe. Today it’s unpredictable. Especially at rest stops. They’re not monitored.”

Five hours in and nothing yet. Just some things like reviews. Ten hours left in the trip and it might not be the best.

From what Fiona had described, it sounded like whatever she had seen was expressive and open. If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t present be alive. At this point in the trip, he was just going to leave. Though, Fiona said it came out of the rest stop which could mean that it was her origin. He set down his food and left the car to walk into the rest stop. At this point, he was sweating bullets. He had his tape recorder in his hand and hit plat. The atmosphere was really claustrophobic. Glass walls everywhere. Also circular in architecture. It lopped back round and you could walk through it and end up right where you started. Also, on the side facing away from the parking lop, where the bulletin board and a bench were, there was a sheet drop-off behind the wall. So if something lunched at him and knocked him through the wall, he could plummet at least 70 feet.

He walked around slowly, making sure to look in every direction. He reached the men’s bathroom which is not the side. The women’s on the other. The drinking fountain was in the front in case anyone was wondering. He opened the door and looked in. There wasn’t soap all over the place like how some people had said. It was pretty normal. Three stalls and two urinals. One sink, a soap dispenser, and a towel. Maybe a cleanup crew came by.

That was when shit hit the fan. The lights flicked and his stomach tied in a knot. His back against the wall as he hit play on the recorder. Damn, forgot the flashlight. He didn’t think he would need it when the rest stop was so lit up. Either that or he was just an idiot. The lights were still flickering on and off and everything was quiet except for the distant hum of the generator that he was scared of having to go out and that would leave him alone in the dark with nothing but the entity.

The car pulled up to the end of the driveway, coming into a chain-link fence and some police tape.

The Los Gusanos National Park is now closed for the season. Please visit again next year, and remember, nature is only one step away. Support your local national parks and they’ll reward you with infinite beauty and splendor.

-California Tourism Coalition, Los Gusanos Chapter

The sign taunted them.

They were too late. One hour too late and one year too early.

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laresearchette · 2 months

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Sunday, July 28, 2024 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT?: HOTEL PORTOFINO (PBS Feed) KCON LA 2024 (CW Feed)

2024 SUMMER OLYMPICS (SN) 4:50am: Olympic Morning (CBC) 5:00am: Swimming (TSN4) 5:00am: Olympic Games (CBC) 6:30am: Rowing (CBC) 8:00am: Mountain Biking (CBC) 9:30am: Artistic Gymnastics (CBC) 10:30am: Olympic Morning (CBC) 11:00am: Men’s Beach Volleyball: Czechia vs. Canada (CBC) 11:30am: Women’s Rugby: Fiji vs. Canada (SN1/TSN) 12:00pm: Olympic Daytime (CBC) 12:00pm: Artistic Gymnastics: Women’s Team Qualifications (CBC) 2:30pm: Swimming (CBC) 3:00pm: Women’s Soccer: France vs. Canada (CBC) 5:00pm: Prime (CBC/SN/TSN4) 6:00pm: Olympic Primetime (CBC) 12:00am: Late Primetime (CBC) 2:00am: Beach Volleyball, Swimming (Monday)

MLB BASEBALL (SN) 1:00pm: Rangers vs. Jays (SN Now) 4:00pm: Pirates vs. Diamondbacks (TSN2/TSN) 7:00pm: Yankees vs. Red Sox

CFL FOOTBALL (TSN/TSN4) 7:00pm: Ti-Cats vs. Elks

BACKROAD TRUCKERS (History Channel Canada) 9:00pm: Dale and his sister retrieve a crashed ATV; Dave slings propane across a river.

HIGH COUNTRY (Crave) 9:00pm: On the anniversary of a local boy's murder, Sam Dyson pledges to bring his prime suspect, Damien, to justice; Andie warns against harassment, but Sam cannot help himself, forcing Andie to take action.

LANDSCAPE ARTIST OF THE YEAR (Makeful) 10:00pm: Three finalists try to paint the twinkling Covent Garden piazza as day turns to night; they compete for the title and a prestigious commission.

#cdntv #canadian tv #cancon #canadian tv listings #backroad truckers #high country #landscape artist of the year #summer olympics #mlb baseball #cfl football

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myemergence · 3 years

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take me back to the start

Title: take me back to the start Author: @myemergence Rating: E (for one smut scene, later in the fic) Artist: @benjaminrussell Artwork: MAGAZINE COVER and MUSIC VIDEO Warnings/Triggers: mentions of alcoholism, mentions of OC character death, car accident Notes: Thanks to @marcia-elena for the beta on this. I so appreciate all the work you put in! Written for @buddiebigbang. And the artwork is amazing! I love them so much, Holly! Summary: Country music star, Eddie Diaz, is on a break before his US tour when he gets unexpected news: he has a son. He needs to come home to his hometown in West River, TX right away. He hasn’t set foot there since he left for Nashville nine years ago, leaving his old life behind. West River is the last place that Eddie wants to be—he needs to focus on his career, and his tour—not looking after a kid that he doesn’t even know yet.

Crossing paths with his high school sweetheart, Evan Buckley, who’s now a Deputy with the sheriff’s office just might change all of that, reminding Eddie of the person that he used to be… and the kind of person that he wants to be.

Read the whole thing here: AO3 LINK

The thing about being a musician and wrapping up a big tour is that it makes the time afterward to unwind and let loose even more rewarding. Taking the time to ground himself before hitting the road again has become essential for Eddie, an integral part of his process.

This time, there’s no unwinding. As soon as the last concert in the tour ended, he boarded a red-eye flight from Los Angeles into Houston. And he’s tired, a feeling that’s not exactly foreign to him, but he feels weary down to his bones. He’s headed back to West River, Texas, about fifteen minutes outside of Austin, where he was born and raised.

A place he hasn’t as much as set foot in for nine years.

Eddie blinks blearily as he pulls his rental car up to the drive-through at Dunkin for a much needed coffee. He’s within an hour of West River, but he’s going to need something to power through the last hour of his drive as the sun is beginning to rise over the expanse of otherwise deserted small-town Texas that surrounds him.

It’s so quiet out here that it’s almost unnerving.

“Good morning, sir. That’ll be $3.27.” The dark-haired girl at the drive-through window can’t be more than eighteen.

“Morning.” He holds out his phone so that she can scan his payment.

“Aren’t you…” She trails off slowly, eyeing him suspiciously.

Eddie adjusts the trucker hat that he’s wearing, despite the fact that the sun hasn’t become a hindrance yet. He’d put the hat on before he pulled up to the drive-through only a couple of minutes ago. He knows that he’d be nowhere without the support of his fans, but he’s exhausted. He just wants to get to his abuela’s so that he can fall into bed. He’s tempted to drag a hand over his face and beg for his coffee.

“Eddie Diaz.” He introduces himself with a winning smile. He’ll try to find time to rest later. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Rosie. I-I can’t believe I’m preparing Eddie Diaz’s coffee. Nobody is going to believe me,” Rosie practically squeals, her face flushed as she fumbles with scanning his phone. “Here, um,” she steps away from the drive-through window momentarily and comes back with a pastry bag along with his coffee. Simple like always: black, with 2 sugars. “For the road. Gone Now really helped me through a hard time, when I lost my grandpa—and you wrote it about yours.”

Eddie’s smile becomes more genuine as he takes the coffee and muffin from the girl. He’s sure he looks like a mess, with blood-shot eyes and bags under his eyes. “I think most people have forgotten about that song. That was on my debut album.” He’d written that song what feels like a lifetime ago.

Like he was a different person back then than he is now. He supposes that in some ways, he was.

“I was only thirteen when it came out,” Rosie says. “I hope you make more songs like that. Your new stuff is great, but… that’s definitely my favorite. Anyhow, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“I do,” Eddie confirms, reaching over into the top of his duffel bag that’s resting on the passenger seat. “It was really nice to meet you, Rosie.” He hands her one of the signed albums that he carries with him, a simple thank you that he likes to have for those truly special fans. “It’s not my debut album, but I do hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Eddie offers her a parting wave as he pulls away, and tosses the hat that was his poor attempt at disguise onto the passenger seat. He takes several sips from the steaming coffee, then sets it in the cupholder, wincing as the heat nips at his tongue, hoping that the caffeine will help keep him alert for the rest of the drive home.

Before he pulls onto the road, he scrolls through his phone, pulling up his debut album on Spotify and pressing play, a wistful smile crossing his face. He’s trying to put a little space between him and the reason that he’s coming home to West River; Rosie’s words remind him, at least for a moment, why he started making music in the first place. He hears the familiar opening chords and pulls out onto the quiet road.

There was a time when not a single day

Went by without us talking

And now I can barely remember your face

We’d spend hours weaving words

And guitar notes together

Just you and me in the music’s embrace

But you’re gone now, you’re gone

All those moments lie six-feet deep in the ground

You’re gone now, you’re gone

I keep missing you ‘cause you’re not around

He knows he can’t live in this world of make-believe for long. He can’t pretend that what matters is his connection to the music anymore—he stopped writing his own music long ago. But it’s nice to remember, even if those moments are fleeting.

Eddie pulls into the same gravel driveway that he used to skid his bike tires on as a kid. His abuela still lives in the same house she did back then, only a few doors down from his childhood home. His parents moved an hour north about five years ago. Eddie’s stomach flops a bit, and he tries not to dwell on how little he talks to them these days, or their lack of support over the years.

He drags himself out of the rental car and grabs his bag out of the passenger side, leaving the rest of his luggage in the trunk. Before he can even make his way up the short drive, his abuela steps out onto the porch.

Eddie yawns into the crook of his elbow, then makes his way up to her. “Hey, Abuela,” he murmurs, pecking her on the cheek.

“Eddie,” Abuela says. She welcomes him with a crushing embrace, and he smiles as he hugs her back. She pulls back just enough that he can see a fire in her eyes; he already knows what that means, so he remains silent until she spits it out. “You were supposed to call me back so I knew you were doing alright.”

“I told you I have you listed as my emergency contact. If anything happens to me you’ll be the first one they call,” Eddie teases with a laugh.

“Edmundo,” she scolds, swatting his arm, and he watches as her jaw tenses under his name.

“Okay,” Eddie acquiesces. “I’m sorry, alright? I’ll be more cautious next time and call you. But Houston to West River isn’t a long drive.”

“Shannon—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Eddie asks. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I just need a couple of hours and then I promise we’ll talk, okay?”

“But, Eddie—” Despite the fact that he’ll probably be reamed for not turning his full attention to her, Eddie pushes the door open and steps inside. He stops in his tracks as his eyes catch sight of the figure who’s settled at the table, and his duffel bag drops to the floor. He feels abuela’s hand on his shoulder. “This is—”

The pretending is over.

“This is Christopher, your son.”

Eddie knew coming back home to West River wasn’t going to be a vacation in any sense of the word. He knew what would be waiting for him; baggage so heavy that it had the ability to destroy his entire career. The dream that he’d risked everything for, that he’d given up everything for.

This is Christopher, your son.

Abuela’s words echo in his ears.

Sure, there had been a few phone calls beforehand, warning Eddie of the kid’s existence after Shannon had shown up at Abuela’s with the boy. That hadn’t prepared him for this moment at all.

What the fuck is he going to do?

The temptation to drop by the hole-in-the-wall bar downtown to take the edge off is there. Instead, he tells Abuela he has to take care of some things and he disappears. He just needs to drive around for a little bit to clear his head. He needs to figure out what he’s going to do.

A kid will ruin everything.

How could Shannon keep this kid to herself for years, not mention a word of his existence, and then just drop him off and leave like he’s somehow now Eddie’s responsibility?

Eddie unrolls the window, letting the evening air hit his face as his foot presses down more firmly on the gas pedal.

Take care of it. You only have a few months until the tour.

Fuck all of this.

These backroads are so familiar, and there’s something comforting in driving down them late at night, when the rest of the town is quiet. It reminds him of those late nights when he and Buck would—

Eddie stops his thoughts short, the ache in his chest just as familiar as these roads. Buck.

What are the chances that in a town of a few thousand people he won’t run into Evan Buckley? That’s even if he still lives here. Eddie shakes the notion from his head, refusing to allow himself to get nostalgic about the past. A past that revolved around Buck.

Right now, he needs to focus on how he’s going to fix his life—before it becomes a public relations disaster.

Pressing down on the gas harder, Eddie gets lost in the feeling of the cool night air hitting his face, saving him from his downward spiral and memories of Buck.

Unfortunately, the moment is short lived. Red and blue lights flash in his rearview mirror amidst the otherwise stark darkness of the night. With a sigh, he pulls over to the shoulder of the road.

Buck climbs out of the cruiser and closes the door, walking up to the driver’s side of the out-of-state car. “Do you know why I stopped you tonight?” He quickly scans the inside of the vehicle, assessing if there are any passengers that he needs to be aware of before settling his sight on the driver.

Of all the people he could’ve had the unfortunate task of pulling over tonight, somehow it’s Eddie Diaz. He studies Eddie’s face, tipping his head to the side as his identity registers with Eddie.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Buck.”

It’s like he took the words right out of Buck’s mouth, because really, what are the fucking chances? After nine years Eddie somehow still has the ability to make Buck’s heart thunder in his chest merely by saying his name. His jaw tightens as he looks at the country music star in front of him.

“It’s Deputy Buckley,” Buck tells Eddie, his voice tight. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“This has to be an actual nightmare,” Eddie mutters, though Buck’s sure at this point that he’s talking to himself.

“License and registration.”

“Evan—”

“I said, license and registration. Don’t make me ask again. I’m going to suggest that you actually listen this time if you don’t want to end up in jail for the night.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut at Buck’s words. “I’m gonna grab the registration from the glove compartment.” He opens the glove box and hands over the paperwork, along with his license.

“Yeah, didn’t think you’d want that news story,” Buck mutters as he takes the documents and inspects them. He obviously knows that it’s Eddie, and he already ran the plates and knows that it belongs to a rental in Houston. He hands the paperwork back to Eddie. “Watch your speed, because next time I’m not going to be this nice,” Buck warns.

“This is nice?” Eddie actually has the audacity to laugh at him. “Seems more like you’re Deputy Dick to me.”

Buck’s lips press together into a tight line. He’s used to not being well liked while on the job—but it feels harsher coming from Eddie. “You know, I could still take you in tonight, if that’s what you want.”

Eddie shrinks under the words, and what he says next sounds sincere. “You know that’s not what I want.”

The same words that Eddie had said to him all those years ago, at the end. Buck feels his chest fracture down the middle, a reprise of the heartbreak that Eddie left in his wake.

He forces himself to school his expression despite the way he’s feeling. “Have a good night, Eddie.”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie to respond, turning sharply on his heels and walking away from the man that’s had his heart all along.

“You know, I don’t really think that this qualifies as guys’ night,” Buck says as he looks across the card table at Chimney, taking a sip of the lemonade in front of him.

Chim raises his brow a little, glancing in the direction of the living room. “You’re my brother-in-law,” Chim says, “and I’m not sure how to say this delicately, so I’m just gonna say it. If there’s one Buckley I’m trying to make happy right now, it’s not you, Buck. I’m trying to get in her good graces after the bottle rocket incident.”

Josh snorts from where he’s sitting, bringing the beer up to his lips.

“I’m not going to be the one to tell my wife that she needs to leave so we can have a proper guys’ night,” Chim adds.

“You would never say something to Maddie, and not just about guys’ night,” Josh challenges, his brows shooting up.

“I’m sorry, was that a complaint I just heard? Because I’m pretty sure that the last time you hosted a card night your mom showed up,” Chim points out.

“And Buck’s place—”

“Has constant interruption. I know, I know.” Buck rolls his eyes dramatically. “Are you gonna deal us in, or what?”

“Mads, were you gonna join us?” Chim calls helpfully into the other room, and Buck glares at him.

Maddie lifts herself off of the couch and walks out to the dining room table where they’re all situated, grabbing the bowl of chips from the counter and pulling up an empty seat. “I don’t want to play, but I’d love to talk to you guys.”

They really need to start finding different circles of friends, at least for nights like tonight. It’s not as if Buck’s going to tell his pregnant sister to go away, so instead he smiles. “We’d love it if you talked to us, Mads.”

“Really?” She grins, and Chim looks at Buck gratefully. “So, I heard a rumor that Eddie’s back in town.”

“Pick a different subject.”

“He’s back in town and got pulled over by West River’s youngest and brightest the other night,” Chim says.

Just the mention of Eddie’s name is an unwanted reminder that he’s back in town, at least temporarily. The fact that this wasn’t a figment of Buck’s imagination sends his brain into overdrive. There’s been some speculation over the reason for his return, and Buck has done everything in his power to stay squarely on the outside of those conversations.

He’s made it clear to his family and friends since Eddie left town that there is one topic that he refuses to discuss: Eddie Diaz. A lot of the locals were around Eddie growing up, and having someone that’s famous from their small hometown is something to talk about—especially when there’s a new tour that’s announced, or when Eddie is working on a new album.

But his friends? They know that it’s a hard and fast rule, and bringing it up on guys’ night is a definite foul.

“Guys,” Buck manages as evenly as he can muster. “Talk about something else.”

A tense silence falls over the room, and for a minute Buck refuses to look up, knowing the pity that crosses their faces any time that someone brings up Eddie. He’s tried to hide his heartbreak behind indifference, but he’s not naive enough to believe that any of them buy it. Most of them had front-row seats as they watched Buck’s hopes and dreams shatter to the ground around him, leaving a hollow shell behind.

Finally he looks up.

“Can we make an exception this one time, Ev?”

“Maddie. I don’t talk about— about this, and you know that.”

Maddie’s hand covers his, her touch light, her tone equally calm and even. “You know, this has a name.”

“Why are you bringing him up now? You know I moved on from him a long time ago.”

It’s as if Chim and Josh aren’t sitting awkwardly at the table, trying to avoid the line of fire. Even if Maddie is officially a Han now, nobody wants to get obliterated during a battle of the wills between the siblings.

“This is guys’ night,” Buck reminds her. “The one night of the week that I can unwind and relax. Instead you’re here and dredging up a past that died years ago.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I was a kid. Just a stupid kid. There’s nothing else to say. We were together and then we weren’t. He has his life now, and I have mine.”

“Maybe that’s true, but you never did move on, not really. He’s in town for who knows how long, so maybe it’d be a good chance for the two of you to talk?”

“No, it wouldn’t. And, uh, thanks for ruining tonight,” Buck mutters as he stands up from the table. This is the kind of interference he’d expect from their out-of-town parents, always assuming they know what’s best, but not from Maddie.

“Buck,” Chim warns, and Buck sighs again, shaking his head in frustration. Chim’s always been protective of Maddie, something that Buck’s always appreciated, especially after all that she endured with Doug, but tonight feels like the exception.

“I’m gonna head home.”

“Buck, you really don’t have to go,” Josh says helplessly.

He attempts a smile for what Josh is trying to do—slapping a bandage on the evening, trying to piece everything back together. Buck shakes his head. “I think it’s for the best if I go.”

Buck says his goodbyes and hops into his Jeep, driving home. He knows that Maddie has the best of intentions, and that she cares about him with her whole heart, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

When he arrives home he notices there are only a few lights left on in the house, and that the porch light is on for him.

“You’re home awful early,” Carla says as soon as he makes his way inside, barely looking up from the little girl that’s propped against her side.

He shrugs a little, not wanting to get into all of the details of how the night quickly spiraled out of control in a way that was just too much for him to handle. “I couldn’t stand the time away from her.”

“Mhm,” Carla says in her knowing way, and Buck’s thankful that she doesn’t say more than that. She knows enough about his past with Eddie, but she’s always stayed out of that part of his life.

Buck toes off his shoes, crossing the room then and scooping Lucy up in his arms. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the crown of her head.

“She insisted I read her three stories out here and not in her bed because she was ‘not tired yet, Carla’.”

Buck chuckles at her words, feeling Lucy squirm in his arms before she settles again. She rests her head against his shoulder and he hoists her up higher so that she can curl into him. In a world where everything else is imperfect he’s able to come home and hold a little piece of perfection in his arms. Their lives have been far from easy, and there isn’t a day that Buck doesn’t wish he could be more for her.

He’s doing his best to make up for the huge piece missing from her life—the absence of her mother. Every day she helps him remember that there is more than heartbreak and loss, that sometimes there’s hope, too. He has to hold on to that.

“I’m gonna head out,” Carla says, kissing the back of Lucy’s head and giving Buck a sideways hug before leaving.

Buck walks down the hallway, glancing at Lucy’s bedroom door and then pivoting, walking across the hall to his own room and laying the sleeping girl down on the pillows, covering her with the sheet and comforter. He gets ready for bed and lies on top of the covers beside her. He knows he shouldn’t make a habit out of this and he won’t, but tonight he needs the physical proof.

He hasn’t lost everything, because he still has Lucy.

#buddiebigbang2021 #buddie #911 fanfic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #mywriting

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porcelain--roses · 4 years

Text

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑵𝑬 : 𝑌𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐷𝐴𝑌𝑆 𝑀𝐴𝑁𝑇𝑅𝐴

Another day devoid of steam— Rose the (infamous) Hat looked about as rough as one could on a hot summer day in Nevada.

𝐄at well. 𝐋ive long.

That was her mantra... a poor one to hang over True Knot, so as to tantalize the very idea of death by putting them all to work.

It was a necessary rule, but there were days even she became sick at the very thought of it and it’s ability to determine their Fate.

“You’re meditating again,” said Crow Daddy with a kiss to her cheek.

She flenched, disrupted from her own thoughts.

“Someone has to make sure we don’t starve to death this summer. But I was thinking of heading East. The cool air would do us all well...”

“Especially Uncle Flick.”

... Especially Uncle Flick.

“They need to feed again, Rosie. Some of them won’t survive this trip. If we could find a kid with even a little steam—“

“I’m fuckin’ tired of these 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏, Daddy.”

“I know what you mean.”

“... No, you really don’t.”

She’d meant True Knot. A painful admission, considering she had birthed nearly everyone in her posse. Much like the children they killed, each one required food on their table and the light of a mother’s love to lead them through hard time.

But Rose was hardly a mother.

“You’re letting your stomach talk. Tell the crew to pack their bags, we’ll be on the road by tonight.”

“And where will we go?”

“𝑨𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.”

________________

When Angelique realised Barnabas could never love her the way she wanted, she finally put him out of his misery — not necessarily out of mercy or pity, but lest she ever fall into temptation again. Their last encounter nearly costed her her life.

But now she had beheaded him, driven a stake into his heart, torn his limbs off his body, buried every piece of his corpse deep beneath the earth in an empty field, forgotten by everyone in Collinsport but her, near the extremities of the town.

‘Rest well, loverboy,’ she remembered saying, as tears stained her eyes and she patted fresh soil with a shovel one last time. And then life went on, just as it had during the centuries the damned vampire had spent locked in his coffin, and she, thriving above the ground.

But every day a distinct feeling of emptiness tormented her, like a pestilent ghost nudging at her and speaking into her ears: how long would she have to repeat the same lonely, pointless, vicious activities of the last four centuries before something, someone came rescue her?

Angelbay no longer sufficed, and with the Collinses dead, there was no one else for her to spite. Angie needed a new thrill — a new obsession, even. And that evening, when she drove home after another tedious day, she had the strange sensation it was an ominous breeze of change that was causing her blonde locks to dance in the air.

________________

The ride was long— particularly unpleasant as backroads were never well maintained.

Bloody cheapskates.

But as they passed through the country— Rose was determined to seek out a new candidate. Yes, even a little steam was better than none. And so, she allowed herself to meditate at every gas station, ‘til dawn had breached the sky.

But it was at the most unlikely trucker’s stop that Rose sat atop her RV in Amarillo Texas.

“... What is that goddamn smell?”

“That’s 𝑨ngel 𝑩ay fish, ma’am! Y’know Collinsport has the biggest selection this time of year— and the cheapest. Of course, that’s Maine for you...”

The rest of what he said didn’t matter. Rose had heard of this place before, though mostly through urban legend.

“Collinsport, eh?”

A city of mythical creatures— or so she’d once been told. Rose figured the tales were likely those of “gifted” individuals.

She weighed her options.

The were starving... and Rose figured the worse that could happen is that they would continue to starve. So as Grandpa Flick finished topping the gas off, Rose leant over and poked her head into the front seat.

“What about it, Crow Daddy? Are you craving some seafood?”

A confused look would meet her devilish grin, the woman hopping off the RV in one majestic jump.

“I just know we’ll find some Shine on the Eastern seaboard... I can 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 it.”

And with that last ounce of self-reassurance— they headed toward their new destination.

Who could guess how the townspeople would take to the numerous RVs driving through their simple town. It wasn’t as if it were the hottest destination on the map. But then again, it was the seventies... and potheads run rampant, visiting new cities.

Maybe they might just blend in. 𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆.

________________ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ༄

#rose the hat #doctor sleep #angelique bouchard #dark shadows #eva green #rebecca ferguson #roleplay #femslash #f/f fanfic #crossover #chapter one

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grimeclown · 5 years

Note

Alice Isn't Dead is a podcast from one of the night vale writers, the night vale soundtrack guy, and one of the night vale VAs. it's about a gay trucker lady traveling America to try to find her long-lost wife, but then she witnesses a vaguely humanoid thing eat another trucker alive in a parking lot in broad daylight and nobody does anything to stop it. giant paranormal conspiracy spanning the backroads of America that trucker lady's wife is somehow involved in ensues. also lesbians and leftism

This sounds dope as hell

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unseenphil · 4 years

Text

Hitchhiking Ghost Denizen Path

Example Calling Keywords: phantom, hitcher, pale, wanderer, lonely, cold, vanishing.

Path Asset Skills: Pilot, Occult

Path Contacts: Truckers, diner waitresses, relatives, late night commuters.

Persistent Condition.

Chill of the Grave: You’re dead, though you may or may not have realized it yet. Unless you’re wearing a coat given to you by a living person, your skin is cold to the touch, your complexion is pallid, and you’ve got a bad habit of disappearing when you reach your destination. Gain Momentum when someone realizes you were dead all along, when you leave a borrowed jacket on your own grave, or when not being among the living otherwise complicates your own life.

Heroic Knacks:

The Kindness of Strangers: As the Kitsune knack.

Catch a Ride: No matter where you are or what time of day it is, if you stick out your thumb while alone on the side of the road, someone will stop and pick you up before too much time has passed. They may only be willing to carry you partway or have unfriendly intentions, but what are they going to do, kill you?

Short skirt, Long jacket: You don’t just borrow the appearance of life from a loaned jacket, but you get to know a little about the person who gave it to you as well. When wearing someone else’s coat you know if intend harm to you or others.

Psychopomp: You have access to the Innate benefit of the Death Purview. If you have access to the Death Purview through another method, your awareness of doors into the underworld also extends on how to open them.

Immortal Knacks:

The Backroads: You have access to the ghosts of dead roadways. When someone is giving you a lift,and you guide them, they can access paths and shortcuts that no longer exist, like travelling on a destroyed roman road or the old Route 66 or other now-vanished streets and byways. Successfully navigating the living through this without incident requires a knack skill roll, and those of divine blood are always aware that the path isn’t normal. This will allow you to reach places you otherwise couldn’t, or take much less time to do so.

Death is a lonely business: Take a heroic or immortal Liminal or Lover knack.

#scion 2e

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minijenn · 5 years

Note

How about 41 and 47 with Amethyst and Stan. Back in their "revenge trip" days, Amethyst wants to learn how to drive Stan's car. (the Diablo, I think). It's been awhile since we've had some nice Stan/Amethyst friendship fluff!

41. Can you teach me how to do that? & 47. Fine, you can drive.

Stan looked over at Amethyst incredulously, only briefly tearing his eyes off the road. “Teach you how to do what?”

“Ya know,” the purple Gem pantomimed the conman by turning an invisible steering wheel. “The thing where you make the car move. What’s it called again? Dating?”

“Driving,” Stan corrected. “And hell no, I’m not gonna teach you that. You didn’t even know what a car was until last week, kid.”

“Hey, I knew what it was!” Amethyst pouted. “I just didn’t know what it was called.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still a bit too wet behind the ears to give driving a try.”

“Joke’s on you, old man,” the purple Gem playfully ruffled her own short hair up. “I don’t even got ears.”

“Hmph,” Stan couldn’t help but smirk at this as he pulled over onto the side of the road. “Guess you got a point. I know I’m gonna regret saying this but… fine, you can drive.”

“Really?” Amethyst asked, stars in her eyes.

“Yeah, but don’t-” The conman was cut off as Amethyst suddenly hopped out the window, leaping onto the roof before pulling Stan out of the driver’s seat so she could claim it instead. “...Get too excited about it…” He rolled his eyes as he headed over to the passengers' side, before noticing something that was certain to make this lesson quite a challenge. “Uh… Kid? Ya gotta be able to actually see over the steering wheel to actually, ya know, drive?”

“Vrmm, vrooooo-” Amethyst was far too entertained by simply pretending to drive, turning the steering wheel about as she honked its horn loudly and playfully. Until she noticed the bemused grin the conman was sending her way. “Oh? Uh, didcha say something, old man?”

“Uh… seeing over the steering wheel?” Stan repeated. “It’s sort of important when it comes to this whole driving thing. Not to mention being tall enough to reach the gas pedal.”

“Oh! Ok! I got ya!” At this, Amethyst readily shapeshifted, stretching her legs and neck out to a somewhat unnatural degree. Even so, it granted her enough height to properly operate the car, even if Stan was somewhat offput by her rather… bizarre look. “Okie dokie, let’s get drivin’!”

“Alright, so I’m gonna put the car in drive,” Stan said, shifting the clutch. “And all you gotta do is hold down the gas and steer to keep us on the road. And make sure you go nice and--SLOWLY!” The conman let out a startled shout as the car suddenly lurched forward, speeding back onto the road as Amethyst instantly floored it. Fortunately, they were on a relatively abandoned backroad, for the purple Gem zig-zagged across it at will, laughing wildly all the while. At the same time, Stan gripped the back of his seat for dear life, bracing himself for a deadly impact at any given moment. Fortunately though, that impact never came for after what seemed like ages of unbridled chaos, eventually, blissfully even, the car finally ran out of gas.

“Oh thank god…” Stan finally let out the breath he had been holding, practically kissing the ground as he let himself fall out of the car as it came to a stop. Meanwhile, Amethyst likewise hopped out of it, jumping onto the roof once more, scowling down at the shaken conman below her.

“Hey, what gives?! Your dumb car thingy’s all busted! I wanna drive it some more!”

“N-NO!” Stan shot upright, absolutely terrified before he forced himself to calm down. “Uh, I-I mean… how ‘bout I teach you something else instead, kid? It’s a little thing called ‘hitchhiking’.”

“Oooo, hitchhiking!” Amethyst grinned as she trailed alongside Stan as they began their long trek down the road. “Sounds like fun!”

AN: And then Stan and Amethyst got picked up by a trucker who was probably an ax murderer, but then they defeated him through their sheer wit and dumb luck alone, but that’s another story for another time.

#jen writes #universe falls #drabble prompts #stan #amethyst

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