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kcthelazyartist · 4 months ago

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Fiddauthor may be canon, let’s discuss

At first glance this relationship appears to be completely fanon, but when you dig into it there's actually a lot more to Stanford and Fiddleford’s relationship than meets the eye.

This is a compilation of evidence [And slight analysis] so if I have missed anything or if anything is wrong, please let me know.

Warning: Long post ahead

Setting

-As @ratsbanes mentions during Stanford and Fiddleford’s college years the aids crisis was going on, during this time there was a lot of misinformation and fear mongering as it was falsely thought that only queer men could be affected. This event is very significant in queer history and needs to be considered when looking at their relationship.

-Fiddleford came from a hog farm in Tennessee, a deeply religious state, and as he is told to be superstitious, crossing himself when walking over graves, it can be assumed he too is religious

Religions in the same circle as Christianity tend to hold homophobic views as was common during this time

This creates religious guilt for queer people

-Queer politics were becoming a hot topic and most of society was homophobic during this period, there is a chance it was still illegal to be queer whilst they were in college, depending on where they were

This led to a lot of violence against queer people and a very real fear of being outed as it could have dire consequences

There was even programs in the military dedicated to having ‘gay spies’ to act queer and attract gay men in the military so they could be punished or discharged

There was also the Vietnam war going on, causing political unrest and many protests, america being very unstable during this period

-Lavender marriages [Marriages between heterosexuals and homosexuals, often to conceal the latters sexuality] were still common

-Putting this altogether into Fiddleford’s character it could create a very real feeling of religious guilt and fear of being outed that could of led to him entering a lavender marriage instead of staying with Stanford. Fiddleford would have had to worry about violence against himself and his family’s view of him, which he would likely worry about as he has shown signs of anxiety [But this may just be because of trauma]

It appears Fiddleford and his wife got married quickly when he left college which makes it all the more suspicious, whilst it could be they were high school sweethearts or an out of wedlock situation, it is more likely it's his fear of being outed that led to such a quick decision. [I will talk for about him and Emma-May later]

-Stanford was also in a position not to pursue anything as it can be assumed Filbrick was not the best father due to him throwing a 17-year old Stanley onto the street with almost nothing, leaving him to the wolves after refusing to hear his side of the story, and not coming to Stanley’s funeral. Filbrick instead views Stanford as something to make him money with his talents which is why he's so angry at Stanley for ruining their chances.

This would put stress on Stanford as to not disappoint his father and be the perfect child and it can be assumed that Flibrick was homophobic as many were back then.

Deep bond

-They are close enough Stanford has a measuring system for Fiddleford’s restless legs, knee bounce per second, AKA KBPS

-Stanford knows Fiddleford’s favourite can of beans, and stocks them in the bunker

-Stanford calls Fiddleford his ‘friend’, ‘assistant’, ‘partner’, and ‘buddy’, putting him on the same level as himself, not putting him down until Bill manipulates him.

-Fiddleford could tell that something was wrong with Stanford, even the slightest movement when meditating clued him in as shown in one of the flashbacks.

This itself is further evidence of their bond as Stanford trusts him enough to let him into the worship room and meditates around him, which leaves Ford vulnerable to attacks

Even parallel Fiddleford knows this isn't his own, though that can be explained through an age difference.

-Fiddleford loves his banjos, having multiple collections of them such as the one in the Gideon Bot blueprint, but he uses them as a weapon to protect others, willing to break his most prized possession to help others. He does this twice for Stanford, once during Weirdmageddon and another time to save him directly from Krampus.

During this Krampus attack Fidds had just gotten back when he saved Stanford who was about to basically be murdered, all whilst Bill was nowhere to be found

-Fiddleford only really violates Stanford’s boundaries and trust after the memory gun and neglect of his mental health have come into the picture, he does this when he steals the book to create a thesis to try and help Ford, and when he used the memory gun on him [More on this later]

-Alex Hirsch refers to them as the kind of friends with the same kind of interests and humour

-After 30 years away there is a thought shown on the mind reading machine that just says ‘I’m sorry Fiddleford’, completely unprompted

-The ‘Sorry’ photo in general

-When they first met Ford saved Fiddleford from dropping out due to embarrassment

He stayed up 9 hours with a stranger to help him prove a theory

-Ford takes notice of Fiddleford’s reaction to the cubics cube and takes joy in messing with him, knowing he wont get angry at him

-Both recognize each other at weirdmageddon despite how long they have spent apart [Ford may have seen him in Dipper’s part of the journal, but Fidds, with brain damage, had no reason to recognize him]

-Despite disliking Fiddleford’s tobacco chewing habit Ford allows him to continue with it

-Fiddleford can read Stanley, who has similar mannerisms to Ford, like a book

This is after he has lost his memories, such as when he calls out Stan’s suspicious laughter

-When Fiddleford first arrives at Fords house he mentions being ‘overcome with emotion’ and is overjoyed to see him, going out of his way to buy him banjo strings and microchips

Despite having Bill he is very lonely and is very happy to see Fiddleford again, saying ‘the past few days have been the most energising I’ve had since I first came to this town!’

-Ford originally doesn't tell Fiddleford of Bill because he doesn't want Fiddleford to think he's insane or badly of him, as he knows his friend is superstitious

-Ford teaches Fiddleford to meditate to help with his anxiety

-Fiddleford chastises Ford for staying up too late and not getting enough sleep, to which Stanford is comfortable enough with him to make a retort

-Ford appears to look for Fiddleford after coming to his senses and is immediately remorseful

-Ford keeps comparing parallel Fiddleford to his own, showing how much he misses him

Obsessions

-Ford has an obsession with Bill and Work, worshipping both like gods

Despite this he takes time from work or Bill to spend with Fiddleford instead;

After the gremloblin incident Ford takes Fiddleford to a fair, he throws a christmas party for Fiddleford and when the shapeshifter attacks and ties up Fiddleford he immediately shuts all work he was doing with the shapeshifter down despite his obsession of learning about creatures [This could be because he nearly got his hands on the journals but he appears to have tried to get them before and this event was the catalyst]

-Fiddleford appears to be obsessed with Stanford and later the memory gun due to it

Fiddleford leaves his family very quickly to join someone he hasn't seen in over 6 years, which is the first sign, then he stays after being traumatised and put in near death situations.

This devotion is made obvious when he stays to help with the portal even after his thesis and ideas have been blown off and his safety ignored, only leaving after seeing the horrors beyond the portal. This leads into the memory gun.

Fiddleford creates this as a way to cope and be able to stay alongside Stanford and help him, because he starts using the memory gun instead of leaving this toxic situation after seeing the gremloblin he becomes addicted

The memory gun is symbolism for addiction and self-harm when it comes to Fiddleford, he is aware it might be doing damage later on but he cant stop using it, its implied he even used it after noticing he wasn't wearing a piece of clothing right, which may have been a side effect of the memory gun.

Unlike Stanford Fiddleford does not have anyone to help him realise how obsessed he is or stop him, so he only continues to spiral, making his anxiety and self-harm worse [His hair pulling is also self-harm, though less obvious]

His obsession with Stanford is what led to this sadly.

His obsessions lead to him stealing the book to create a thesis to try and help Ford, and using the memory gun on Stanford [He uses it on him for both unknown reasons and to stop him from remembering construction workers, as well as maybe witnessing him in the red cape using the gun on himself or others. Even then you have to remember Fiddleford had been using it on himself and was not in the right state of mind due to Ford’s neglect, as Fiddleford was repeatedly shown to be kind and have a big heart but as his mental state declined so did his morals] This is sad as it shows that Fiddleford knows its bad but is already showing signs of addiction when he first makes it.

This ultimately ends up with him breaking his own mind to a point where it scares and hurts BILL CIPHER, hurts him in a way he doesnt think is hilarious

Bill Cipher

-Both Bill and Fiddleford are obsessed with Stanford, though they go about it differently

Bill’s obsession destroys Stanford, Stanford’s obsession destroys Fiddleford and Fiddleford’s obsession destroys himself

Bill manipulates and guilt trips Ford into getting what he wants, often using flattery or a twisted form of it, feeding into Fords insecurities

Meanwhile at first Fiddleford is just doing whatever he can to help Stanford, only hurting him after the gremloblin incident that destroys his psyche

-Before Bill came along Ford admired Fiddleford for his ‘brilliant mind’, heart and trustworthiness, but Bill manipulated him into thinking lesser of those qualities of his, even then during the portal incident he calls Fiddleford ‘buddy’.

-Bill repeatedly tries to get rid of anything Fiddleford gets Ford

-Bill and Fiddleford have some similarities

For Stanford’s birthday Bill possessed a bunch of rats and used them to spell out his name [This is interesting due to both Ford and Bill having a tendency to mix up both love and fear, Ford not reacting properly to monsters when he should fear them but instead being fascinated], he then insists on taking Ford out for a drink, when Ford was not the most willing to [Contrasting to him willingly and even suggesting getting drunk with Fiddleford on Christmas after he saved him, drinking eggnog, despite not celebrating Christmas]

Meanwhile Fiddleford handmakes two gifts for Christmas for Ford, despite knowing Ford doesn't celebrate, which makes Ford very happy and makes him want to spend time with Fiddleford [Did Bill have this gift giving tradition beforehand or did he see a memory or dream of Fiddleford’s gift giving tendencies and copy it like he did with Ford’s love language of experiences? Or are they just that similar?]

Both are obsessed with Stanford; Bill using manipulation, flattery and guilt tripping to get what he wants from him, feeding into Ford’s insecurities and ego. Meanwhile Fiddleford is devoted to helping Stanford achieve his goals instead of his own like Bill is. Even when he uses the memory gun it's to help Stanford so he can continue working and so the construction workers can help the portal be built quicker.

Emma-May

-Emma-May and Fiddleford’s relationship appears to already be rocky when Ford calls him

Fiddleford is seen working out of the cluttered garage, instead of a building, this might show he isn't making much money which could cause strain as she would need to work more to help provide for her son

He is isolated from her in the garage and is seen playing his banjo in the garage instead of with his family around, he also appears to have made himself at home in the garage instead of inside his house

This could be seen as a mancave, which was often used by men who didn't love their wives and ‘needed time away from them’, this could be explained through Fiddleford just being neurodivergent though as he shows signs of being on the spectrum- and not every man with a mancave dislikes their wives

She was also rather quick to get divorced for the time when her husband is away getting money for them.

-There is also signs he might not have any romantic interest in Emma-May or women in general, and if he does it is far less than the feelings he has towards Stanford

He rather quickly leaves his wife to go after Stanford

He makes Stanford TWO Christmas gifts [One of which required 5 prototypes], but forgot to even buy her one [This could be because of the memory gun but as its not mentioned that he forgot to get his son anything it can be assumed he remembered his- and we know he loves Tate]

He makes a continued effort to get his son [and somewhat Stanford] back, the gobblewonker is implied to not be the only way he has tried to get Tate back as Tate seems very done with him, and Stanford and him reconnect as he easily forgives him despite everything. Yet he only seems to have tried to get his wife back once with the pterodactyl, the same amount of effort he gave his friend when he didn't come to his retirement party. In the end he isn't even shown trying to reconnect with her even in a friend or co-parent way after he’s regained his sanity.

The robot and raccoon wife can be explained through the same reason; Heteronormativity. In this context it could be seen as Fiddleford wanting to have a nuclear family and be ‘normal’ [AKA, not queer] or feeling pressured to, which might be why he married and had a child so young, seemingly right out of college. Raccoon wife and the robot could be seen as him trying to be ‘normal’ and disliking that its been taken from him, trying to get some semblance of his old life back.

Love language

-Someone on tumblr pointed out both Ford and Fiddleford’s love languages [I cannot find their post…]

-Ford’s love language is experiences

He invited Fiddleford to help him with portal in the first place

After the gremloblin incident Ford takes Fiddleford to a fair

The duo go hiking together to the spaceship

And the biggest one is the Christmas incident, he wants to spend time with Fiddleford after he gave him gifts but is unable to at the time and Bill tries to cheer him up with another experience… Only for Ford to be attacked by Krampus and saved by Fiddleford, he then decorates the portal room for a holiday he doesn't even celebrate and builds snowmen that resemble each other with him.

-Fiddleford’s love language is gift giving

He gives him a homemade snow globe [Which Ford accidentally breaks thanks to Bill]

He handmakes six-fingered gloves that required 5 prototypes [They later give Ford comfort]

He buys him a squash that looks like a face because it reminds him of Ford [Of which Ford wrote an entire page about before throwing out]

He gifts him an axolotl because it reminded him of his sideburns [Bill later manipulates him into getting rid of it after a lot of struggle from Ford]

Downright Suspicious

-When Fiddleford is called by Stanford he very quickly leaves his wife and son behind to travel to Gravity Falls and live alone with him in the woods without anyone living nearby for miles, somewhere nobody can see them work… Or interact

-Fiddleford designed the bunker with only one bed, one small bed for him and Ford to share

Several people have mentioned that they would have to be practically on top of eachother to fit on said bed

Fiddleford would not be aware that Stanford doesn't sleep, meaning they were planning on sleeping in the same bed together. This is furthered by the supplies for years into the future and having both of their belongings littered throughout the space, such as the shmez dispenser.

Stanford in the journal mentions losing Fiddleford’s shmez dispenser, this implies either he was moving stuff around or they were sharing it. And Fiddleford does not like people messing with his stuff, as shown with the cubics cube.

-In journal 3 at the end when Ford goes to see Fiddleford they sit by a furnace and Fiddleford plays on his banjo, Ford says he can practically see ‘the age lift off his face’.

A common thing in romance stories is thinking back on when the duo was younger together, this mimics that plot device.

-Ford draws Fiddleford more than once in journal 3

He usually only draws people once in the journal, but Fiddleford and his family get drawn more than once. This may mean he considers him as close as family

He also draws him from behind, obscuring his face as if Fiddleford doesnt know he is drawing him or if he feels guilty about doing so [Another common romance plot; drawing your crush without them knowing]

-Ford says Fiddleford has one of the biggest hearts he's ever seen, and says he used to hold him so dear

-Bill hates polyamory and calls Fiddleford a ‘third wheel’

Despite the Ford’s knowing each other longer

-Ford lets Fiddleford hug him during weirdmageddon and reciprocates despite disliking touch and only really being shown giving side hugs

Whether this is because he isnt used to Fiddleford full on hugging him or wasn't expecting to be forgiven and trusted so easily is up to debate, as the position leaves the back vulnerable to attack, showing how much Fiddleford trusts him.

They also shown in the ‘sorry’ photo in a side hug, hanging onto each other

-When Fiddleford brings up marriage Ford immediately shifts to him being thankful that Fiddleford is helping him.

-They stargazed together, one again a common romantic plot point

-In journal three there is a quote from when talking about the bunker's security system, ‘Sometimes I think how fortunate I am to be friends with F… because if this room is any indication, it would be terrifying to be his enemy’. This format is suspicious as the wording can make it seem joking, or make it seem like he is making an excuse for thinking this- and why would he feel weird for thinking this if there wasn't some sort of romantic undertones between them.

-In a livestream [‘Alex & Dana Charity Draw-A-Thon’ on TheMysteryofGF on youtube, at 45:48] When asked whether McGucket loves Ford, Alex says yes before expanding on that and calling them friends

At first I thought this was a way to get around Disney’s censors but later he confirms the deputy’s relationship

Story Importance

-Fiddleford is the only reason why Bill was able to be defeated

It took Ford around 30 years to build something able to destroy Bill, and it was a parallel Fiddleford that got him the final component to finish it, just looking at the weapon and knowing what it needed. Then the weapon that actually killed him was the memory gun, something that took Fiddleford under a year to create. [Maybe even in a couple of days whilst he wasn't in his right mind due to the gremloblin]

This combined with him and Ford's bond means Fiddleford is a real threat to Bill, as he keeps Ford grounded in reality and is smart enough to know something is wrong about what they are doing with the portal before anything happens, he even warns Ford, which makes him even more of a threat.

Bill attempts to manipulate Ford into distancing himself and thinking lowly of Fiddleford, and it works, for a period of time. It really shows how strong their bond is because while he is angry at Fiddleford leaving the event planted the seeds of doubt in his brain. Instead of continuing to trust Bill when he starts hearing things after years of being manipulated [Bill would even injure him! And Ford did not react like a person not being abused typically would in that situation], he realises Fiddleford was right and confronts Bill who likely realised that he could no longer manipulate him, as if he thought he could continue he would have, it would have been easier to reach his goal that way.

Fiddleford leaving is what caused Stanford to unravel as Fiddleford was the only one grounding him.

Stanford brushing off Fiddleford’s thesis and fears was the turning point as the ring the witch gave him turned black after this altercation

-Stanford has presumably been carrying the guilt of how he treated fiddleford for 30 years, this likely contributed to Stanford pushing others away and acting how he did towards his brother and family after leaving the portal, as he didn't have that someone that helped him trust others anymore, he's been alone for 30 years.

-Fiddleford was Ford’s first ever real friend outside his family

When he met Fiddleford he helped prove his theory and they finished it together and put both their names on it, this is important to the story as the reason Ford doesn't accept his thesis is because he is paranoid of somebody else stealing his theory. [Parallel Fiddleford and Ford even share a company together]

Furthering the previous point Ford was considering telling Fiddleford of his muse before finding out Fiddleford had created a thesis for him, a thesis where Fiddleford only credited Ford and based it off his work. Ford instead of taking this as Fiddleford wanting to help instead took it the wrong way due to his paranoia

Fiddleford didn't even notice Ford’s polydactyl when they first met and seems completely unbothered by it, basically brushing over it. Bill on the other hand makes a big deal of it, basically saying its why he can become one of Bill’s ‘freaks’, something he was called as a child.

Bill acts as if he is the only one to understand Ford and as if he is Ford’s first and only friend to manipulate him, despite Fiddleford understanding him so well he can tell something is wrong from the smallest movement when Mabel couldn't tell something was wrong with Dipper.

It takes Bill a long time to drive the duo apart and change Ford’s views of Fiddleford into ‘he wouldnt understand’ as he knows Fiddleford could ruin his plans [Bill had been with Ford since the 2nd journal and had time to manipulate him before Fiddleford arrived, even with this considered his view of his friend is still positive once he sees him again. He may say he has no choice but to ask for help before seeing Fiddleford, yet he is very very happy upon Fiddleford arriving- this hints that Bill has already started manipulating his views]

Ford wants to be famous and Bill feeds into his ego on this, knowing Ford wants to prove himself. Fiddleford can't seem to understand this as he already sees Ford as normal, but he wants him to be happy, which is why he helps because if money makes him happy so be it. Fiddleford does not question it and reserves judgement.

-Thank you to @jellied-beans in the comments for pointing out something I missed! That being without Fiddleford they would not have been able to get in and rescue Ford and all the other civilians.

Jellied-beans points out that Stan did not want to go through with the plan to rescue Ford, but it was Fiddleford who took the lead despite only recently regaining and reliving the trauma Ford had put him through, and even after he and Ford's last interaction was cruel.

Fiddleford is also the only reason the Shack-A-Tron became a thing, as it was his engineering and planning that saw it become a reality. Without him it would have taken much longer to rescue Ford and everyone else

This situation also goes to prove Fiddleford does in fact have a big heart and is empathetic as he not only rescues the man whos hurt him and easily forgives him, but Stan mentions that he led a bunch refugees to the shack with him.

End note; I attempted to keep in any points I have found and tried not to leave any information out, as well as leaving in anything nuanced [Such as the Christmas gift situation maybe being caused by the memory gun]. I find this important as I’ve seen people arguing against the ship and calling it generally toxic, whilst leaving out crucial details such as Bill's manipulation, as well as people calling Fiddleford a bad person due to the whole memory gun thing and completely ignoring why he did it.

[As a side note Fiddauthor definitely toxic during the Bill era, but overall it's not, and unlike Billford they are able to mend their relationship as its built on understanding and genuine feelings, as shown by the parallel world where they were able to trust each other and repair their relationship]

I have not read the Book of Bill yet so this might be updated later, any BoB content on this is just what I have seen circulating around.

#Who said being an autistic lit student was a bad thing?#btw this is not BillFord hate as long as the abuse isnt romanticed the ship is fine #same goes for the toxic moments of Fiddauthor #gravity falls #gravity falls stanford #stanford pines #gf stanford #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #gravity falls fiddleford #fiddauthor

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lamplightideas · 12 days ago

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682 words. Stanford Pines struggling to stay conscious. I don't know why this was written other than for the heck of it. I don't write often so um. Yeah. Trigger warning for vivid descriptions of hallucinating, terror, skin, and other no-fun experiences.

Stanford let out a shaky breath, Forcing his legs to trudge forwards despite the fatigue and growing pain throughout his body. He needed to stay awake, to focus. With exhaustion and fatigue slowly closing in, so came the effects of lacking sleep. It felt darker and the light felt brighter in contrast, the shadows nearly black. Then little pinpricks of light. Light that formed into ovals with pupils staring him down like living beings, more forming as they seemed to pulse with a yellow light. Ford turned away from prying eyes, the blight of yellow forcing terror through his veins like a drug he couldn't get over. He kept pacing, reciting the periodic table over and over, trying to get his mind right. Yet with each step his body faltered, the worse his vision got. The shadows seemed to grow outside of their reserved sections, what he could only assume to be blurry hands reaching into the light. Whenever he turned his head, neck complaining to him, they seemed to vanish within seconds.

Ford let out a shuddering breath, pausing to shut his eyes for a moment. Big mistake. He felt his feet shift as his central balance slipped, and it took everything he had left just to stumble into a wall to keep upright. His back cracked, and he could feel the dull ache from the hit coursing through his nerves. His body was betraying him. Why couldn't it just be loyal for once? He rested against the wall heavily, his legs trembling more than he thought he could handle. His skin felt wet and drippy, as if it may peel off his flesh and bones, leaving him exposed to the eyes observing him from the shadows.

He lifted his head again, just to check. All but one eye has gone out. One eye stares at him. As his eyes adjusted, or maybe they hadn't truly adjusted, he saw the form of something in the shadow. Incomprehensible. Unspeakable, something he felt his mind could never dream up. So his body tensed with fear, his breath choking to a stop as he waited. Waited for it to move, but it didn't. Sounds echoed long before he realized it was there, droning laughter crawling up his spine like an unwanted advance. This kind of terror didn't seem possible until it only seemed to worsen. The laughter was familiar, it was sharp- one he’d heard too many times at too many stages. He couldn't help the quiet, dry sob that poured from his mouth. He didn't truly care. There was no one to witness his fear. No one to witness this horror.

The form remained, and so did the eye. It remained for too long. It remained until Ford’s vision blurred too much, and it seemed to lag behind his movements when he attempted to calm down and move. A step forward. A fight for his consciousness. He won. Another step, another fight. But he would not win the war. It was so hard to breathe, so hard to comprehend what he was observing. His hand rested on the chair, the curl of his fingers sending a sharp and prickly reminder of the wounds that flourished across his knuckles. He felt sick. Sick for so many reasons. Sick because when he looked up, it was gone. The eye was gone, the darkness wasn't so harsh and void like. Sick because he couldn't remember the last time he ate. Sick because his body hurt in ways he knew it shouldn't; because he knew he would always feel this way. For the rest of his sad, sad life.

He pulled out his chair in resignation. He settled back down into his seat, trembling right hand slowly lifting the pen he’d set down moments prior. His left smoothed over the paper and smudged the still wet ink ever so slightly. The side of his hand settled on the page as he braced his mind to form something coherent.

He didn't get a chance, as his battered and bruised head smashed into the desk beneath it in pure, impassible exhaustion.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #bill cipher #kind of #tw hallucinations #tw vivid descriptions #tw describing feelings of un-fun things #uh #yeah #idk #lum writes #sometimes

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devisopod · 9 months ago

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Levity Creek infodump

It's long, I'm warning you.

╭──────────..★..──────────╮

Brave. Let's see if you regret trying to read my ramblings.

Changing some initial things from the first post, but they're minor. I'm doing this entirely based off what my Little Brain That Could absorbed from the show and Journal 3, so don't @ me if something's off, I'm not bothering to use online sources. As much as my mind gremlin'd love to deep dive this shit again, the whole point of an AU is to distort the canon. And while I'm keeping aspects of it, I'm not going out of my way to make it perfect either.

And who knows? Some of it may be subject to a little tweaking come July. We'll start off with what we know.

╭──────────..★..──────────╮

1975

Not a super big year in terms of the AU. Ford arrives in Gravity Falls, and nothing is different just yet. He begins his research enthusiastically. For six years, this fella gets to run around carefree! He's learning, exploring, and documenting like the ever-curious researcher he is. Then, he gets whacked with the inevitable question of "why?". Gravity Falls is the way it is, but no matter what he does, he can't determine the reason for it. It's eating him up, and so he's desperate to find answers, he'll ignore his better judgment.

Meanwhile, Stan's already been banned in about 30 states. He's hopped from scam to scam, or as he'd probably put it, "business strategy", and getting himself into trouble. He's missing his brother, missing having true connections, but too prideful to admit it yet. During this time, he's living in his car. This lasts for the majority of the year, and perhaps some months afterward, staying at motels on and off when he gets the cash.

1981

Bill.

Love him or hate him, he's crucial, and I'm going to enjoy the hell out of stepping on his toes at every possible opportunity in this AU. What's fun, and frustrating, is having to get into his mindset. He's a mastermind in his own right, but he's also weak to his—you know it, say it with me—ego!

After Bill convinces Ford that a portal is the most effective way to understand Gravity Falls' weirdness, Fiddleford comes into play. We know that Fiddleford works with, and researches the anomalies of Gravity Falls, alongside Ford for a year before the portal incident.

He's goes through a lot of stress and exhibits signs of anxiety during this period, not only from the work and frightening encounters, but because he misses his family. The fear that's instilled in him results in the creation of the memory gun, and soon to follow, The Society of The Blind Eye (we'll get back to that). Moreover, it has him questioning Ford and the portal project.

1982

Here's where we start to diverge!

That month before the portal incident, Stan seeks out Ford rather than facing everything he's going through alone. He's hit so many walls that even his pride takes a beating. It's a daunting task, showing up on the doorstep of someone you've wronged, looking to make that connection again, but he's got nothing left. Our Stan's a trooper, but even his snark and tough outer shell don't save him from his instinct to care, nor his need to be cared for.

His arrival in Gravity Falls is not exactly welcome, but Ford doesn't turn him away either. I really want to give him the benefit of the doubt here. He's kind of a self-righteous asshole during this period of his life, but he also lets small hints of his sentimentality slip from time to time. He was so excited to have someone to share his research and time with again, expressing gratitude and fondness for Fiddleford, much like I think he would have done with Stan. He misses Stan just as much as Stan misses him, but they process their emotions differently. He buries himself in work and strives for a goal that would make him one of The Greats, or whatever. But when his mind isn't as occupied, I'm sure it's on that beach in New Jersey.

So, showing a shred of decency, Ford agrees to try and patch things up with Stan, but on the terms that he doesn't interfere with his work. Stan sets up in a motel in town, visiting Ford on occasion during the month up until the portal is tested.

The Test

Here's where shit hits the fan, right? Everything starts going downhill, but let's think about it differently.

Fiddleford is arguably the balancing factor here. His character is such a great one, and I think it would have served him much better had he not succumbed to his own fear. He deserved a lot better, and it's not hard to determine that based on the details we have. He has an instinctual need to protect and help people, whether he knows them personally or not. He warns and prompts Ford on multiple occasions to express his doubt, even before the incident with the portal, but Ford is much too prideful to accept any of Fiddleford's concerns.

Ford saw himself as a good friend to Fiddleford, and to an extent I would accept that, but ultimately Ford was simply meeting the minimal efforts required of him to keep his research partner afloat.

After one last attempt at dissuading Ford from testing the portal, Fiddleford doesn't have a choice but to carry on with the initial plan—he's going to see it through because he's come this far. So, what's he do when he gets a glimpse of the catastrophic consequences that could result from the portal's use? He gets the hell outta dodge, and naturally so. He's met his limit, and since Ford doesn't want to listen, he's going to take it upon himself to protect himself and others.

Aftermath

Now, at this point in the canon, Fiddleford has already loosely established The Society of The Blind Eye and it's been building in the background. Though, it won't last long.

He shows a lot of common sense throughout his time researching with Ford, and I'd like to tap into that a little more. Frankly, he's too smart to drive himself into insanity. And while he doesn't know if there are side effects, he knows that if he loses himself, he's putting others at risk. So, after he uses the memory gun to forget what he saw in the portal, he elects to retire it. As much as it could be a help, he realizes it poses its own dangers and temptations based on the ways he's used it so far.

The Society of The Blind Eye is disbanded abruptly here. The members collected so far have their memory wiped of the group's existence, and that's that.

Ford's Dilemma

After the mess with the portal, Ford becomes increasingly more paranoid and unstable. As one does when they've become subject to physical and mental torment by a being they can't control.

Stan is immediately concerned, and arguably pissed off by this development. He's come all this way to fix things, and now Ford's changed on a dime, but he doesn't understand why. So, they fight. When it comes down to it though, Ford knows he can trust Stan. His brother, despite everything, has sought to make things right. So, he spills his guts. Flat out breaks down, and it's needed. While it doesn't solve his immediate problem, he's given another path to take.

Ford already knows about the memory gun, and he believes that one of the best ways to keep Bill out of his head is to eliminate what he wants from it: how to operate the portal. It's a reluctant reunion, and perhaps not a very trusting one, but Fiddleford agrees to wipe Ford's memory regarding the portal's operation on the condition that the pages of the journals are burned and the portal is dismantled.

Ford hates that condition, of course. It causes more strain, as he's already been told once that he should destroy the portal. His life's work. But it isn't, though, is it? The portal wasn't his idea. Hell, he put a lot of effort and time into it, but he knows now that it's a danger. Surely he would take the precaution to preserve life as we know it even if it lands a blow to his self-importance.

And here, he does. It's reluctant, but he does it. He burns the pages (allowing him to keep his journals), wipes his memory of said pages/the portal's operation, and dismantles it. Bill torments him for a little while after this, determined to physically and mentally destroy the pawn he no longer has a use for, but Project Mentem becomes the inevitable solution.

Let's Play Nice

When things finally start to settle down, Ford is determined to get back to work and dead set on finding a way to complete his research. This time, though, he has Stan along. They're really doing their darndest to work things out, but it's rocky at best. Doing fine one minute, then pouting in corners the next. While it's slow going, they're making progress a little a time.

Meanwhile, Fiddleford has gotten back to his dream of becoming an inventor. He even travels a bit on and off, returning home to California for a brief time before he's back to Gravity Falls, his family to follow within the next few months. He's taken on a project regarding the creation of a system (hardware and software) for the county's government facilities.

Daphne

Our little self-insert. There she is! Daphne isn't especially important to begin with. She's an old friend of Fiddleford's from back south who had the same types of interests and hobbies. She took a different route, of course, working odd jobs while in college, but eventually drops it altogether when she's offered a position working as a software engineer. She works this job until she gets in contact with Fiddleford again. When he talks about what he's working on, she's interested in helping out, if only to get away from her current job for a little while. Fiddleford accepts, and Daphne makes a road trip out west.

On the way, taking the scenic route obviously, she swings by and picks up Tate to bring him out to Gravity Falls a little early. The first week or so in Gravity Falls, Daphne hates it. The scenery is great, but the place freaks her out. She's not especially superstitious, but there are some things she just doesn't mess with. Weird creatures are on that list of things. Where she comes from, stuff like that is just what you leave alone and don't talk about, but here that rule doesn't even matter. Something's gonna happen regardless.

It takes about a month to completely finish her part of the project, then she's off again. Eager to get the hell away from Oregon, she says her goodbyes and heads out. Not even an hour into the ride, Tate reveals himself, not able to hold in the fact that he's stowed away any longer. Unamused, but unable to get mad at him, she reluctantly turns right back around to bring him back to Fiddleford. Just inside Gravity Falls, a creature runs face first into her van, effectively totaling it.

Ford, naturally, is in hot pursuit of this creature he's been chasing. When he sees the damage it's caused, he's torn between following the creature and helping out. The only reason he stops is because he recognizes Tate.

From there, Daphne has a few choice words for this lunatic that's wrecked her favorite possession, though she's still pretty rattled by seeing something so bizzare. Fiddleford is the one that has to kind of mediate this situation and also explain Gravity Falls to Daphne. He's not especially glad that she's met Ford; he's still having a little trouble trusting him, so he doesn't want her around him, but won't explain why. Effectively, it makes her more wary of Gravity Falls, but now she's stuck there. At least, for now. Fixing her van and staying at a motel, trying her best to avoid contact with the strangest parts of the town.

And that's where I'm gonna leave the rest to my art!

With that all established, Levity Creek as a whole is going to follow a more comedic route than anything, hence the "levity". Which isn't to say that I'll avoid the touchy subjects or heavier themes, but they'll be sparce.

I also wanna kinda make it clear that my intent with Daphne in this AU isn't super traditional in the sense of a self-insert. A lot of focus is gonna be put specifically into the Stan brothers before Daphne's eventual inclusion. If anything, there's very slow character development to begin with for most of the characters. I wanna give them room for growth personally so that they can grow together!

For funsies, this is the model of the van I drive irl! I don't feel comfortable sharing an actual picture of it for privacy reasons, but you get the gist!

TL;DR

I'm a lunatic

#I need text posts to have more options for formatting #text #levity creek #gravity falls au #gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #stanley pines #stan pines #fiddleford mcgucket #self insert

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sydneyofalltrades · 3 months ago

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even MORE leanne things because she’s all over my thoughts

when she gets mad and she’s using her magic, her hair actually turns blue! because blue fire is hotter than red fire, and her hair is copper

when she concentrates hard enough, she can see into other dimensions. but only briefly and it takes so much energy out of her

ford actually used to love when she used her powers because in a weird twisted way, it brought her closer to bill (as he was her mentor/the reason for her magic) and he thought she could be a tether to him (pre-portal)

bill (for reasons quite explanatory) actually placed a curse on leanne so if she uses her magic too much for extended periods of time, she slowly morphs into a monstrous state. he thinks it’s hilarious, and she thinks it’s sadistic

mabel stumbles across letters leanne and stan exchanged pre-portal and showed one to dipper. he now holds it as blackmail against stan because of how affectionate he sounded in the letter

leanne actually has a lot of money at the start of the show. because she and ford got hitched for her inheritance, most of the money her wealthy parents had went to research. after the portal, it was used to fix it up. so at the beginning of the show, whatever money is under leanne’s name is farrrrr too much for the average working class person

in alternative endings where dipper and mabel die, leanne, consumed with grief, agrees to let bill take her to a prison similar to mabel’s in weirdmaggedon, and she makes it so the twins are alive, stan and ford have reconciled earlier, and summer never ends. eventually, bill kills her inside her own fantasies

she loves dress up games, and mabel loves making her her model. so when mabel has a new outfit idea, she just calls leanne and asks her to “magic out” the outfit she has in mind

she calls stan her “magpie,” and has since they were kids. he calls her “cherry,” and on the silliest of days, “rusty red”

after high school, her parents shipped her to an all-girls university for college, where she studied astrology and other sciences

because her nickname for ford was “six string,” he dared her to commit to guitar lessons when they were little. she did, grudgingly, and actually really learned. she plays it all the time when he’s gone, and on the stan o’ war II

she had a daughter, named savanna, who passed away as an infant. for more information, spam my ask box thanks

her powers sometimes cause internal reactions like fevers and dizzy spells. on the worst of days, stan needs to keep smelling salts near her in case she faints

leanne used to babysit tate on days when fiddleford and ford would work late, and he’s fond of her as an adult because of it

for the longest, leanne was terrified that people wouldn’t think stanley was the person she married, and then she found some really old polaroids and understood why no one batted an eye

when bill used to possess leanne, he’d purposely injure her and oftentimes would succeed. she’d wake up with pains she didn’t want to know how she achieved. he also succeeded in humiliating her by flirting with ford in her body and then making her snap back right before she would’ve crossed the line

leanne and wendy sometime sneak off during shifts so wendy can get some time out of the shack. leanne makes sure she’s safe because if anything happens to any of the kids she interacts with, leanne might break someone’s furnace (or worse)

when dipper has bad dreams about bill’s possession, he often goes to leanne, since she also has similar experiences and is always there to comfort him

leanne took it the hardest when stan lost his memories. she tried to bring them back with magic, forcing herself to push to the farthest her magic could let her, but it didn’t work. so she tried harder to help him regain his memories however she could

after weirdmaggedon, she and ford had a long talk about the future, and what happened during their thirty year split. ford learned of a niece he never met, and leanne found out about the tramp stamp

stan and lea do get married actually. just before the twins’ birthday, and it was spur of the moment they got married right in the middle of town. took them long enough

leanne sometimes makes puzzles or problems for soos to fix, and when he finds them, he loves showing her how he solves them, and she loves hearing about them

#gravity falls #gravity falls oc #leanne wixton #even more rambles bc i ADORE herrrr #bill cipher #ford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #stan pines #tate mcgucket #wendy corduroy #soos ramirez

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ask-spider-punk-13666 · 4 months ago

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Bloodletting

Continued from here Wordcount: ~900 CW: internalized homophobia, references to period-typical homophobia, slurs used for self-identification

⛧ ────── ⟨ ⚛ ⟩ ────── ⛧

Tommy wipes his palms on his pant legs for the fourth time in as many minutes, gritting his teeth in frustration. Why is this so hard? Either she'll take it well, or she won't, but not knowing is worse, and he's never going to know anything if he just keeps sitting here without saying it.

"Gwyn, there's something I need to tell you," he says. He can't look at her, though, so he stares at his shoes instead. The sole is starting to come loose, but he can't afford a new pair.

"Of course, babe. You can tell me anything."

Tommy doesn't wince at the endearment, too used to Gwyn's casual affection, but it chafes at him, somewhere deep below the surface.

"I'm not who you think I am. I've been lying to you, to my Uncle, to everyone, and I'm tired. I can't keep hiding from you, Gwyn. You're my best friend," he says, hating how his voice is getting tight, or how he keeps babbling instead of getting to the fucking point.

"Tommy..." she says gently, mattress sinking when she sits down next to him. "It's okay. I already know."

...what?

Tommy’s blood runs cold. Had he been so obvious, even before he figured it out for himself? His thoughts are racing, wondering if she’d noticed how focused he’d been when they watched John Travolta prance around a Ford De Luxe on movie night, or maybe she’d seen how his eyes had lingered a little too long when Harry Osborn climbed the rope in gym class. Have other people noticed? How long until he stopped knowing even a minute of peace? Until even the adults who tolerated him left him for the wolves? What about his uncle?

"What? What do you mean, 'you know?'"

"The lying, the missed practices, the bruises. You're Spider-Punk. I've known for a while."

Yeah, Tommy definitely missed something.

He gapes, for a moment, mouth opening and closing a few times without a sound before he manages to find his words—

"What? No."

—and then they just don't stop.

"I mean, yeah. We can do that too, while we're at it, but that's not— that's not what I meant. Well, I would have told you, right after this, even, but that isn’t what I was trying to say. I am Spider-Punk, but that's— it's not—"

Apparently, his confusion is letting him skip right over the panic of Gwyn somehow knowing his secret identity, but not letting him find the right words to say what he actually wants to. He just keeps babbling.

"Tommy, honey, take a breath. What's this about?"

Fuck it. Who cares whether they're the "right" words?

"I'm gay, Gwyn," he blurts, and everything goes silent, like even the shitty pipes are too scared to break the tension with their usual clanging.

"What?"

"I'm gay," he says again, and it comes out easier, even if it hurts more. "I'm queer. A fairy. A fucking faggot, if you prefer." He spits the words like a curse. It definitely feels like one.

Why me? Isn't my life hard enough!?

His eyes are burning and Gwyn is still just staring at him. She doesn't look disgusted, but maybe she’s just in shock, processing this huge bombshell.

"Say something," he rasps, "please?"

She doesn't respond, not with words, anyway. Instead, she surges forward, wrapping her arms around him and tucking her face into the crook of his neck. It takes him painfully long to reciprocate, movements halting and awkward with surprise. This has to be a good sign. Right?

They stay like that for a long moment, with only the sound of shaky breathing and the background hum of the heater to fill the silence. Eventually, though, Gwyn is the first to pull away. She doesn’t go far, just enough so they're face to face. Her eyes are just as damp as his own.

"Me too," she confesses.

"What?"

"I'm gay. More of a dyke than a fairy, actually. Men? Not really my thing."

Oh.

Tommy doesn't know how to respond to that, other than to pull her back into a hug, burying his own face in her shoulder. It's probably for the best, because he starts to bawl like a baby, choking on the overwhelming mix of emotions that crashes over him. It's almost too much to parse and he feels like he's drowning, pulled under a riptide of relief-joy-trust.

He's mourning a bit, too. Grieving for the normal life he could have had— that they could have had. It’s one thing to admit such things to himself, but admitting it to another person— to Gwyn— makes it all the more real.

And it hurts. Each strangled sob is soothing agony— like the gangrenous decay of fear-shame-isolation being cut from healthy flesh. He hadn’t realized he was suffocating until he could finally breathe again.

He can’t stop crying and Gwyn's not doing much better, if the wetness of Tommy's collar or her shaking shoulders are anything to go by. She’s clutching onto him like a lifeline and Tommy? Tommy is independent. He stands on his own because he’s never had a choice, so it’s… terrifying to rely on others for support, but he’s holding onto her just as fiercely. Sharing the burden instead of stumbling under the weight of everything. It’s indescribable.

Tommy doesn't think he's ever connected with anyone the way he does with Gwyn.

#story post #copper standard #gwyn stacy #identity reveal #coming out #gay #lesbian

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weirdoldstans · 2 months ago

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Okay, but Ford trying to be a baby one day and he just isn’t in the right headspace for it (nothings wrong, he just feels like being an adult for a bit), so he ends up taking off and throwing away his only kinda wet diaper and tells Stan that he’s going to check out some shops at whatever little coastal town they’re at. When he leaves, Stan, who has been taking care of him but who absolutely hasn’t brought up wanting to try things himself, has a bit of time to spare. And the poor guy has wanted to try diapers and playtime for such a long time, but maybe during his biker days (a brief period where he had a bunch of people he was constantly around) he got caught sucking his thumb sleeping with a stuffed animal he secretly had and was tormented by his gang. Like, it got really bad and they even shredded his plushie and he was so embarrassed and hurt that it was ultimately what made him leave so he’s just pushed all those feelings so far down that even now he can’t quite get to them. But with Ford gone he sneaks into his room and he knows that Ford has definitely counted how many diapers he has left so Stan just takes the used one and puts it on and oh my god he instantly falls in love. So he sits down and is playing with some blocks for a bit in just a t shirt and diaper with a binkie and he starts to get that tingly feeling. He starts thinking way to hard about how Ford wet this before him and it’s all warm and squishy against his dick and he just can’t himself but to start rubbing the front of said diaper. Once he’s fully hard Ford just barges in swearing to himself about forgetting his wallet and he just stops and stares and Stan goes beat red. But Ford is immediately so sweet and just smiles asking him why he didn’t tell him that he wanted to try being the baby and Stan’s a stammering mess as Ford’s eye flick to the pack of diapers and Stan can see the gears turning as he looks at the pattern on it and finally asks if that was the one he had been wearing. Stan can’t even speak so Ford just smiles and pushes him back, squeezing the his diaper against him and keeps rubbing him until Stan is moaning behind his binkie as he cums. Ford starts gently pressing on his bladder whispering and telling him it’s okay if he wants to use his diaper too so after a few minutes of Stan squirming and whimpering, he finally lets go while Ford praises him. And then Ford just hoists him up and to the bed and grabs a vibrator and presses it against him again. And Stan is stammering about how he’s not even sure he can get off twice in a row but Ford just gently shushes him and assures him that Ford will help and he does. He coos and praises him the entire time while Stan has to hide his face until he throws his head back when he cums a second time. And Ford is just so proud of him and hums gently as he sets to cleaning him up, powdering him, and taping him up in a nice clean diaper while Stan absentmindedly sucks on the binkie. And Ford curls up next to him afterwards and while Stan is falling asleep clinging tightly to him he quietly admits why he didn’t tell Ford and how his gang treated him as he slowly falls asleep. He wakes up and he’s no longer in Ford’s arms, but he’s sitting at the end of the bed reading and Ford beams at him when he wakes up and tells him he snuck off while Stan was napping and got him something and grabs a new teddy bear out of a bag and hands it to him. And Stan is just so overcome and he’s crying while Ford reassures him and dries his tears before helping him to the floor so he can play some more.

(I really hope you don’t mind getting stuff this long. It feels like I’m talking your head off. Sorry if this is annoying!)

NOT ANNOYING AT ALL I LOVE IT SO MUCH

wahhh i don’t even know where to begin…stan putting on ford’s wet diaper is SO GOOD, and jerking off in it AHHH AND FORD COMING BACK AND ENCOURAGING STAN TO WET THE DIAPER TOO IM GONNA EAT A TRUCK

AND!! ford getting stan a new teddy oh my goddd TOO CUTE THANK U FOR THIS

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fourseasonsfigs · 2 years ago

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CT Pink Jun

Gong Jun is in his finest pink satin suit, dialing up a certain someone to say, "Hi Darling!"

This is Junjun's Pillow Talk Party Charlotte Tilbury endorsement. It's a complete shame that Tumblr only allows one video per post, since there's a few really good ones. Sadly, I forwent the one where Junjun is dancing for this one:

I was delighted about this endorsement, as I actually love Charlotte Tilbury's makeup. Pillow Talk is a beautiful color and well deserves it's popularity. The lipstick is a very neutral soft nude pink with a lot of richness and depth to it - no hint of that flat and kind of artificial candy pink color. Unfortunately, it's a little too on the nude color spectrum to work with my particular coloring, and it washes me right out. But that's every nude lipstick - this one almost works, which is amazing enough. It's got to be berry-ish colors for me, sadly (which reminds me, I need to do my periodic pilgrimage to the Tom Ford site to see if he's reissued Lark in any formulation anywhere!), on the rare occasion I do wear lipstick.

I do, however love eye makeup. In my beauty blogger days I tried a truly mind-boggling numbers of eye shadows, both domestic US brands and global brands. She actually has my favorite formulation. The older I get, the more issues I have with creasing and wear (despite every single one advertised as non-creasing and long-wearing!), and Charlotte Tilbury eye shadow is now quite literally the only formulation that works for me. I have some very long days at my job, including all-day-conferences that end in dinner events, and it's really, really nice to be able to not look as exhausted as I feel when I go back to my hotel room late at night.

Speaking of someone working really long days, let's have a few more pics of Gong Jun in his beautiful satin suit!

He is rocking that pink satin suit. Not everyone can (I sure couldn't!) but he looks fantastic. By the way I think his hair is A+ in these ads! I love the volume, it's the best look for his hair by far I think.

He arrived securely packed, but unfortunately, his little pink phone must have jostled around in transit!

Oh no! I know almost nobody has landlines anymore, but we can't have the few remaining relics of the past be damaged like this. Well, should be an easy fix, right? I'm old enough to have been around when all we had was landlines, all I need to do is just literally plug that end into the phone.

Or at least theoretically. I got my glue out, and fumbled around for a good long while trying to get the little end to go into the divot on the phone. My fingers were just too big and clumsy, and the cord too small and too interested in spinning around. And then the other end of the cord fell out! What the heck!

I got out my tweezers and after another good long while, finally got the phone end glued into the phone, and then another good long while figuring out how to aim the cord into the base at the right angle while trying not to snap it off, and then holding it in place with my now-tired and shaky fingers while the glue set.

But, we'd never know that now! He's connected and ready to receive some very important phone calls.

As you already can see, the phone is not a removable prop, it's quite firmly part of his hands.

The glossy finish on his pink suit is delightful - most of my figs have a matte finish, so it's always great to have one shimmering away.

He is decently stable on his feet, but I was so overtaxed by the phone situation that I finished taking pictures and immediately put him on a fig stand, then tucked him away into a secure corner of my my display cabinet. I'm not taking any chance on me clumsily bonking up against his phone cord and it snapping loose!

You can see where the fig maker put a little bit of folding in - a little bit on the back of his suit jacket, and there at the sleeve.

The fig maker did a great job angling his arm out to get the extension needed to hold the phone to his ear, without making it look disproportionally too long. Fig arms can look a bit too long sometimes when they're holding things because of the cute chibi proportions.

I wouldn't have minded just a touch more wispiness in the hair, but that's just my own personal preference. He looks good!

I think the phone cord turned out alright after all.

This is a good angle to see how shiny the finish is on his satin suit compared to the matte pink of the phone.

It's a cute phone! When I was a kid I would have loved to have a phone that looked like this.

Speaking of cute, that dog is looking pretty adorable too!

If you've been following this blog for some time, this fig maker's card may look familiar to you. They always do this two-sided card with the art on one side and a paw with three different angles on the back. It's always fun to see fig concept art, I think!

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 344

Scene Count: 24

Rating: Pink and perfect!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

#gong jun #word of honor cast #shl cast #figthusiast #woh cast

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countlessrealities · 2 years ago

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Mabel's smile grows brighter when Snufkin accepts the drink she has brought him. Hopefully he likes it, because she would feel bad if he had felt compelled to drink it only because she has grabbed him a glass. She might have approached him despite the fact that he had obviously chosen to keep his distances, but she doesn't want to be pushy or to make him uncomfortable.

That isn't the only thought occupying her mind, though. Now that she's close enough, closer than she has ever been before, she can see the man's inhuman traits. Paws and fangs and the slightly off shape of his body. Had they been elsewhere, she would have been caught off guard, but this is Gravity Falls. "Anomaly" is another word for "normalcy" out there. Especially now that the Society of the Blind Eye is no longer around wiping people's memories of the paranormal.

"Yeah, I noticed that," she admits with a chuckle. Then she shrugs. "My brother isn't a people person either, but he can mingle...He just needs a little push. I thought that it could be your case too, so I came to offer you one. But you don't have to take it! If you prefer staying here and watching, that's good too!"

The last two sentences are spoken in a bit of a hurry, betraying the fact that she is worrying that she might be pressuring him. A year ago she wouldn't have been as perceptive towards people's comfort, but the events of Weirdmaggeddon had taught her a few valuable lessons. If they had been worth the trauma or not, she can't say, but she still values them all.

"What are you looking for?" She can't stop herself from asking, curiosity winning over caution. She turns her eyes back on the crowd too, as if trying to picture how it has to look from his eyes. "Just regular people watching or...?"

Her voice trails off as her gaze lands on Snufkin once again, this time carrying an inquisitive note. She can understand what he means. Whenever she finds herself in a new place, the first thing she does is having a good look around to get an idea of what she's dealing with. However, her watching period is definitely much shorter than his seems to be.

"So you travel when? In fall or winter? Like migratory birds?" It's a funny comparison to make. But who knows. Maybe whatever species the man belongs to has specific migrations periods. "Dip-sauce and I usually travel in summer instead! I guess that it's mostly because we don't have school, and our parents want to go on holiday on their own. Now we're old enough to travel by ourselves and our Grunkles are happy to have us around, sooo...here we are! Summer in Gravity Falls."

Was she rambling a little too much? Not for her standards, but maybe it's too much for someone like Snufkin.

"Oh, no worries! There's still plenty. I couldn't put them down together with the rest of the food because Grunkle Stan wanted people to pay for them and it took me a while to get him to understand that it would kill the purpose of making food to share freely with the rest of the town."

She lets out a heavy sigh, barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. Stan's obsession with money has gotten a little better now that he has Ford back, but old habits die hard.

"I can go and fetch you a plate, if you still aren't ready to join the others!"

Snufkin likes to just observe parties. Celebrations like this were big in Moominvalley, and the residents found something to celebrate almost every month or at least every other. Snufkin would attend out of politeness and because his friends were there. He even let Moominmamma put him in traditional festival clothing at one point, not wanting to reject the embroidered vest and skirt she had fashioned for him. But he was never one to dance or play much with the others, content to sit on the fence and watch like he is now. Occasionally, he will play his harmonica, and at last year’s harvest party, he gave Moomin and Snorkmaiden a dance each, but that’s about it.

And those were his friends, never mind a town full of people he doesn’t know very well.

He saw Mabel approaching long before she reached him because he has a pretty good view of the grounds, and he did not make an effort to run away, though he let the brim of his hat fall over his eyes so that she would not catch him staring. Now he looks at her properly, chestnut eyes flicking down to the offered cup and then back up at her face. What good reason does he have to not take it?

He reaches out with his paw, takes the punch from her, and says, “Thank you.” Then, he looks back out at the crowd. “I’m not much of a mingler, either, as I’m sure you’ve probably noticed.” He smiles at the observation, little fangs sticking out from his upper lip. “I usually like to watch for a while before I get too involved in anything.”

When she mentions helping to make the pies herself, though, he feels a little bit guilty, like he ought to go and sample one, especially since it reminds him of Moominvalley and Moominmamma’s pies. She made pies out of everything—vegetable pies, meat pies, fruit pies, chocolate pies, and so on.

He brings the sugary punch to his lips and hums around the rim of the plastic cup. “I am,” he answers. “I don’t usually travel in summer, so the disruption has put me a little out of sorts.” He tries to stay in Moominvalley until winter, but sometimes, the urge to leave will flare up in him insatiably, and he cannot settle until he heeds the call. So, he packed up everything in the middle of the night and headed out while everyone was asleep so that Moomin couldn’t protest that it wasn’t time for Snufkin to leave yet.

“I’m Snufkin. It’s a pleasure.” As much as he appreciates his solitude, he can’t say that this first proper introduction with her has been terrible, barring her endeavors to get him to mingle with others. “I might have to try one of the pies you made,” he says, finally pushing himself off the wall. “I’m sure they’ll be all gone soon enough if I don’t jump on them now.”

#[ interactions :: Mabel ]#&& Snufkin #[ v. It takes courage to grow up ; teen verse :: Mabel ]#modestmuses #;; queue

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see-arcane · 2 years ago

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Jonathan Harker: The ‘Absolute Love Corrupts Absolutely’ Villain That Almost Was*

*LONG before Francis Ford Coppola’s Cinematic Gary Oldman Fanfiction

Spoilers ahead for the Dracula Daily enjoyers, because I’m whipping out all my literary receipts on this.

I recently finished speed-rereading Dracula because I have no self-control. In doing so, I got a refresher on quite a few incendiary factors of the book that time had dulled in my memory.

1. There’s a TON of ‘I’m not like other girls!’ and ‘men good, women dainty,’ and ‘What no I’m not projecting, honest, I just really like the words manful, voluptuous, manful, aquiline, manful, God, and manful again. –Bramothy Stoker,’ so brace for that from basically the whole cast. I’m blaming it partly on Bram Flakes’ own prejudices, of which there are plenty, and the fact that he’d clearly never met a thesaurus in his life.

(I appreciate everyone’s mental revamp of Mina as the New Woman to Lucy’s Classic Damsel, but…oof. Everyone’s in for a harsh Period/Stoker Accurate reminder.)

2. Brammy Pajamas was either hanging around some exceptionally devout Christians to write some of the second/third act scenes with everyone basically thrashing and wailing and falling on their knees and clasping/kissing hands as they pray to/thank God, all while thinking it was perfectly natural behavior for these characters…or he legit had no clue how any kind of ordinary human being, Christian or otherwise, would react to the situations he puts them in.

(Seriously, it’s not even that everyone’s devout, it’s that they’re all written to act like they’re in a soap opera where the only direction they got was to be as hammy and histrionic as physically possible. You’ll know the scenes when you see them.)

3. Jonathan Harker has not only been done dirty by every adaptation since the book in terms of being a main character, along with being the character to spend the most time with Dracula in close quarters, period, and being the love interest for Mina—his whole character arc by the second half of the book is the most blazing hot, “If my beloved is destined for damnation, I’m heading to Hell with her, fuck all else,” shit I have ever read in classic literature, full stop.

Not Dracula. Not any character based on Dracula.

Jonathan fucking Harker is the OG archetype for Love Corrupts (Violently), and the canon story avoided him going full tragic villain by t h i s much. You want proof? Let’s go.

NOTE: MAIN SPOILERS STRAIGHT FROM THE BOOK, SHIELD YOUR EYES

Here’s the part most Harker fans scream over, myself included:

“To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.”

Good shit, good shit! Jonathan was already prepared to risk falling to his death from a cliff or being eaten by wolves rather than stay in Castle Dracula for a bloodthirsty eternity with the ladies. But now? Mina is quite literally his, “You are worth Hell,” Beloved. But there’s more. Fast forward to one of Team Fuck-Up-That-Old-Undead-Man’s first head-on encounters with the Count. As they’re waiting, Jonathan gets impatient, declaring:

“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my own soul to do it!”

He says as much in front of his Christian+ buddies who, by now, had pretty fair reasons to believe in the legitimacy of Hell and all its demons. Van Helsing is definitely startled and seemingly talks him down from such an oath. Key word being seemingly. Because we jump forward again to a point where Mina, in full saintly forgiveness mode (and apparently selectively forgetting Van Helsing’s history lesson about Dracula’s pre-vampire days being ones of a slaughtering tyrant), saying that if/when they destroy the Count, oh, how happy his soul will be to be free of his torment on Earth, et cetera. Jonathan Harker has a rebuttal to share. Namely:

“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond that I could send his soul forever and ever to burning hell I would do it!”

God forgives. Jonathan Harker emphatically does not.

Onward again, and he speaks volumes by what he does not say. Chiefly, there’s a point where Mina, now in full martyr preparation should the worst happen, makes the boys swear an oath to destroy her body if/when she succumbs and dies to Dracula’s vampiric poisoning so she cannot rise again as one of his ladies. The boys swear. Mostly. What we get from Jonathan is…

“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?”

“You too, my dearest.” (Note: The rest of her paragraph here is full of the most knife-twisting, utterly warped martyr ‘pep talk’ I’ve ever read, and I have no idea how she/Bramarama thought it would remotely convince Jonathan this was all a reasonable and chill thing she was talking about. Anyway.)

It’s important to note that absolutely nowhere in the ensuing text does Jonathan ever speak the promise out loud. He does read the goddamn Burial Service at Mina’s request, which he barely chokes his way through. But he never makes the oath.

Another jump ahead. They are on the hunt for Dracula and, alas, have just missed him at a key point. Most of the gang are shaking their fists at the sky, cursing up and down. And what is Jonathan doing? Well, to quote Jack Seward, just before the epiphany…

“We men were all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are as cold as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad look-out for the Count if the edge of that ‘Kukri’ ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!”

And upon discovery of the Count slipping them…

“Harker smiled—actually smiled—the dark bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time his action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of the great Kukri knife and rested there.”

For context, by this point Jonathan had already come at Dracula with said Kukri knife a while back, having nearly landed the blow after charging out of the pack and nearly fucking gutting the Count. For extra context, this is a Kukri knife:

He’s just been walking around with that. For half the book. Plotting.

And, with all of this in mind, we can only assume Jonathan had two plans of action in mind.

Plan A, follow Van Helsing’s lead.

…Not counting the moment he almost bit the Professor’s head off for saying he had to bring Mina along with him to Castle Dracula. Another good scene which includes his very succinct reaction to Van Helsing’s suggestion, even if he does have to agree in the end:

“Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!”

Anyway. If the plan works out, cool. He gets to kill Dracula, Mina is saved. Best case scenario!

But then there’s the unspoken, explicitly unwritten (in case his pages need to be read), but heavily foreshadowed Plan B. They cannot destroy the Count, in time or otherwise. Mina is now either a corpse waiting to awake as a vampire, or a vampire already. The others, true to their vow, mean to destroy her.

Jonathan Harker, true only to Mina, in whatever form she may take, still has that Kukri. And the element of surprise. And a full acknowledgment of the realities of Heaven, Hell, and his holding Mina’s continued existence above them, his friends, his sanity, his humanity, and himself.

In short, all your tragically romantic Draculas can kindly go fuck themselves with a wooden stake. Jonathan Harker is the first and best gothic horror example of a person in love to the point of madness, damnation, and willingness to deceive or destroy anyone who would endanger the one he loves. The only reason we never got to see it in action was because Stoker had to tack on a happy ending. If he hadn’t?

The census would be less four unsuspecting heroes and plus two newlywed vampires.

The End.

Suck on it, Francis.

#Jonathan Harker is a good boy a lovely young man and he Can and Will Kill for His Wife :) :) :)#seriously there's a whole other essay to go with how gloriously fucked up-passionate this stance is within both the time it was written #and the novel itself which is SATURATED with God Christ and more God #for this fucker to have gone through what he did in the castle on top of all the very clear proofs of divine VS infernal goings-on #this dude is flipping the bird to all of it #the whole mess (be it of God or the Devil or fucking Dracula)#none of it ranks higher than Mina in his mind #my guy is fucked up and I love him #jonathan harker #dracula #mina murray #mina harker #dracula daily #spoilers

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moonbeamsung · 3 years ago

Text

Right Side of Town

Will an age-old rivalry stop him from listening to his heart?

for @fruityutas ’s ‘the outsiders’ collab

member: chenle (featuring wayv)

au: soc!chenle x gn!reader, ‘the outsiders’ au, ‘grease’ au, 1950s/60s au

word count: 12.0k

genre: angst, drama, action, romance, suggestive, fluff

warnings: underage drinking and smoking, profanity, unhealthy mindsets regarding status and wealth, mild violence (verbal conflict + mentions & very brief descriptions of weapons/blood/injury), suggestive content (vague allusions to & implications of sex which are neither graphic nor between chenle/reader + kissing/making out), mentions of food, use of slang from the time period, hospitals

author’s note/disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional, and the actions of the characters do not depict their actual personalities in any way. I do not condone this behavior. Also, this is the first ever collab piece I’ve written and I’m very thankful to be participating! Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

taglist: @nakamotocore @navyhyuck @chicksung @mrkcore @mieohmy @rouiyan @sicluvz @kunrengui-reblogs @luvdhl @berrysungie @rousrxxn @m1ss-foodi3 @hyuckefi @angelhee @jisungsmochi

Zhong Chenle has everything, and what he doesn’t have, he gets. From money and a flashy car to a tight circle of friends that will stop at nothing when it comes to defending their high-class clique, what more could he possibly want?

Simple: he wants to make life as miserable as possible for the town’s rivaling gang of greasers.

Miles away from Chenle and this divided community, you’re anxiously awaiting the life that lies ahead of you within it, shifting nervously in the backseat of the family car. With everything you’ve ever known packed up and sealed inside several cardboard boxes, you’re at the mercy of the highway as it rises and falls, twists and turns to take you to the place where a new chapter in your story will begin. In the front seat, your parents are gushing over the flourishing suburbs you’ll be living in, but you’re sick to your stomach.

The uneasiness you feel only grows once you get there. From chain-link to white picket fences, they both look equally uninviting, with razor-sharp edges and rusted locks or pristine latches shut tight, as if they contain something sinister. Every shadow looms like it’s someone’s darkest secret, and there’s a palpable tension lingering in the air when you step outside. You can breathe it in, lungs inundated with something that’s not unlike smoke. You wonder what’s been burning. The ominous stench weighs you down like a ball and chain.

In this town, you have nothing. No past, no reputation, no expectations. Any other person your age might feel free, but you? You feel lost.

Little do you know that moving into a house on the west side will become your one-way ticket to fitting in, to belonging. And when a certain boy takes notice of his new neighbor, you eagerly accept the security he offers.

The ‘sold’ sign has been removed from your freshly cut lawn for a few days now, so Chenle decides that it’s time to scope out the latest additions to the picture-perfect suburban streets. He definitely doesn’t ignore the sleek Ford Thunderbird that’s parked in the driveway, undoubtedly an indication of the kind of people he’s dealing with. But what was he expecting? You live on the west side of town; you’re automatically the most superior of socialites.

Chenle’s smooth strides take him all the way to your front porch, and he rings the doorbell just after putting on the most welcoming expression he can muster.

“Would you get the door, please?” Your mother doesn’t even bother answering it herself, instead calling out your name as soon as she looks out the kitchen window through the patterned curtains and sees a boy around your age. It’s about time you made a friend, anyway.

Timidly, you turn the knob and step back to let the door swing open, meeting the eyes of your visitor.

“Hey,” he purrs out a deep, suave greeting. “You must be the new kid. Welcome to the neighborhood.” When you only smile and give a well-mannered nod, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, stuffing balled-up fists into his jean pockets as his mouth opens again.

“My name’s Chenle, by the way. What’s yours?”

You tell him, and he raises a groomed eyebrow at your confirmed ability to speak.

“So that’s what you sound like,” the boy smirks a bit. “You’re a quiet one, huh? Well, don’t be nervous. Nothing to be scared of around here.”

You think otherwise. It seems like there’s plenty to be scared of. And what’s up with him treating you like a pet that just learned a trick?

With a slight frown you ignore his patronizing comment, changing the subject entirely. “I don’t suppose you go to the high school down the road?”

“Yeah, I do. You going there too?”

“Sure am. What’s it like?”

Chenle shrugs dismissively, tapping a foot. “Like any other school, with your typical hierarchy and all. You have us, and then you have the greasers.”

“Hold on,” you cut in. “What do you mean, ‘us?’ Who are you, then?”

“The Socials, or Socs for short. You’re one, too. We all live on this side of town, and all the greasers live on the east side. Don’t even bother associating with them, though. You stick with me and you’re golden. Unless… you don’t want to.” His voice lowers with the last syllables.

Great. There’s always a catch. According to what Chenle’s told you, instead of getting a valuable education at the highly-esteemed school your parents heard about from all the way across the country, you’re being sent into a raging battle between two competing socioeconomic classes. You start picturing corridors full of confrontations, insults and rogue punches flying. A social bloodbath of sorts. And Chenle’s offering to let you join his side.

You consider your options. He’s all you have right now, and the last thing you want to do is get on his bad side by doing the opposite of what he just advised. You’re not exactly sure what he’s capable of, but you don’t want to find out.

“...Okay,” you eventually respond, failing to conceal the fear both in your voice and on your face as well as you had hoped. “As long as I don’t have to fight anyone.”

He snickers at this and at your obviously distressed expression. “Oh, don’t worry about that. No one’s gonna drag you to a rumble or anything.”

Chenle’s shrill laugh, despite being at your expense, contrasts his demeanor and lightens the mood, so you try to smile.

“But I hope you like parties. There’s one almost every weekend.”

“I’m not sure… my parents probably won’t—”

“They don’t have to know,” he waves a hand. “Just tell ’em you’re going to the Nightly Double. They show 4 movies a night on weekends, so you’ll be covered for hours. Speaking of which, we should go.”

“Huh?”

“To the Nightly Double. It’s a drive-in, you’ll like it. How ’bout I pick you up on Friday? You can meet my friends.” He’s talking so fast that your brain struggles to keep up. Is he seriously asking you out?

The front door has been closed for some time now, but it’s at this moment that your mother pokes her head outside to check on you. Upon seeing Chenle’s tall frame leaning against one of the porch’s columns, she asks, “Who’s this?”

“Zhong Chenle. I live a few streets away,” the boy extends his hand and she shakes it, approval in her eyes, before she turns to you for an explanation. “He invited me to go to a drive-in movie with him this Friday. May I?”

“Of course, dear, but we’ll need to discuss a curfew with your father.”

Chenle’s used to hearing this. He suddenly interjects as politely as he can, the confidence in his voice compelling. “If I may, I should tell you that this is a very safe neighborhood, and most everyone here agrees that a curfew isn’t even necessary.”

Her gaze turns inquisitive, though more scrutinous than critical. “Your parents let you stay out late?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And his practiced persuasion works like a charm, because she agrees without any further interrogation.

“That’s fine, then. I’ll leave you two be,” your mother excuses herself with a smile, disappearing into the house just as quickly as she emerged from it a minute ago. “Easy,” Chenle grins. “Now you can get away with just about anything.”

But should that relieve or frighten you?

Before you can decide, Chenle’s already starting down the steps. “I’ll see you on Friday. It’s a date,” he winks.

You retreat back inside once he’s gone, marching upstairs to your room and all the while trying to process whatever the hell just happened.

When that day rolls around, a car you’ve never seen before pulls up in front of your driveway. Even as the twilight sky above begins to fade, you can still identify the model: a Mustang, coated in shiny red paint and seemingly without a scratch anywhere.

For a moment you’ve completely forgotten your commitment, but one glance at the driver’s seat and the memory comes flooding back to you instantly. A halfhearted promise to be back at a reasonable hour is made and directed towards very unconcerned parents before you’re off. Maybe too unconcerned.

Three others are haphazardly piled into the backseat of Chenle’s car, presumably the friends he mentioned a few days ago. The passenger seat has been left empty for you, so you slowly climb in next to the boy behind the wheel.

“Glad you could make it,” he hums. A hand motions to each of them in turn, then shifts the cramped vehicle into gear. “This is Sicheng, Ten, and Yangyang. We’re all tight.”

“Hey.” His friends greet you in something close to unison. You note that they appear to be at least a year or two older than Chenle, but it’s like he reads your mind before you can even open your mouth and ask, informing you that it’s not unusual for students to get held back at least once, or even multiple times.

Deciding it would be rude not to, you briefly return the favor by introducing yourself to them over the top of the seats that separate you, and are met with smiles that seem to mask an underlying intention. Good or bad, you can’t decipher. This is quickly forgotten, however, because a few minutes into the drive they’ve become totally absorbed in their own rowdy discussion. The volume of noise emanating from behind you is deafening, and any conversations that you might try to strike up with the other occupant of the front seat are rendered useless, the sound of the radio only adding to the chaos as it grapples for dominance against their voices.

By the time you reach the drive-in theater, a large amount of the lot’s parking spaces are filled, mostly with cars that look just as expensive as the one you’re in. Chenle isn’t phased by this, taking his time, and he swiftly puts on the brakes when he finally manages to secure a good spot in the middle. As soon as the vehicle rolls to a halt, the rest of his friends scramble to exit, backseat doors flinging open and narrowly missing the side of a Corvette that pulls in next to them.

“Son of a bitch, Yangyang! I give you a ride and you give me a heart attack by almost denting another car? That’s the last time I’m taking you anywhere.”

The boy offers a half-sheepish, half-smug apology, since he knows Chenle doesn’t really mean it.

“We’re getting popcorn,” one of them declares, and the rearview mirror’s placement allows you to see a few more people joining the three as they walk off towards the concession stand.

“Grab two sodas for us!” Chenle shouts hastily, before they’re out of earshot. Ten’s hand raises in acknowledgement of the request.

He digs through his wallet for some money to pay them back, placing it on the car’s dashboard, then leans back and directs his attention towards the supersized screen. The first movie of the night has already started, but there are plenty of kids just milling around the lot and talking, only there for the social scene.

“What do you think?”

“It’s—”

“Well, what do we have here?” A harsh knock on the open passenger windowsill interrupts, startling both of you. “Look at this, boys! Zhong’s got himself a sweetheart.”

The perpetrator looks different than Chenle and his friends. He’s clad in a leather jacket with gelled-up dark hair, wearing a mischievous smile on his face. Something tells you he isn’t a Soc.

Chenle sneers and confirms your assumption. “Beat it, greaser.”

“Aw, you want me to leave so you can neck in the backseat?” He chortles, his booming laughter attracting more attention than either of you would like.

“Cool it, Lucas,” another voice cautions. “You don’t wanna scrap with that one.”

“Actually, Kun,” he hisses, cracking his knuckles. “I’m just trying to have a good time here. He’s the one that’s looking for trouble with us, don’t you think? I’d love to give him a taste of his own medicine.” The second greaser comes into view, frowning and tugging harshly at the taller one’s collar.

Chenle currently sports the most menacing facial expression you’ve ever seen on anyone. “Your friend there’s got a point. Better back off now,” he growls.

Lucas smiles coldly, “What you gonna do, pretty boy?”

His last comment must have struck a nerve, because before you know it Chenle is swinging the driver’s side door open and angling his wrist to throw a punch. “Get lost before I skin you alive, hood!”

With the verbal threat of violence in play, both boys whirl around and run, being joined by two more figures in the distance and disappearing into the eerie darkness of the streets, where only the stars remain to light their way.

“Those bastards,” he seethes through clenched teeth once back inside the car. “Now you’ve seen it for yourself. Greasers are just lousy, good-for-nothing bums, always asking for a fight.”

You say nothing. Though the encounter did make you uncomfortable, you feel like there’s more to this story, more that Chenle isn’t telling you. It’s going to take a lot for you to trust him, and he knows it, too. But for now, you both turn back to watching the flickering film.

At some point he asks if you’re cold. Despite the shake of your head you still feel him reach over to drape his letterman jacket around your shoulders. His hands graze over your skin for a moment, and they’re warmer than you would have expected.

Yangyang and Ten return shortly after, one bearing a soft drink in each hand and the other with a palm outstretched in Chenle’s direction. He hands over the loose change he had gathered earlier while wondering aloud, “Where’s Sicheng?”

“Probably making out with a girl he met in the concessions line. She dragged him to her car and we haven’t seen him since.” Your cheeks suddenly heat up as you remember Lucas’s remark. People really do things like that at a drive-in?

“You’d be surprised by what goes on back there,” Chenle adds, seeming to sense your shock. How does he keep doing that?

Gesturing with a thumb stuck out in said direction, the boy draws your eyes over to the lot’s far end, slightly less illuminated and with the poorest view of the movie screen. Only a few vehicles fill those spaces, but it’s too dark for you to see anything else. You don’t think you want to.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

There’s silence for a while. It’s broken when Ten reaches into his pocket for something, and you instantly recognize the small objects he procures from within the fabric compartment as cigarettes.

“Light me up, will you, Liu?”

“Sure thing.” Yangyang extracts a shiny box from his own pocket and flicks open the cover, a small flame igniting the end of the paper tube. “Want one, Chenle?”

“No, thanks.” He shoots you a glance from the side, asking the same question with an eyebrow quirked.

“I don’t smoke,” you defend quickly.

“You don’t smoke, or you never have? There’s a difference.”

Yangyang’s smart-mouthed reply is nearly enough to make you lose your temper, but Chenle’s abrupt grip on your arm stops you from acting rashly. “Shut your trap and quit bugging them already.”

“I just asked a question! Damn, what’s got you all considerate lately?” He scoffs at the younger boy, indignant.

Ten suggests the two of them roam around to try to find Sicheng, and if they’re lucky, maybe someone with a convertible so they can sit and enjoy the remainder of the second movie. Once again you’re left alone, but thankfully no slick-haired strangers approach you this time.

What encroaches upon you, however, is Chenle himself. He must think he’s being smooth when he reaches across you and into the glove compartment for something, yet you see through every last gesture. It’s almost laughable, how bold he is. But Chenle doesn’t do subtleties, a fact that’s evident in the hand he leaves behind to rest lightly atop your thigh. Not in the slightest.

Even so, it works. You don’t brush his hand away, and neither do you shrug off the arm he tosses over your shoulder in the midst of a highly exaggerated yawn. He knows he’s triumphed when you slump against the back of the seat, head resting against his shoulder and cheek pressing into his thin shirt. You’re relaxed, no longer on edge. And that spurs something within Chenle. He’s always wanted to be feared instead of adored, but you are slowly becoming the lone exception to this golden rule, one that he’s lived by all his life.

The film ends, and it’s only when his friends come into view that you break the physical contact. Sicheng has rejoined them, with hair askew, plaid shirt untucked, and the faintest print of lipstick adorning his jaw. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit flustered, either, which is odd considering you all know exactly what he’s been up to. Actually, he looks rather pleased with himself.

“How was the movie?” Sicheng inquires breathlessly.

“Why don’t you know? You were here too.”

He scoffs, “Um, I was a little busy in case you forgot.” Sicheng punctuates his sentence by pulling his undershirt to the side and revealing more of the crimson marks, smirking at Chenle with mirthful eyes the whole time. Everyone save for you and the latter of the two boys erupts in obnoxious hoots of praise and congratulations.

“You sly dog,” Ten murmurs proudly to him while delivering a firm pat on the back. Yangyang wolf whistles, doing the same. He glances over his shoulder at your indifferent gazes, “Some fun you two are.”

Chenle remains unamused.

“I’ll take that cigarette now.”

After celebrating Sicheng’s score for a much longer amount of time than he deemed necessary, the night’s designated chauffeur finally wrangles his three friends back into the car and sets off for each of your houses. Somewhere along the way, in between puffs of tobacco, Chenle misses a turn.

“Hey, what’s the big idea, Zhong? The suburbs are that way.”

“I know, Lee,” he snarls. “You trying to tell me how to drive?”

Ten subsequently quiets down.

But by now, they all know where they are: the east side. You pick up on the change in scenery as well, noting the run-down homes and desolate parks. Sitting there in the front seat and expecting him to turn back around at any moment, you’re puzzled when he only continues on, his speed lessening but foot never leaving the gas pedal.

The truth is, Chenle’s spotted the same gang of greasers from the drive-in, and he’s watching them like a hawk from behind the wheel as they amble down the sidewalk, then turn down a smaller street narrowly separating two buildings.

He makes one more loop around the central grassy area that resides between several blocks of homes, giving them just enough time to disappear between the shadows and lull themselves into a false sense of security, but not too much time. They won’t get far, he’s certain of it. Sure, it may be their territory, but when Zhong Chenle has an idea in mind, nothing and no one dares to stand in his way.

It’s only when he skids to a stop next to this same alleyway that you speak, still partially afraid you’ll be scolded just as Ten was.

“...What are we doing here?”

Chenle doesn’t answer you right away, instead glancing at the passengers in the backseat with an expression that says trust me. They look just as confused as you feel, but they follow him out nonetheless.

“It’s nothing, baby. The boys and I just have to take care of something. We’ll be right back,” he leaves you with a reassuring smile that isn’t very reassuring at all. You suddenly wish this Mustang had actual windows.

The four of them circle up just in front of the hood of the car, where Chenle explains his plan. His back is to you, so you can’t see his eyes darken dangerously, as if they and his words are infected with a fatal poison. All that’s visible to you is the image of them nodding in mutual understanding, vanishing into the gloom shortly after.

You contemplate doing something stupid like running away, but that idea is quickly thrown out the window considering you don’t even know where you are, much less which way is home. The same wave of uneasiness that had settled over you when you first set foot in this town is returning, comes flooding back as you’re abandoned entirely, with only your thoughts to keep you company.

Chirps of crickets and the mechanical hums of flickering streetlights pass through the air, ultimately obscuring a few distant shouts and the sickening thump of fists against skin. Switchblades flip open, high-top sneakers pound against the pavement, and though an even match, the skirmish ends with one party far less fortunate than the other.

There’s something disturbing, something artificial in the smile Chenle flashes at you as they return. It’s too dim in the car for you to see his hands gripping the steering wheel, much less his bloodied knuckles. You aren’t even looking. You just want to get home.

When the following week begins, so does the school year. The main courtyard is buzzing when you reach the campus that bright Monday morning, filled with students milling around and talking to their respective cliques. Once the bell tower produces a resounding chime, all the small friend groups combine to form a horde of teenagers, and you fall in line among the mass of complete strangers as they rush past the doors, swarming the corridors like moths to a flame.

Nothing inside the building appears to be out of the ordinary. Lockers line the walls, the lights overhead glow a harsh, blinding white, and the classrooms are seemingly the only places where Socs and greasers can coexist without being at each other’s throats. Though you suppose it’s not by their own volition, and more due to the threat of a teacher’s punishment.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” are the words that reach your ears just as an arm slings itself around you, and you’re not at all surprised to see that the voice in question belongs to none other than the supreme Soc himself, whom you’ve been avoiding all weekend.

Ever since Chenle brought you home Friday night, you had stayed cooped up inside, trying to make sense of every last encounter the evening had entailed and ceaselessly replaying every moment in your mind like a broken record. The way his demeanor switched from one extreme to the other so quickly was off-putting, as were Lucas’s words about the boy and his mysterious venture to the east side. Top it all off with the vague excuses about his strange disappearance into that ominous alleyway, and you’re thoroughly unnerved.

You never should have doubted your first impression of the place, because somewhere, somehow, it’s not quite right. You’re sure of this. Below the surface something is lurking, and now that your curiosity has been sparked for better or for worse, there’s no backing down.

“Hey, Chenle,” you reply, hoping the reluctance in your voice isn’t too evident. In an instant it seems like all eyes turn towards you, as if your association with him is a coveted rite of passage. Greasers and Socs alike stop to stare at the two of you, gazes sharp and shrewd.

The attention doesn’t faze him whatsoever. “Don’t mind them, it’s normal. You’ll get used to it.”

You shrug, fixing one of your sleeves and opting to regard the tiled floor with excessive interest, thinking solely about how you can’t escape this hallway soon enough.

“Where’s your first class?”

So you tell him, and he walks you there, undoubtedly earning a few looks from those already inside. The teacher is nowhere to be found, and two boys linger by the large window at the back of the classroom, sneaking a few cigarettes. At first you don’t believe you’ve ever seen them in your life, but your opinion changes abruptly upon laying eyes on their non-smoking companions: you recognize them as the same greasers from the drive-in, Kun and Lucas.

They must have gotten into some sort of trouble, because the former of the two has a black eye and a busted lip. The latter clearly didn’t fare much better, attested by the scrapes visible on his exposed arms and littering the sloped curve of his throat, and the unnamed greasers display similar afflictions on the parts of them that aren't concealed by shiny dark leather. That makes four, you conclude, so they’ve got to be the owners of the other two silhouettes that joined Kun’s and Lucas’s as they bolted from the lot.

Resentful scowls are briefly exchanged between the rivals, and Chenle’s hand leaves the small of your back when he turns to go. This leaves you to find an empty desk, but by the time their silent staring contest had ended many more students had filed in, so now you’re stuck in a seat that’s much nearer to the greasers than he would approve of.

You’ve decisively learned their names once the teacher finishes calling roll, Xiaojun and Hendery being the two new additions. All four of their voices sound much gentler than you had anticipated, but maybe it’s just the setting. You can still recall Lucas’s thunderous tone from the other night and its occasional ringing in your ears.

The class itself goes by rather quickly. In what seems like the blink of an eye you’re packing up your things and starting for the door, but the greasers’ formidable figures block your path, preventing your exit.

“You,” the one named Hendery glowers. “You see these bruises?” He rolls up one sleeve to unveil a sickly-colored canvas of black and blue spots, embellishing his flesh like souvenirs of the pain he felt upon their infliction.

Hendery keeps his eyes on you all the while, even when yours lower to glance at his injuries. “Know how we got ’em?”

Chenle’s constant warnings to you about not so much as conversing with what he deemed the inferior social class seem relatively void now, since you suspect you won’t get anywhere without providing a response. You shake your head.

“No?” He shares a look with the rest. Of course you don’t. “I’d love to tell you, but I’m not sure you’d believe me if I did.”

Xiaojun leans over slightly as if to murmur something in Kun’s ear, though his words end up sounding anything but discreet. “He’s probably brainwashed them already.”

Growing impatient with their cryptic statements, you huff, folding your arms across your chest. “Just spit it out, would you?”

“Since you’re dying to know,” Lucas snickers threateningly, “your boyfriend and his little posse did this to us. Surprised?”

“We fought back, of course,” Kun adds. “But it’s not exactly fair when they pull switchblades on us.”

You’re caught in a stunned silence, not even bothering to correct his inaccurate reference to Chenle. They really got out of the car on Friday night just to jump these guys? Surely you could have prevented it somehow, right? Perhaps he would’ve listened if you’d said something. Or perhaps it wouldn’t have made any difference.

A sincere “I’m sorry” is about all you can muster, and it dawns on the greasers then that maybe you’re not too far gone. Xiaojun steps forward, gaze suddenly warm, and places a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t look like the type, anyway.”

“...What?”

“You don’t have to be like him and all the other Socs, you know. No one’s forcing you,” he imparts, palm lifting and moving towards your face now. “You can be different. Set an example.”

The moment his fingertips make contact with your cheek you jerk away, wide-eyed. He must mean well, but you feel like you’re falling into the hands of the enemy. You notice that his steps forward have created a gap in the broad-shouldered wall that surrounds you, so you don’t hesitate to dart past them all and out the door, seeking the boy in question. The promise of the moment passes; you’re already lost to the current.

To the greasers’ dismay, the dynamic hand of time begins to mold you into someone else. You no longer represent their hopes of ending the bitter rivalry that envelops this small town, a rivalry they don’t even know the origins of in the first place. These hopes are far-fetched, they’re well aware, but who can blame them? You can’t, for you once wanted to do the same.

As days blur into weeks, your grip on Chenle’s hand in the halls gets tighter, your actions grow less good-natured and your attitude sours. If you’re being honest with yourself, Xiaojun’s words never leave your head for one second, although they’re concealed by the public persona you had felt so much pressure to acquire. You gave into it, and you gave into everything that came with being a Soc.

Well, almost everything.

Chenle shows up on a chilly Saturday evening to take you to one of their notorious weekend house parties. It’s been months since school began, and yet you’ve never attended. In a way, you’re holding onto a piece of your former self by way of your abstinence from experiencing such a thing, but you suppose he’s not going to let you make any more excuses tonight. So you leave your true self at the door, slipping into the disguise of malice and conceit you’ve fashioned for yourself ever since you discovered its necessity in your everyday life.

“C’mon, it’s gonna be fun,” he drags out the last syllable childishly, tugging on your arm as he leads you to his car. “Promise I’ll take you home if you don’t like it?” He attempts to compromise, and it seems genuine enough.

“...Fine, but I’m holding you to that, Zhong.” You grumble, shoving his shoulder across the Mustang’s center console. He catches your hand before you can withdraw it and plush pink lips meet knuckles in a spontaneous kiss, the boy’s sly smile never faltering.

The smile reappears when you pull up to the event’s location, and he spots your slack-jawed reflection in his rear-view mirror. You had thought the homes in your neighborhood were nice, sure, but they all pale in comparison to this one. If they’re mansions, then this is a whole damn palace.

Clearly, you’ve still got a lot to learn about this place.

It takes a few minutes for him to park somewhere, seeing as the gigantic driveway is full and the small suburban lane is crowded with cars on either side. He eventually engages the manual brake a few blocks down and offers his hand as you start towards the luxurious residence, sauntering next to the road. This casual pace is quickly interrupted, however, because without warning a car speeds by and startles both of you.

Of course Chenle barrels down two-lane streets at high speeds from time to time, but in an act of blatant hypocrisy he curses out whoever is behind the wheel for nearly running you over. You crash directly into his chest when he yanks you backwards by the hips, and gasp, though it’s more due to his immediate reaction than the peril you had just narrowly avoided. His breathing feels labored against your shoulders, and the fact that he seems more shaken up than you is inappropriately comical, since a near hit-and-run is no laughing matter.

“Asshole,” he rasps, and his eyes flash with contempt as he glares at the retreating tail lights, steadily fading into the distance.

A bit unaccustomed to his touch, you pry Chenle’s hands from their position and shrug, “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

You don’t have the energy to repeat these actions when his wrist slithers around your waist one stretch of sidewalk later, simply allowing him to hold you close. Upon approaching the front yard, you can start to hear the muffled roar of rock and roll blaring inside, but your eardrums are unprepared for the sheer volume of all the improvised guitar riffs and drum solos that flood the night air when the door opens.

The person standing behind it is someone you recognize from your high school’s hallways but nothing more. Despite living here for quite some time now, you’ve never really gotten close to anyone besides Chenle and his friends.

A cold breeze nips at your skin and you’re eager to be let inside as soon as possible, but as your luck would have it this acquaintance decides to strike up a conversation with Chenle, talking about his folks hardly ever being home and how he’s always able to throw these parties. You watch warily as the host takes big swigs of the beer bottle in his hand between each sentence, nose wrinkling at its pungent odor.

It’s like you aren’t even there for a few moments, but his peripheral vision is probably hazy from the alcohol he’s consumed, and finally he steps to the side to let you and Chenle into the foyer.

Solid purple lights glare down at the partygoers from the ceiling, making every figure inside glow a blazing violet. You hear a familiar voice approaching, and Ten appears in front of you just seconds later.

“Hey, guys,” he greets, speech slurred and smile vacant. “Drinks are in the kitchen.”

The older boy begins to lead you two from the entrance and down a hallway, passing dozens of delirious bodies swaying to the deafening music along the way. It’s so loud in here that you can barely hear yourself think.

Someone drags Ten off in another direction mid-escort, but fortunately Chenle doesn’t seem to get lost, only clutching you tighter and continuing to navigate through all the crowded rooms. You reach the liquor cabinet soon after, with its contents raided and doors already ajar.

Glossy flasks of whiskey, wine, and everything in between litter the adjacent counter, along with discarded cups, some still half-full of god knows what. He manages to procure an empty and seemingly unused one from somewhere nearby, and reaches for an undisturbed bottle of vodka.

The liquid bubbles up and he takes a languid sip, letting it slide down his throat with an acidic burn he’s well accustomed to by now. He’s distracted for a moment, a moment in which you decide to snatch a cup for yourself and do just the same. You don’t smoke and you don’t drink, but to hell with that. Everyone’s always telling you to live a little, so tonight you will.

It’s darker in the kitchen than in the rest of the house, meaning that Chenle doesn’t notice you’ve grabbed the vodka until you’re lifting the rim of the cup to your lips and, consequently, coughing once you taste its contents.

“Shit, you know that’s booze, right?” He plants a slap on your back, hard enough for you to regain your breath but not quite enough to hurt.

“Of course I do, wiseass.” The chagrin dripping from your voice nearly makes him flinch, so he doesn’t ask any more questions. All he knows is that you’re bound to get wasted much faster, being a novice drinker. There’s no telling how you’ll act when you’re all boozed-up, and in a twisted sort of way, it thrills him.

You reluctantly digest more of the substance, pinching your nose in order to avoid its pungent flavor as much as possible while dealing with the unpleasant buzz it leaves behind on your tongue. But Chenle remains largely unaffected, appearing much more clear-headed in comparison to you as you begin to stammer and stumble, rapidly losing your grip on sobriety.

The alcohol makes you loosen up, and he can’t help but chuckle when you stagger into another room with him in tow, beginning to twist and shout to the Beatles song that just came on the radio. Everyone around you spins and bounces to the rhythm, crowd pulsing like a heartbeat. There’s a wide smile blooming on your face, and Chenle absolutely loves it.

He loves when you pull him in by the shoulders, loves the blissful elation glimmering in your eyes, loves how you dance like you’re the only two people in the world. This is a side of you he wouldn’t mind seeing more often.

A familiar tune by the Beach Boys follows and has everyone shouting along in tipsy delight, then the tempo relaxes. It’s a slow song.

You clasp your hands behind his neck, fingertips brushing over the soft locks of dark hair at the nape, and it feels euphoric. The way you lean your head on Chenle’s chest makes his inebriated heart race; his hands begin to sweat at the tenderness of your every breath. But no feeling is quite as euphoric as the sensation of your lips, rising to meet his own after delicately departing from their idle place against the elegant curves of his collarbones.

Awestruck, the boy freezes, yet melts at the same time. He’s heard the sayings, heard how drunken words reflect sober thoughts, and by extension he gathers that drunken actions must represent sober desires. If you’ve wanted this all along, why haven’t you said so?

Truthfully, you’ve resented yourself for it from the beginning. Developing a crush on someone so reprehensible in thought, word, and deed was never an aspiration of yours, yet here you are. Perhaps fate knew what your heart wanted before you did, but why him? He’s so…

He’s so him, but you’re you, and you suppose that’s not much better. The vows you made to uncover the secrets and the stories behind this mysterious town were broken, and you relinquished them for a fabricated identity that’s a burden to display. You did just what you said you wouldn’t and fell right into the trap.

In spite of these mistakes, hope still remains, and not just for you.

Most of the time, Chenle appears cruel and uncaring, but no one is truly and completely evil. Not even him, an Elvis-esque devil in disguise who’s polite at first but shows his true colors when he’s around the rest of his preppy, madras-wearing gang. You know this, and you’re reminded of it through his occasional gestures, miniscule but nonetheless meaningful. You remember when he holds the door or lends you the coat off his back that those parts of him are the parts you fell in lov—well, you’ve learned to appreciate. In due time, you feel as though redemption could come within Chenle’s grasp. It’s up to him to accept the invitation.

But redemption isn’t something either of you are looking very worthy of right now.

Not when mouths and hands and eyes are wandering in the middle of this makeshift dance floor. Not when you’re kissing him like this, movements so full of haste and impatience that they might just tear the very fibers of your soul apart.

He doesn’t hesitate to match your pace, easily pressing against your lips with an addictive vigor and wrapping his arms around your body. The lights, the music, and the people all fade away, becoming mere supporting roles in this romantic scene while you two steal the spotlight.

After what seems like an eternity, your lungs begin to yearn for air, so you break away just for a moment to satisfy their demands with a few gasps of oxygen. You’re all too keen to bestow more of your frenetic kisses upon Chenle’s skin, and this time your gaze falls lower than his lips, ravenously eyeing the area beneath. You don’t get very far down his neck, though, because a better idea comes to you, and now you’re all but tripping over your own two feet as you haphazardly guide the boy out of the crowd.

It’s true that Chenle is no stranger to what goes on at Soc parties. He’s seen it all, so he’s quite familiar with the visual of couples coming and going, sneaking in and out of spare bedrooms to fool around. Chenle is also smart enough to know that such a short-lived impulse is far from a good idea, and if his gut feeling is any indication, he has a pretty good idea of where this is going—or where you want it to go, at least.

He lets himself be stolen away and follows your shaky footsteps down one of the house’s many corridors, your grasp on his wrist shockingly firm given your current state of mind. He lets your lips meet his once again, not even two seconds after you fling open a random door and slam it shut behind the both of you. He lets your warm breath fan over him and he lets your hands roam his torso. But the moment he feels you pull on his shirt, as soon as it comes untucked from the waistband of his jeans, he intervenes.

Chenle’s moral compass may be skewed, but at least he knows better than to let that happen.

“Easy, easy,” he cautions, escaping the position of being caught between your figure and the wall. “We both know you’d regret it in the morning.”

You only hum in protest, reaching out a stray palm to tug yourself closer so you can plant more kisses along his jaw, but it’s obvious that you’re fighting a losing battle. He proves resolute, despite it taking nearly all of his strength and self-control for him to push you away a second time. Reluctant as you may be to suppress such newfound and passionate displays of affection, you comply, touch melting into a more innocent one. “Fine…”

Context is crucial, however, and it’s something that Sicheng severely lacks. He happens to be passing through the hallway when he glimpses one of the bedroom doors opening up, and the sight of both of you exiting is enough to make him assume the outrageous.

In a mix of disbelief and amusement, his eyebrows arch beyond his bangs. You look dazed, eyes glassy as you cling to Chenle’s side, and he doesn’t seem to mind at all, placing a casual arm at your waist. What else is Sicheng supposed to think?

So he only laughs at the younger boy, dismissing his attempts to explain. “Dude, we didn’t—”

“Sure, you didn’t. I’m not stupid, Chenle, I know that look.”

Realizing the effort is useless, he decides it’s easier to agree than continue to argue. Chenle sighs and returns Sicheng’s insistent remarks with a shrug of resignation, “Yeah, but I’m gonna take them home.”

“You had booze?”

“A little. I’ll be fine.”

It really isn’t that far between this house and yours, plus the roads are virtually empty in the middle of the night. Except for a close call or two in the form of nearly driving up onto the sidewalk or colliding with a street lamp, you both make it back safely, though Chenle isn’t looking forward to your admonishments for being under the influence.

On the bright side, you’ve sobered up slightly by the time you get there, your body having had several minutes to process the alcohol it’s been flooded with. After being brought along on so many late-night escapades by his group of friends, you obtained a spare house key in case of any possible emergencies. With droopy eyelids you manage to recall where said key is located, and though the term ‘emergency’ is ill-defined at the moment, you deem it necessary for the current situation. It’s at least a small stroke of luck in this atypical evening.

He watches you dig through a potted plant on the side of your porch until you remove your hand from the dirt, triumphantly hoisting the small metal object into the air.

Sure enough, the lock turns. So does your companion, but you catch him by the jacket.

“Stay.”

You’ve never been more glad that you come from a family of such heavy sleepers. Even in the darkness of the house you can see Chenle’s eyes, as round as saucers in frightened anticipation of a discovery that never happens. The creak of the stairs makes no difference, and you easily reach the second floor without incident.

All that’s left for him to do is remove his outerwear and crawl underneath these unbelievably soft-looking blankets of yours, so warm and so tempting. The added heat from a second occupant, namely you, doesn’t hurt either. But he stops short, an unfamiliar sentiment clawing at him from the inside.

Is he, the Zhong Chenle, actually nervous?

It may sound absurd, because of course he’s been nervous before. What makes this particular instance different is that he’s never had the time to actually acknowledge such a feeling’s presence in his own heart like he does right now. He’s nervous to be close to you in more ways than one, and to label you as anything more than a friend to him. He’s nervous, and it’s all because of you.

You. You bring out something new in Chenle, something that’s like fabric snagging on a roughened edge. He’s caught, entangled in you. You’re the best kind of thorn in his side, giving him an aching feeling that perhaps the life he’s always known isn’t the only life to live.

His friends say he’s going soft, which they never do without also casting a pointed glance in your direction. It’s a fact, unavoidable and undeniable, that you’ve rubbed off on him.

Most stunningly of all, Chenle is starting to think that’s not such a bad thing anymore.

But this sort of intoxicated self-reflection is hardly an instantaneous process. More thoughts soon begin to infiltrate his head, pertinent and irrelevant alike, and Chenle finds himself pondering more deeply than he ever has before. He sits there on the edge of your duvet, listening to your breaths level out as you presumably drift off to sleep, still clad in the same clothes you had worn to the party.

Maybe it’s the vodka talking, but if you had asked him to give up everything then and there, he would have listened.

Too bad you’re passed out cold when he’s just reached his most persuadable mentality.

At last the act of contemplation becomes too overwhelming for his dwindling consciousness, so he gives in to the sweet embrace of rest. Tomorrow will bring a headache, for sure, but a part of him hopes it will also bring some recollection of these revelations.

And bring a headache it does. Except it’s not the kind he was expecting.

“Chenle!”

His ears ring and his forehead throbs with the volume of your harsh warning, albeit a whisper, but it’s loud nonetheless. There’s barely any time for the boy to register what the hell is happening, his only explanation coming in the form of a singular, second-long image: his discarded jacket flying across the room and a satin avalanche of pillows drawing near, about to obscure his vision.

The cushions produce a soft thump against Chenle’s figure, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when another voice that definitely doesn’t belong to you sounds throughout the room. Oh.

“How was the party?”

“Fun,” you assure your father with an authentic but strained statement, trying to hide the exhaustion and apprehension in your voice. He seems to buy it, and makes a few offhand comments before resuming his strides down the upstairs hallway.

Realizing that the door’s been left ajar, you move to close it, but out of nowhere he appears in the entryway once more. Your very own surprise sends you tumbling backwards onto your bed in order to hide the suspiciously human-shaped lump covered by the sheets. Chenle winces underneath the abrupt pressure, his sleepy mind and body still adjusting to the jarring surroundings in a way that’s far from desirable.

“I almost forgot, honey. Your mother and I were thinking—are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Your words begin to slur as panic builds in your chest, all while you mentally apologize to the boy you’re currently and unwillingly smothering for all the early-morning commotion.

Your father can’t leave the room soon enough, but thankfully he shuts the door this time. Chenle is nearly gasping for air by the time you snatch the blankets away, letting out a sigh that’s just slightly overdramatic.

“Geez, what was that for?”

“I had to! You know my folks would kill me if they knew I brought a boy home from a party, much less saw him in my bed!”

“But they know me,” he counters.

“…Not really.”

Chenle is confused by this. He studies your downcast expression regretfully, the space between you instantly filling up with a thick and brooding tension.

Like most parents of west side kids, yours have remained blissfully ignorant of the Socs’ antics thus far, and you hope it stays that way. They’re quite possibly the only ones who know the true you, for that matter, seeing as you’ve never once altered your demeanor at home. It’s always been an escape from the demands of having a vivacious social life over the course of these past few months.

So they don’t really know Chenle, and when you’re outside their walls they don’t really know you, either. You’re living a lie, an illusion that’s wearing off and wearing you down. Sooner or later, the wool’s bound to be pulled from their eyes, and the eyes of everyone else.

Ultimately the memories of last night that came crashing down as soon as you opened your eyes this morning, however hazy they may be, are more than sufficient to convince you of one thing: your little charade has gone on for far too long. You simply can’t keep it up. “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” He breathes out with large, curious eyes, tinted red and the tiniest bit puffy from his hangover. Oh god, you must look far worse. Your dad didn’t notice, did he?

It’s no matter; Chenle commands your attention again as he moves the conversation along with an admission of his own. “Well, I do, too. You first,” the boy insists, in a voice that’s far too cheerful for what you’re about to reveal.

“I don’t want to be a Soc anymore.”

There’s a pause. For a moment, he’s baffled by the initial shock of the sentence, as its words completely oppose his entire perception of you. Or it seems like they should.

But he’s no fool. Chenle has undoubtedly picked up on your reluctance to join his and his friends’ schemes, yet you always give in. You’ve likely undergone the same sort of character transformation he felt like carrying out the night before. Unless…

A fear, irrational and ridiculous as it is, worms its way into his thoughts, injecting an unchecked fury into the response he gives before you even have a second to elaborate. With a start, he pushes himself upwards to stand, towering over your slouching figure that still remains seated on the fluffy mattress.

“What did they say to you?” He seethes, already forming a mental hit list that contains the names of four certain someones. They must have put you up to this. He’ll kill them. He’ll—

“What are you talking about, Chenle? Who?”

“That crowd of hoods!” His tone is assumptive and bitter. You’ve never heard such a sting in his words, even with all the risky confrontations he’s gotten into. “You’re just like them. They put you up to this, right? They’re only using you to use me—”

“Calm down,” you stutter out, not used to dealing with his volatile emotions when they’re directed at you. “No one put me up to anything!”

A breath of relief leaves you when he stops throwing around such accusations, and instead stalks over to one of the windows in your room. It’s silent, and oddly so, while he inspects its view as if he’s anticipating the sight of a few leathery figures beneath, huddled behind some bushes.

“I’m telling you, there’s no one there.”

“Do you swear?”

You fail to suppress a disapproving scoff; you shouldn’t have expected anything less from him. “Yes. I swear.”

He turns around, pacing back towards the bed and reclaiming his spot beside you. The fire in his eyes dissipates.

“This is exactly what I mean,” you admit softly. “I see how you act, and it makes me realize that I’m tired of pretending.”

“What?” His voice is timid now, cautious, as if the indestructible walls he’s built up around himself for so many years have come tumbling down and he’s left powerless, vulnerable.

“It’s like all you want to do is pick a fight or drink and smoke and party. I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay with the way you live, and I’m tired of pretending I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for someone like you. But I need to stop telling myself that you can change because it’s clearly too much to ask.” The conviction in your speech is remarkable, and it makes Chenle wish he was more like you instead of himself.

The question he asks next is probably—no, definitely stupid, but he does it anyway. For peace of mind.

“So… you’re not a greaser?”

“God, no. And I don’t want to be one. All I’m trying to say is that I’m not fond of how you spend your time, and I’d rather not be involved in it.” Gaze meeting his, you return the questioning look on the boy’s face with a sad smile of your own.

“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but—”

Before you can get another word out, you feel two strong arms envelop you in a hug.

The sudden embrace lasts for a few minutes, or perhaps for just a few seconds; you aren’t sure. It feels like heaven either way. Soon you feel a vibration against your shoulder, right where his face is buried. Upon asking him to repeat himself, you finally make out a small “I wanna change,” and you think you might be dreaming.

“Really?” A nod. “How do I know you’re not still drunk?”

“I’ve been sober since I woke up, I swear.” Chenle lifts his head, eyes shining under the light emanating from your ceiling. “I’m starting to see that I’ve done a lot of bad things. You’ve helped me realize that. But I don’t really know how to do good ones. Can you…”

“I’ll help you,” you pledge, arms still wrapped around his middle and hands absentmindedly toying with the fabric of his undershirt. He smiles, warm and true, and your heart is now fluttering for multiple reasons.

Actually, you have a request of your own, and it’s a bit impromptu. You can’t help it. Your feelings for the boy have swelled and reached a new level after hearing him accept some accountability by admitting to such things. To say the least, you’re proud of him.

“Since we’ve gotten that out of the way,” you change the subject almost inappropriately quickly, taking a shaky breath prior to speaking again. “Can I…”

The way you trail off and glance downwards to trace the angles of his face with your vision is enough to reveal your intentions. His lips have never looked more inviting, and this time it’s his turn to approve with a small tip of his head.

“Are you still drunk?” He questions, raising an eyebrow.

You hum and look away, flustered by the suggestion. “No! I really like you, Chenle…”

“Then yes. As long as you don’t try to take my clothes off again,” he teases. Just because he’s willing to give up messing with others doesn’t mean he’ll stop messing with you. You’re too cute and you make it far too easy.

“Don’t remind me," you cringe.

Chenle bursts into laughter at the reaction, but the eagerness of your kiss swiftly cuts off the sound.

It’s somewhat different from when you kissed him last night. Now you’re fully aware, more deliberate in your movements, but the same amount of zeal remains. His hands come to rest gingerly behind your head and yours grip his sides in desperation, the moment in itself a mix of soft and strong. Once again he mirrors your speed and uses just as much force, enough to send you backwards at one point.

The image of you crashing onto your bed urges him to take more drastic action, so he wastes no time in leaning down to pepper light pecks along your skin. Chenle allows you to return the favor some moments later, delighting in every feeling, every sensation, and only stopping when the rhythm between you slows down naturally. You hold him close, lazily nuzzling into his chest as you press kisses wherever you can reach.

With the morning’s sunshine filtering in through the windows and your arms around him, a new day has begun for Chenle. If he’s going to change his tune, it has to be now. He may have everything, but the one thing he can't stand to lose is you.

He just didn’t expect it to be this difficult.

While Chenle’s trying so hard to make a change, everyone else at school isn’t. The dynamic is tense as always, and corridors and classrooms are full of students with glares so piercing they could bore holes into the steel lockers.

Other Socs flock to his side, not even uttering a greeting and instead launching into conversations about their next act of hostility against the greasers to establish some sort of superiority. No matter what they do, it’ll never be enough, they’ll never be satisfied. The closest they could ever get to having a ‘last laugh’ would entail eradicating the east side itself.

If someone had asked Chenle a few months ago, he wouldn’t so much as hesitate to endorse such a plan. But now, he knows better. Much better.

Anytime he feels his long-ingrained social instincts start to kick in, he squeezes your hand, an action that passes under the radar of all except you. Or so you think.

Yangyang notices his uncharacteristic denial of a cigarette. Ten is shocked when he passes up the chance to jump a couple of younger greasers walking home. Sicheng can’t believe his refusal of a party invite. His three closest friends could become your biggest obstacles.

So when they all insist that both of you join them at a local diner after school one day, you know exactly what it’s about.

By the time you arrive they’re already occupying a booth in the corner, each boy holding a cherry-topped milkshake or an ice cream cone. The oldest spots you first and the rest follow suit, gazes as cold as the desserts in their hands.

After ordering treats of your own, Ten waves you over, motioning to the empty side of the table. No one speaks at first, until Yangyang gets impatient enough to slam his chocolate shake down with a huff.

“What the hell is up with you, man?”

Chenle feigns confusion with a clueless expression, but it fails. “Don’t give me that look, Zhong.”

Sicheng echoes the younger’s question. “What’s going on?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk.” He feels your foot nudge his beneath the table, giving him a boost of confidence.

“I just don’t like living this way anymore. It feels wrong and I’m not proud of the person I’ve been, okay?”

The boys stare blankly, dumbfounded.

“...Living as a Soc, you mean?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

A chorus of protests erupts, everyone at the table beginning to shout except for you. The other customers look over with contempt, rolling their eyes and trying to return to their private discussions. Kids will be kids.

“You can’t do that!”

“Are you crazy?”

“You’re practically king of the school!”

“I know, I know! I don’t care,” he declares. “I’ve decided I don’t want any part of this. If I’m labeled an outcast, so be it.”

“Oh really?” Ten turns his gaze towards you, and you instantly feel small. “Tell me, Chenle. Did they have something to do with this?”

“Yeah, what’s with that?” Yangyang jumps in. “They come along and all of a sudden you have a conscience?”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” you argue adamantly. “It was his decision, not mine.”

Confirming your words, the aforementioned boy nods. “I may have gotten a bit of a wake-up call from them, but this is what I want to do.”

The three hum, exchanging glances in the silence that encompasses your five-person group. Distant chatter fills the rest of the room, but it doesn’t interfere. They’re all starting to follow his logic, but whether or not they’ll follow in his footsteps is still up in the air.

“What about us, then?” Sicheng inquires stoically.

Chenle takes a final sip from his milkshake glass. “If you ever come to the same realization that I did, you’re free to join me.”

At his signal, you slide out of the booth and he does the same, displaying his newfound habit of holding your waist shortly after.

“But it’s your call.”

Ten, Yangyang, and Sicheng look on, open-mouthed and astounded, as you both stride out of the doors.

What just happened?

You’re asking yourself the same question weeks later, when you’re sitting in the familiar front seat of Chenle’s car. He’s walking out of the school’s main entrance, beaming from ear to ear.

“You’ll never guess what I just did,” he chatters, settling in behind the wheel and beginning to back out of his parking space.

“Hm?”

“I asked Kun and his gang to meet me downtown this weekend, to talk things out.” Chenle sounds pleased with this arrangement, but your gut twists. “Are… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not? It’ll be like making a truce; I’ll just say we’re square.”

You explain that you have a bad feeling about the whole thing, but he continues to assure you, saying that it’ll be fine. Eventually you relent, but only after he promises to bring you with him.

“You should ask the other guys to come with you, too. Safety in numbers.”

“Ah, I dunno. They’ve barely spoken to me since that day at the diner.”

Though Chenle’s a happier and much less hostile person now, you see the flicker of hurt in his eyes when he remembers how his friends chose to stay behind, to cling to their old mindsets as they’ve always done. He doesn’t hold it against them, but he wishes things could have been different.

And his altered demeanor hasn’t gone unnoticed by the greasers, either. They find it off-putting, since they’ve never known a Soc to treat them like they’re anything more than an inconvenience. Lucas especially doesn’t like the sound of Chenle’s request. None of them do, really, but he’s the only one that’s able to get his hands on a surefire way to make sure the boy doesn’t try anything.

On the selected day, almost every street is bustling with activity. Every street except the block the two parties agreed to meet on, conveniently. As you near the location, the rate at which your stomach turns begins to increase. You can feel something heavy lingering in the air, and your brain is screaming at you to turn around. You have half a mind to reach over and yank the wheel in the opposite direction, but this will be good for Chenle.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself for the rest of the drive, and the words keep repeating even when you step out of the Mustang. A clock tower tolls nearby, signaling the top of the hour, and just like that, it’s time.

“Just stay here,” Chenle advises. “I didn’t mention that you were coming, so if they see you they might think I’m up to something.”

Pretty sure they already do. That’s what you want to say, anyway, but you remain quiet.

Four figures await at the end of this chosen alleyway, which lets out onto an equally empty road. One of them peeks around a shallow corner between the buildings and alerts the rest as soon as they see Chenle making his approach. Lucas slips a large hand into the pocket of his jeans.

You're anxiously leaning against the side of his car, where he had told you to wait. Once the boy turns down the thin passageway and you become unable to see him, the pounding of your heart grows louder in your ears, now overpowering the buzzing sounds of the town’s center. You can’t help but notice how narrow of a space it is. Surely he wouldn’t have much room to turn around and run? If need be, of course.

But as time goes on, the unlikelihood of that scenario seems to shrink.

This was a bad idea from the start, because how are they supposed to recognize that his intentions are good? After years of only having only bad ones, surely they’re jaded enough to think it’s all a ruse.

You don’t know why you start to run, why your legs begin to carry you faster than they’ve ever carried you before, but a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach guides your accelerating footsteps.

“Look, guys, I don’t want any trouble.” He’s trying his best, but Chenle’s efforts to explain that he’s got nothing to hide, no tricks up his sleeve, are in vain.

“Right.” Hendery deadpans. “What’d you say… you wanna talk, right?”

They have him backed up against a dumpster and facing the street he entered from, meaning that the quartet’s backs are turned to you. Even Lucas’s frame is tall enough to temporarily obscure the sight of a lone figure, your figure, charging down the alley and towards the group. None of them see you coming.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You run faster.

“Yes! Yes, that’s all. Just talk.” He takes a step forward, one stupid step. One too many. “Gimme a chance to—”

Bang.

Several things happen then, all in the span of about half a second. With a strength you weren’t even aware of possessing, you burst through the gang’s barricade-like stance to tug Chenle to the side. Unfortunately, it’s at this moment that your footing decides to fail you, and you end up essentially switching places with him.

The tallest of the five boys looks on in pure horror as the lead bullet punctures not Chenle’s arm, but yours.

What’s most surprising to you, though, is the fact that you don’t fall to your knees or pass out. Not at first. You just stand there, trying not to look down at the place where your shirt’s been torn by the projectile, leaving behind a scarlet wound that smells distinctively of rust.

Movies always made it seem much more dramatic.

Someone’s screaming. Maybe it’s you. Everything is muffled, your vision is fuzzy. Chenle’s next to you and his mouth is moving but you don’t hear any sound come out, feeling only a dull pain in your ear from the presumably high volume.

The pain. It reaches you slowly, like paper absorbing a droplet of ink, flooding your left shoulder and surging all the way down to the ends of your fingers.

So much for managing his hostility. Chenle is spewing obscenities at all the greasers while simultaneously recovering from his own wave of shock, stunned by what he so narrowly avoided and by what you put yourself in imminent danger of.

By now, the gun has clattered to the ground, and Kun turns his attention to his companions. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out who brought the weapon as it’s laying right next to a pair of distinctive shoes, some dirtied high-tops that he knows belong to Lucas. The man’s face is nearly ashen, struck with regret.

“Bringing a heater? Really?” Kun reprimands him. “You didn’t even think to mention that, did you? I know we all had our doubts, but this?” Xiaojun reinforces the admonishments, sticking close to Hendery while they decide whether or not to offer help.

Lucas doesn’t respond, his only movement being when he kneels down next to Chenle as he tends to your now-crumbling form, but the hand he extends is quickly swatted away. Curses are still flying under the youngest’s breath in order to keep his mind and mouth busy, too busy to cry, while he wraps his letterman jacket around your upper arm.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, trying to reassure you and himself at the same time.

You retain no memory of the ambulance ride or of your arrival at the hospital. The next time you open your eyes, you’re told that two days have passed, and you’ve already had surgery on your shoulder.

An off-white ceiling glares down at you, but the presence beside you is far more comforting. Along with a nurse, Chenle’s face is visible in your peripheral vision, and you can see your whole family standing at the foot of your bed as well.

She notices the way your face brightens a bit, some of its normal color returning. “He’s been here holding your hand the whole time. Except during the surgery, of course.” The nurse finishes her thought with a smile, expression warm and kind. Chenle squeezes your palm in his, standing up and stepping outside into the hall to let those you’re closest with have some time with you.

As the door opens, seven sets of eyes snap towards it, only three of which Chenle was expecting.

“What are you doing here?”

Xiaojun, Hendery, Kun, and Lucas appear the most apologetic he’s ever seen. Granted, such an emotion doesn’t make its presence known on their faces very often, but there’s a first time for everything.

“We came to see them.”

“And to say sorry.”

“I don’t think so,” he starts, but Ten catches him by the wrist. “Give ’em a chance. We’ve been talking.” Chenle looks to the others, and Yangyang nods, followed by Sicheng.

So when your family exits the room and your mother waves Chenle back in, all seven of the boys follow him.

It’s a bit overwhelming to see eight faces peering down at you, but even more puzzling to you in your groggy state is their dynamic. No one’s arguing or trying to start a fight, and if it weren’t for the difference in attire, you’d believe they were part of the same friend group.

Apologies are given, though they’re not just from Lucas. Among the rest of the guys, numerous expressions of shame and remorse are exchanged, too. It’s most likely the direness of your situation that’s to blame for their heightened awareness of emotions, but the incident itself seems to have been the incitement of change that they all needed. If it can happen to them, what’s stopping the effects from rippling throughout the whole town?

A contented grin on your lips, you lift your good arm to wave at the boys as they exit. The sun has gone down at this point, and your family just returned with dinner for themselves. Your food rests on a tray that the same nurse from earlier brought a few minutes ago, and Chenle has reclaimed his spot at your side, as faithful as ever. He knows he'd be the one in a hospital bed right now if it wasn’t for you.

The boy gently pecks your cheek, his loving gesture enough to melt away any pain that might have remained.

“Thank you, Chenle.”

“For what?”

“For everything.” You chuckle a bit, “There's no one I’d rather jump in front of a bullet for.”

“Don’t say that!” But he laughs along.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Chenle whispers softly, just like he did some 48 hours prior. And this time, he believes it.

309 notes · View notes

fallen-gravity · 4 years ago

Text

Intellectual Adequacy

Stan hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but he knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

Notes: In which one little plot bunny that was preventing me from getting any work done becomes its own rabbit hole.

I genuinely cannot believe that in the six-seven years I've been in this fandom, I've never tried my hand at the fix-it-fic where Stan and Ford just talk it out as teenagers, just like they should've in canon. I've seen a lot of different approaches, but I feel like I've yet to see one that tackles it from the perspective of Stan's own battle with his self-worth, rather than the actions he or Ford have already taken.

AO3

Stan hates the principal’s office more than anywhere else in the world.

He swears, he’s called down every other week for something that’s not even his fault. He punched Crampelter in the nose for harassing some poor freshman? Principal’s office. He talks back to a teacher calling his classmate stupid for forgetting an “obvious” geometry equation? Principal’s office. He accidentally drops his pencil during an exam and bends over to pick it up? He must be cheating. Principal’s office.

If you asked him, the whole idea of sending kids to the principal’s office is pointless to begin with. Oh, you did something bad, and now we’re gonna make the big man in charge tell your mommy and daddy? How old do these people think they are?

Stan wishes he could say that this time is okay because they’re not even talking to him. They’re talking up a storm to Ford in there about another college scholarship and all the reasons why he and he alone would be the perfect candidate for some random school all the way out in California

But it’s not okay, because the longer Stan sits in the dumb waiting room the more he’s starting to feel like chopped liver. They’ve been in there for at least five minutes with no sign of stopping anytime soon, but every time Stan asks the secretary if he can just go back to class already she dismisses him with a wave of her hand and it’ll be your turn soon, sit back down.

He’s thinking of just sneaking out the next time the secretary buries her nose back into her magazine. It’s simple: just wait for her to pull it out from her desk, sneak by as quick as he can, and slip out the door and back to class before she can even notice he’s gone.

He stands from his chair, pretending to stretch and preparing to execute, but freezes solid when he hears his name being spoken from within the principal’s office.

“…What about our little free spirit Stanley?”

It’s Ma, and whatever it is they’re talking about in there, she isn’t happy about it. Frowning, Stan glances over at the secretary to make sure that she isn’t staring at him, and presses his ear to the office door to listen to their conversation more carefully.

The principal laughs in response. “That clown? At this rate he’ll be lucky if he graduates high school”

Stan’s taken aback by the harsh choice of words, but if he knows Ford, then he won’t just sit there and let the principal talk about him like that. He presses his ear further into the door, waiting for Ford to interrupt the principal’s rambling about how he’s never going to amount to anything with you just don’t know him like I do, or something along those lines, but it never comes.

Not a single interjection that…anything he’s saying is wrong. Not from Pa, not from Ford….and not even from Ma.

They don’t…all really believe that, right?

There has to be something else he’s missing. He bets they’re defending his honor right now, and the reason they’re not making a big scene about it is because they’re in public.

Yeah.

He’s got nothing to worry about.

He peeks into the window, expecting to see Ma glaring daggers into the principal, or Ford silently cursing him out behind his back, but what he’s met with is so much worse. Ma and Pa are exchanging warm smiles, and Ford is frantically shaking hands with the principal, beaming brighter than Stan’s ever seen in his entire life.

Matter of fact, Stan’s not sure he’s ever seen any of them look so happy in his entire life.

He’s worthless, he’ll never go anywhere, and they’re all smiling about it.

Stan’s heart drops to his stomach, and he slides to the floor to join it.

Is this some kind of cruel joke? Were they expecting him to listen in on their conversation? Is this their cruel workaround of telling him he’ll never amount to shit?

He sighs.

He stays there on the cold tiled floor for what feels like hours, contemplating all the times he’s been called dumb, or stupid, or a terrible influence on his brother. All of those times when he could brush it off just because it was coming from someone he didn’t care about.

But worthless?

Behind his back, spoken directly to people he loves, and they won’t even bother to defend him?

That one’s new, and if Stan is going to be completely honest with himself, it’s much harder to brush off his shoulders than all those other times.

Stan doesn’t even notice the office door opening until it nearly smacks him in the back of his head. He quickly jumps to his feet and brushes himself off, pretending the best that he can that he wasn’t just eavesdropping on them for the past ten minutes.

“Stanley!” Ford comes bursting out of the room, his grin threatening to split his face in two. “I just received the most incredible news! The admissions team at West Coast Tech heard about my science fair project, and-”

The beam suddenly slips from his face, replaced with some sort of mix of confusion and concern. “Is...Something wrong?”

Stan rubs at his eyes to make sure he hadn’t started tearing up without realizing it, but no, his eyes are bone dry.

Curse Ford’s stupid ability to read his mind.

Stan covers up the gesture of rubbing at his eyes with a yawn, and stretches his arms in the air. “Nothing except you taking forever in there” he flashes a fake smile easily. “Talk about a blabbermouth, am I right?” Stan gestures towards the principal with his thumb.

Ford laughs, and returns his gaze to the pamphlet in his hands. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think he’s so bad”

Stan opens his mouth to quip back, but Ford doesn’t seem to be paying much attention anymore. He’s just staring at that dumb pamphlet, his grin slowly but surely returning to his face again.

Instead, Stan shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs, turning his gaze to the floor. “Yeah, I guess you’re right”

~~~

Stan feels like he’s in a haze for the rest of the day. Even when he tries to focus on class to take his mind off of things and redirect it on anything else, he can’t get his mind to stick. Not even final period gym class can save him, which is really saying something, because the gymnasium is usually the one place where he thrives.

Worthless.

The word won’t stop bouncing around in his skull, hitting him where he’s most sensitive.

It doesn’t help a thing that Ford is dead silent on their walk home from school. He’s usually chatting up a storm to Stan about stuff he doesn’t really understand, and under normal circumstances Stan can’t wait to get home so he can bury his head in his pillow and drown out the sound of Ford’s babbling.

But today he’s not even looking in Stan’s direction, just burying his nose in the West Coast Tech brochure with stars in his eyes, and now Stan wants nothing more than to hear Ford babbling on about his advanced physics classes.

It’s almost insulting.

Stan sighs, and lightly taps on Ford’s shoulder to catch his attention. “Can we talk?”

“Hmm?” Ford blinks, like he needs a few moments to readjust to reality. “Oh! Of course. I was actually planning on asking you the same thing” he places the brochure in his pocket. “Same place as always?”

Stan nods. “Same place as always”.

It’s a quick change of direction and a shortcut to the beach before they find themselves on their old swing set. By now they’re both too heavy to use it properly without a risk of snapping it, but they still find it’s a good place to go when they just need to get away and talk.

“You’re not really thinking of going to that stuffy old school, are you?” Stan asks as soon as Ford sits on the swing beside him. “They’ve gotta be crazy if they think four more years of essays and exams are better lookin’ than tanned babes and gold chains. We’re so close to finishing up the Stan-O-War. Soon as graduation rolls around we’re outta here, just like we always promised”.

Ford chuckles. “That is a nice thought, but…” he pulls the brochure out of his pocket again, and unfolds it for Stan to see. “You have to understand that I can’t just pass up an opportunity like this. Maybe I don’t need a degree from any old state school, but this is West Coast Tech we’re talking about!” he beams, the stars returning to his eyes. “They’ve got cutting edge technology and multidimensional paradigm theory”

Stan rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but admit to himself it’s nice to have his brother back again after an entire day of radio silence.

“Beep boop, giant nerd robot oncoming” Stan punches Ford in the arm.

Ford’s grin only widens. “I figured you’d say that, but it’s too late to change my mind. The head of admissions already flew in this morning, and with my go-ahead they’re going to check out my science fair project later tonight and let me know then and there if they want me at their school”

“Well that seems kind of harsh” Stan quips. “What if they say no?”

Ford shrugs. “Well, then it’s like you said. If they don’t want me, you and I sail off on the Stan-O War and never look back”.

Stan frowns at the strong emphasis on if. He really thinks he’s going to get this, doesn’t he? Stan can’t exactly blame him when he’s been the reigning valedictorian of their class every year since they were kids.

“And if they say yes?”

Ford grins. “Well, then you better visit me on the other side of the country” he punches Stan in the shoulder, and stands to his feet without saying another word.

Stan can’t bring himself to join him. He knows that Ford didn’t mean anything by it, but he can’t help feel wounded by his brother’s implication that while he’s off in California having the time of his life, Stan’s still gonna be stuck living with their parents in New Jersey.

It’s just like their principal said. He’ll never amount to anything anyway, so why wouldn’t he stay in New Jersey? Where else would a worthless piece of shit like him end up?

Stan shifts on his swing and watches as Ford walks away, and he can’t help but wonder just how much of the principal’s tangent that Ford believed.

All of it?

Some of it?

Had Ford even been listening to what he said at all?

As he continues to watch his brother walk away, he can’t help the feeling in his gut that he has to know. He hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but Stan knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

“Yeah?” Ford says, turning around to face him. Stan suddenly finds himself very aware of his heart loudly pounding against his chest, but he forces himself to squash that down. He’s never felt shy or anxious about asking his brother anything, and he sure as hell isn’t letting that start now.

“You don’t…uh,” he swallows. “You don’t think I’m…worthless, do you?”

Ford looks appalled. He neatly folds the brochure back into his pocket and starts walking- no, jogging, almost sprinting back to the swing set. He pauses in front of the empty swing beside Stan for a moment, like he’s debating whether he should sit down or not, but eventually he shakes his head and sits down anyway.

“What on earth makes you say that?” There’s a hint of anger to his tone, but Stan’s not entirely convinced it’s directed at him. “Why would I think you’re worthless? You’re my twin brother! What could’ve possibly put the idea in your head that I thought that?”

There’s a tiny voice in the back of his head screaming at him to back out, brush it off with a joke and have this conversation later, but there’s an even louder voice shouting at him that it needs to be had now.

Stan sighs. “I…overheard everything in the principal’s office today”

Ford blinks, like he doesn’t understand a word that Stan just said. “About…West Coast Tech? Is this because you’re afraid that I’ll get in, but you know you won’t because you’re not even interested in applying anyway, but you know you’re going to miss me, and you’re not sure if you can handle-”

“About me, Sixer!” Stan shouts, and tries his damn hardest to ignore the waver in his voice. “He practically called me a useless piece of shit directly to Ma and Pa and neither of them said a word about it!” He scrubs his hands down his face because he’s not choking up, not over something so pointless and stupid. “You’re going to travel the world and become the smartest person the scientific community has ever seen, or whatever, but me? Apparently I’ll always be stuck here in New Jersey to pick up after everyone else’s messes, because that’s all I’m ever good for”

Stan buries his face in his hands. He hadn’t meant to blow up, and he certainly hadn’t meant to direct his anger at Ford, but he just feels so hopeless, and he’s the only one around who’s willing to listen. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ford returned with anger of his own, or told him off for being selfish, or even if he just decided to stand up and walk away from him for being such an embarrassment.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy. Stan is so convinced that he must’ve driven Ford away that when he feels a hand on his shoulder he nearly jumps a mile out of his skin. When he finally pulls his hands out of his face to meet Ford’s eyes, his face is flushed pink and he looks…embarrassed.

“Stan, I had no idea, I…” he awkwardly pulls his hand away and grips tightly to the chain of his swing. Stan can see Ford’s face shifting through about a dozen different emotions at once. “I…must’ve been too focused on everything else to realize he was saying those things about you.” He shakes his head. “I know it’s not an excuse, but…” he sighs. “I’m sorry”

There’s another bout of silence between them. Stan’s half-expecting that to be the end of it, and for Ford to walk away without another word.

But Ford breaks the silence with a sigh, and when Stan glances over at him he’s staring down at the ground.

“If it’s any consolation...you’re much smarter than me in a lot more places than you realize”

Okay, now Stan has to laugh. “Okay, now you’re being too nice to me. You don’t need to lie to make me feel better”

“I’m serious!” Ford’s cheeks flush pink again, and he adjusts his glasses before returning his gaze towards Stan. “There’s actually been a fascinating number of studies about intelligence lately, and, well…” Ford’s face is turning redder by the minute, Stan swears. “It turns out that…there’s more than one type”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “You’re losing me here, Sixer”

“Well, you see, I thrive in academic intelligence. Math, science, history, you know, school stuff. That’s the most commonly known type of intelligence because a lot of our formative years are based on it”

Stan doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrow even further.

“But,” Ford continues quickly, “They’ve also made discoveries about the existence of social intelligence”

“Social?” Stan blinks, suddenly finding himself significantly more interested. “You mean like talking to people and stuff?”

Ford nods. “Precisely. They say people with high social intelligence are much better at picking up on social cues, and can make friends with others much easier than those with lower social intelligence.” Ford kicks at the sand. “The reason social intelligence hasn’t been recognized is because it’s often mistaken for having a friendly personality”. His face flushes pink again, like he’s afraid he said the wrong thing. “Not that a person can’t have both, but…”

Stan smirks, nudging at Ford with his elbow. “Stanford Pines, are you calling your good-for-nothing brother intelligent?” He teases, but can’t help the genuine smile creeping to his face.

“Think about it!” Ford throws an arm into the air, the other one tightly gripped on the swing to prevent himself from falling off. “Every time Ma and Pa leave us in charge of the shop so they can go to Atlantic City for the weekend, who’s the one bringing in all the customers? Who’s the one selling out our daily stock less than two hours after we’re open? You are, Stan, just by being yourself. You know how to persuade people into buying our stock at ten times the listed price.”

“You can’t learn that from twelve years of public school. They can try to teach you, but at the end of the day it’s all about your ability to connect with people” Ford rubs at his arm. “I’ve tried teaching myself those kinds of tricks for years, but at the end of the day…” he shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to catch up.” He smiles. “I raise my white flag to you, Stan. You’ve outsmarted the smartest brother in the world”

Stan chuckles. “Try telling that to Principal Comb-over. He hears you saying the so-called dumbest clown in the entire school system is smarter than you and he’s going to cart you away to the loony bin”

Ford laughs. “You know, now that I think about it, there may actually be a way to tell him off for what he said about you and get away with it scott-free”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? How so?”

Ford smirks. “I think you should try to graduate out of spite”

Stan’s not sure he follows. “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean, think about it” Ford stands from his swing and begins to pace back and forth. “The principal called both of us down even though he only wanted to speak to me, and then he talked shit about you even though he knew you were sitting right outside his door?” he pauses in his pacing. “Stan, he knew that you could hear him. Maybe he didn’t intend for you to listen in when he was talking to Ma and Pa about my scholarship opportunity, but he knew you’d be listening the moment you were brought up in the conversation”

That’s…true. Stan was just about to sneak out before he heard them say his name.

“He’s expecting you to fail, and he wants to put it in everyone else’s head too. He thinks it’s the easy way out, because if you choose to fail out on your own than he doesn’t have to take responsibility for being such a shitty educator. It gives him the chance to say look how he didn’t even try instead of look at how we failed him.”

“But if you proved him wrong? Imagine the look on his face when he has to be the one to place that diploma in your hand. Imagine him having to look you dead in the eyes and tell you he’s proud of you. You’ll know he’s speaking bullshit, but he knows he can’t talk shit about you anymore without making himself look bad.” Ford smirks. “Matter of fact, imagine the looks on the faces of everyone who’s ever doubted you walking across that stage. Pa alone is gonna have a heart attack”

Ford’s smile softens. “I already know that you’re much smarter than you’re given credit for, and I think it’s about time that everyone else recognizes that too”.

Stan’s cheeks burn red, and he shyly kicks at the sand. “Heh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He says. “But even if I did manage to graduate, what am I supposed to do with a high school diploma? Every job application I’ve been skinning through recently says college, college, college”

“Well…” Ford taps at his chin. “Then why not go out for college?”

Okay, now he’s taking things too far.

“Pardon?” Stan mocks, because if Ford thinks that Stan’s going to willingly take four more years of classes than maybe he should be carted away to a loony bin.

“I’m serious!” Ford blushes. “Maybe not a high intensity school like West Coast Tech, but college is so much more freeing than high school, Stanley. It’s not class after class on subjects that other people tell you to take. It’s personalized. If you hate science class so much, you never have to take another science class again”

Ford’s blush darkens. “I know that school is a big drag and all, but if you asked me?” he averts his gaze. “I think you’d really benefit from business school. Charisma and social intelligence is the number one thing that big name businesses are looking for, and I know you’re filled to the brim with both. Ultimately it is your decision, but…” Ford fiddles with his thumbs. “Just…just consider it, okay?”

For a brief moment, Stan just wants to burst out into hysterical laughter. Ford’s been offered the opportunity of a lifetime at one of the best schools in the country, and he’s still taking the time to help out his good-for-nothing brother who’s been cheating off of his exams for the past ten years.

Instead he settles for a roll of his eyes. “Alright, Professor Poindexter, I’ll consider it”

Ford giggles at that, and for a few moments neither of them says anything, watching the waves gently lapping on the beach in the short distance. It’s a comfortable silence, a reassuring sort of feeling that Stan hasn’t felt in a long time.

The frantic beeping of Pa’s wristwatch interrupts them, and both boys flinch at the sound in unison. For a moment Stan is worried that Pa’s standing behind them having heard every word, but when he glances over at Ford, he sees him rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal that he’s the one wearing the watch, and clicks the alarm off.

“Pa made me borrow it so I wouldn’t be late for the presentation with the school board” he rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “I’ll probably give it back as soon as I get home tonight”

Stan smirks. “You still hate the sound of that thing too, huh?”

“I can still hear it in my nightmares,” Ford exaggerates, his eyes going wide, and the twins burst into laughter as they both stand from the swings and stretch their arms and legs to wake them up from sitting for so long.

Ford wipes at his eye as he fidgets with the wristwatch. “So…do you think you’re going to be okay?”

That in itself is a pretty loaded question that could take him all night to answer, but all things considering…

“Yeah,” Stan smiles. “I think I’ll be okay”

Ford smiles back, and gestures with his thumb towards the direction of the pawn shop. “Then I’m going to head home and get ready for my presentation. You coming?”

Stan shakes his head. “I think I’ll stay out here and just…watch the ocean for a little while longer”

Ford’s smile softens, but he doesn’t say anything else. He turns heel and walks back towards the house, and it feels as though a giant weight has just been lifted off of Stan’s chest. He glances back to watch Ford go, but finds comfort in the feeling that he feels nothing at all.

~~~

Nearly five hours later, Stan sits at home, watching television on the couch to pass the time. Just out of the corner of his eye he sees Ford slip into the kitchen and gently click the door closed. Stan shuts the TV off, and spins around on the couch to face his brother.

“Well?” Stan asks, though he knows he doesn’t even need to bother asking, given that Ford looks like he’s about to burst. With a shaking hand, Ford reaches into his pocket and pulls out a glinting white envelope.

If he’s trying to keep an air of mystery about it, he’s doing a really bad job, because all at once his composure breaks and the smile that spreads across his face looks as though it could burn out the sun.

“They loved me!” He shouts, excitedly pacing the floor. “They told me they’ve never seen anyone else like me!”

His smile is so contagious that it hurts.

Perhaps another day, in another timeline, Stan would take offense to Ford’s excitement to bounce off to the other end of the country without him. Perhaps he’d even lash out, or do something he would’ve immediately regretted.

But here and now, Stan couldn’t be happier for his brother if he tried.

#my writing #gravity falls #stan twins #stan pines #ford pines

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ladyeliot · 4 years ago

Photo

PS I LOVE YOU

This One-shot is for @mostly-marvel-musings’s “600 follower challenge.” Thank you for doing this!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Tony's death he decides to create a "plan" to say goodbye to you.

Warnings: Fluff and Extremely Sad.

Word count: 2593

A/N: I cried a little bit writing it. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

This is perhaps the saddest, as well as the most romantic, story you will ever read. Yours. The fantastic, like the quotidian, was in your day to day life. You made the most important decision of your life, to give your heart to the one you loved, even though you knew there would come a day when he would break it. Tony Stark was not an ordinary man, in any sense, but he was the man you wanted to share your life with, the man who drove you crazy in every way, but also the man who made you smile every morning when you woke up next to him.

Like other married couples you had your ups and downs, his work at Stark Industries took up a lot of his time, but what really bothered you was his second job as Iron Man. Every time he put on that suit, your heart would crack, and it wasn't until he returned to your side that it would be forged again. Fear took over as the years went by, but all you could do was support him 100%, because it was his choice.

After the snap, you realised the opportunity that had presented in front of you, an opportunity among millions that the vast majority did not have, you were together, to move on and to have a new beginning. But still a wide guilt rolled around you, “why us?” The years passed and though you chose to drastically change your life, to move away from the big city and find a nest of love and peace, you knew that Tony's mind was still working, searching for an answer and a solution, realising it when the group of avengers came to ask for his help.

A considerable period of time has passed since all these events, but you know that it was this that triggered you to find yourself standing in front of the lake with one of Tony's closest friends right now.

"Before he left for his mission," Happy began, "he asked me to give this to you if anything happened to him.

You wiped away a tear that slid down your left cheek before you looked at him. Tony had made his choice and you supported him all the way, but you never believed that the pain could consume you like that. You focused your gaze on a small device Happy held in his hands, it was tiny, metal and had a small button.

"What is it?" you asked, taking it between your fingers.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea Y/N."

You took a deep breath and pressed the button lightly. Instantly a hologram of Tony appeared before the two of you. You almost lost your balance in surprise, you didn't expect to find him in front of your eyes, sitting in a chair, in his Tom Ford suit.

"Hi honey!" said little hologram Tony waving his hand. "I hope you're not watching this, but in case you are, that means Happy has delivered it to you and I'm not with you right now."

You put a hand to your face trying to hide the pain you were feeling as you listened to him speak again. Little Tony was also silent for a moment.

"Anyway," he got up from the armchair he was sitting in. "I have a plan! I couldn't leave for the mission without saying goodbye to you, well in fact I just did and quite well, right now you're in the bedroom trying to pull yourself together— " Tony flashed a half smile and shook his head.

You couldn't help but smile at those words.

"Well, on to what we're going.Honey, I hope this doesn't get into your hands, but if it does, I have a thousand things to tell you and it's impossible for me to do it right now. I was hoping to have enough time to tell you for the rest of our lives, but it's not going to be possible," he sat back down and clasped his hands together. "Listen, ever since the guys came to pay me that visit and we realised we could turn things around, I couldn't get the idea out of my head that something might go wrong with the mission, and you know how I am when I get an idea in my head." Tony laughed and it brought a smile to your face. Tony laughed and it brought a smile to your face. "I've been planning this ever since, I've thought about all the things I'd want to tell you that I haven't told you and all those special dates I'd love to spend with you that I won't be able to. So I have a plan! And I need you, honey, to help me," the little hologram got up from the couch again and put his hands in his pocket and approached the camera. "First of all I need you to wipe the tears off your face and show that beautiful smile to the world, and Happy too, but except for the smile thing," you both let out a small laugh between tears. "Secondly, I hope you're wearing that black dress I like so much, the one with the back slit, you know," you rolled your eyes and nodded, you were wearing it."And thirdly, I wish I didn't have to ask you this, but I need you to go to the lab, in the safe you'll find a letter, it's the first of several that will be coming to you." Tony lowered his gaze. "I can't tell you when you'll get more, but I promise they'll arrive when you least expect them.By the way, the password you already know what it is, on our wedding day— "

In the background, your voice could be heard, urging Tony to return to the room.

"I'm coming honey!" after he responds he turned his attention back to the camera. "Sorry, my beautiful wife claims me," you smiled and sighed approaching the camera, meeting Tony's face in its fullness. "Honey, you know you're my only weakness. I love you."

Just as he had appeared the hologram disappeared and a void formed again in your heart. You took a deep breath trying to undo the lump in your throat and taking in every word he had said. You looked at Happy who looked as puzzled as you were.

"Did you know about this?" you asked with mixed feelings.

"I promise I didn't," Happy held up his hands in innocence.

You quickly walked away from the lake and headed towards your cabin, people had left a couple of hours ago, but Happy had chosen to stay with you. You opened the door quickly, followed by your friend and you both walked down to Tony's lab. His things were just as he had left them a couple of weeks ago, as no one had gone in there. You made your way to the safe, hidden behind one of the works of art, and entered the password.

Just as Tony had said, there it was, a white envelope with your name on it, next to a set of clothes, waiting for you to take it in your hands and open it. Before you did so, you looked at Happy who seemed to be anxious to discover the contents as well. You didn't know what Tony's "Plan" was, nor if it would be beneficial or painful for you, but that mattered little at that moment, because all you needed was to see him, to hear him, or in this case to read what he had written.

You opened the envelope and read it:

"Hello honey,

I guess if you are reading this envelope you will have seen the holography and I guess it is the "day", so I have a surprise prepared for you, read carefully. What I need you to do is to get everyone out of the house, Happy can stay, take off that dress, Happy won't be there when you do that, and put on the clothes I've left with the letter.

When you're ready, just tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to brief you on the use of your armour. I know, I know you've never been in favour of it, but you need it. F.R.I.D.A.Y will explain everything you need to know, you just let go, trust me. Go out and free yourself, eat the world.

PS I LOVE YOU"

That was one of the first letters Tony had planned for you. As time went on, they came to you once a month, as well as on special days, such as your birthday, his birthday, your anniversary, etc. He had planned every minute of those days. Tony knew you so well that he knew what you might be thinking, or how you were feeling. On the one hand, he covered the loneliness you felt without him, but on the other hand he made you feel even emptier and reminded you that he would never be with you again and you could never spend those moments together.

At first it was rewarding, but as time went on you realised that it was impossible to evolve, you had entered a loop from which it was impossible to get out. You spent your days waiting for a letter that might not arrive, and wondering when his "plan" would come to an end and if you were ready for it. Happy was supportive in that sense and tried to keep you grounded, as you both knew Tony best.

One evening you were doing what Tony had instructed you to do in the last letter you had received, the one for your fifth wedding anniversary. Along with it Tony had sent you a black dress along with a pair of high heels, informing you that you were not to leave the house before 8.00 p.m. and to head for the lakeshore when you were ready.

Happy was sitting on the couch trying to hide his concern about the situation that had dragged on for two years. After finishing your touch-ups you said goodbye to him and complied with Tony's details. You had no idea what you were going to find, but as you left, you could see a small square table in the distance, decorated with candles, waiting for you. As you arrived you noticed that a faint song began to play through a small speaker hidden behind some flowers, your song.

"I guess thanks for that, F.R.I.D.A.Y," you said looking at the diamond bracelet Tony had given you when you got engaged that was connected to his AI.

"It was me," you turned around to find Happy's voice behind you.

You frowned and looked at him, realising that he was holding a pair of white envelopes in his hands. A state of nervousness and confusion took over your body, and without being able to say a word you pointed to his hands.

"These are the last of them," he whispered, stepping in front of you and handing them to you.

You smiled, finding tears gathering in your eyes, and nodded, taking them in your hands.

"I'm sorry Y/N," Happy said with a shake of his face. "He made me promise not to tell you anything, and I couldn't refuse to help him either. Even if I wasn't totally on board with this crazy plan. You know how he is."

"I know," you bit your lower lip smiling and wiping the tears from your eyes.

"They're the last ones," he repeated again. "After today, you'll have to move on without them."

After those words Happy went back the way he had come, and instead of taking a seat at the table you approached the edge of the lake. You had before you the last words Tony had written to you. One of the letters read "To the love of my life", while the other read "To that person". Puzzled, you opened the one that said "To the love of my life" first.

"Hello again honey.

How is everything going, is Happy still keeping his nerves under control in this situation? I hope he is and that he has delivered this letter to you.By the way I don't know how the situation has developed, but don't be angry with him, I made him promise not to tell you anything until it's all over, and as you can see that's the point.

The thing is, I'm not going to be able to write any more, today is the last day before I leave for the mission, and if you've finally been getting all the letters, this has to be the last one. I just made you the recording that Happy will give you if things don't go as planned, and you are begging me to come back to our bedroom with you.

I guess everything I needed to tell you I haven't been able to do, you know there are a lot of things I'm good at, but in expressing my feelings in words I've never really excelled.

I'd love to know what you're thinking right now, or how you feel about the "plan" I've created. Although I also don't know if you've been able to make it this far, or if you've decided not to go through with it anymore. Happy has orders that the moment you say "enough" it's all over, I don't want you to suffer.

I just want you to be happy, I want you to be as happy as I have been by your side, I want you to show your beautiful smile to the world, I want you to get everything you want.

My honey, I'm going to dedicate these last words to tell you how you changed my life, how you offered me everything I was missing, without even knowing it. You agreed to marry me, you made us a family. And that's what I want for you.

Even though you may feel sad and insecure right now, I need you to show that you are the strongest woman I know and move forward. May you live that wonderful life you wished you had, may you do crazy things, may you meet people and fall in love. May you feel love again, may you rediscover it with someone who makes you happy and may you start a family again.

Please don't be afraid, I am well and I will be well. Don't think of me, think of yourself, and if you think of me, know that I will be watching you and taking care of you every day. I want you to know that I couldn't leave our house without thinking that you will never feel that way about anyone again, in case I don't come back.

Having said that, honey, it only remains for me to leave you a new letter, a letter for that person who restores your faith in love, who I know you will find one day. I just want you to give it to him or her when you are sure.

So sweetheart,

PS I LOVE YOU"

Requests/Taglist Open (DM)

MAIN MASTERLIST

600 Milestone Challenge Masterlist

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kissinginkitchens · 4 years ago

Text

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Five: Like Real People Do

a/n: hellooo and welcome to the next part of ybmh!! i am sooooo excited about this next chapter (and upcoming chapters😏 ). Thank you again for all of your kind words and wonderful feedback! It's always so much fun to hear from you all, so as always, feel free to come chat in my inbox once you've finished this next part. I have a feeling there will be much to discuss👀 Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual content, mentions of drowning

Word Count: 5.6k

read parts one, two, three, and four

“I’m not going,” Alani says finally, discarding the outfit in her hands onto a pile on her bed. The clock reads 7:55 pm, only five minutes before she was supposed to be at the studio. She still hadn’t selected an outfit, but her hair and makeup were still relatively intact from her shift at the café.

“You have to!” Pua whines. “You told him you would!”

“Then I’ll tell him I’m sick or something—food poisoning. Period cramps, maybe,”

She begins placing the clothes on hangers to put back in her closet, but her sister reaches for her wrists to stop her.

“You’re just nervous,” Pua says calmly, getting eye level with her older sister. “But you’ll regret it if you don’t go,”

“Go where?” a woman’s voice calls from the door frame. Their mother, Estrella, peeks her head through the cracked door.

“To a party with a cute boy,” Pua explains.

Alani shoots an icy glare at her sister before turning back to her mom. “It’s not a party. I’m working on a piece about a local musician and he’s recording some music tonight and said I could go. You know, to write about it,”

Estrella nods, not convinced. “So why don’t you wanna to go?”

“Because they almost kissed—”

“Pua!”

“Hey, hey,” Estrella cuts in. “Mija, you’re twenty-two years old, I don’t expect you to stay single forever. If you want to go out and see a cute boy, you don’t need to lie about it,”

“But I’m not lying,” Alani defends. “It’s just… complicated, and I’m trying to be professional about it.”

Estrella steps away from the doorframe and envelops her daughter in a hug. “Sometimes, you just have to do what feels right and hope for the best,”

Alani is grateful for the piece of wisdom from her mother, feeling a small weight lifted off her shoulders.

“But if I were you,” her mom continues. “I would wear the black strappy dress with those wedges.”

********

8:10. Harry checks his phone for the third time in one minute, growing more disappointed each time the same three numbers stare back at him, almost mocking. He doesn’t feel any better when the time reads 8:11.

“Can I interest you in a piña colada?” Mitch pipes up, sauntering over with a glass in each hand.

The choice of drink seemed perfect when Harry had suggested it earlier in the day, but he deeply regrets it now. Despite the tightening at the back of his throat, Harry accepts the drink and chooses to nurse it in a different corner of the room. A part of him feels guilty for being such a buzzkill around his friends these days, and he wishes more than anything that he could just enjoy living in this moment with them. Being away from Alani had produced a strange feeling in him similar to the sickness experienced when leaving home on a long vacation; Harry didn’t know exactly how to cure it, but he hoped that lots of alcohol would do the trick.

When the clock reads 8:20, he accepts that she isn’t coming and decides to make the best of a shitty situation. He drains another piña colada and joins his friends who are huddled around various instruments and sound equipment. A few more of Harry’s writer and producer friends had joined the trip temporarily, and he’s grateful, now more than ever, for their presence—it distracts him from the overwhelming emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Jeff hands Harry a microphone and some headphones while Mitch plugs a white electric guitar into the amp. The guitarist begins with some chords that the crew has been messing around with for the past couple of days: an upbeat riff reminiscent of some of Harry’s favorite 70s rock pieces. His head is spinning mildly, but he uses the feeling as inspiration. He pinches his eyes shut and tries to let the lyrics flow, but the only words coming out are “she’s driving me crazy”, so he starts with that. The group also runs with it, adding a few yells and lyrics of their own. The song isn’t coherent in the slightest, filled mostly with laughter and choppy melodies, but it’s the best Harry has felt all night. He traded the piña coladas for a glass of tequila fit snugly in the palm of his hand, and true to Mitch’s word, the giggles emerge. At one point, he shouts the words “I’m havin’ your baby”, which makes zero sense to anyone in the room, including him, but they decide that it sounds cool and keep it going.

“It’s none of your business!” Mitch calls back, voice raised in his best soprano to mimic that of a woman. The shoddy attempt makes Harry laugh even harder and his hand clutches his stomach.

They continue on for what feels like hours, but in reality has only been forty-five minutes. At 9:05, Jeff Azoff heads outside to catch his breath and cool down. As he takes a seat on the steps, a yellow Ford Bronco pulls into the lot and Alani steps out once it's parked. She emerges in a black dress that falls mid thigh and a baby pink leather jacket, making her way nervously up the steps.

“Alani,” Jeff greets warmly with cheeks flushed. “Welcome. Party’s inside.”

She shoots him a grateful smile and reaches for the studio door, slipping inside cautiously. The music had been audible a mile down the road, but it’s even more overwhelming inside. Standing on a small coffee table in the center of the room is Harry with an arm draped around a shorter man wearing a black and white Adidas shirt. His dimples are on full display and his warbled words carry over the speakers to attack her from all sides. She recognizes Mitch hunched over a guitar and Jeff Bhasker spinning in an office chair, but she can’t put names to the other faces lingering around Harry. Alani feels extremely out of place, not knowing where she belongs in all of the chaos—it all seems to her like a living Jackson Pollock painting that she can’t look away from. In the middle of his off-key rendition of Wannabe by the Spice Girls, Harry’s eyes land on Alani and his smile grows ten times wider. He puts one foot in front of the other, completely disregarding the small size of the table, but he catches himself just as Alani lunges forward to help him. This results in their two bodies pressed flush against one another, the coolness of her leather jacket versus the warmth of his intoxication.

“You made it,” he slurs.

Alani takes a small step back and clears her throat. “Yeah. Sorry I’m late,”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” Harry shrugs, his eyes lighting up when he remembers something. “There’s piña coladas! In the kitchen,”

The fact that he remembered such a detail from their previous conversations and made an effort to incorporate it into this night makes her cheeks warm.

“Okay, cool. Thanks,”

Harry scans her appearance and his stomach flutters.

“Y’look really pretty,” he offers. Alani can tell that it takes every ounce of effort to do so.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, voice small.

“Wanna get some fresh air?”

“Yes, please.”

The two of them slip out through a side door and into the backyard, stopping just before the pier. Alani doesn’t know how much of these next moments Harry will remember in the morning, which makes her feel a little more confident to share what she’s truly thinking.

“Harry, I—”

“God, you’re so pretty,” he interrupts, running a hand through his hair.

Her cheeks heat up, but she pushes past the feeling. “And you’re drunk,”

“Yeah, true. But you’re still pretty. Always think so,”

Alani searches his eyes, which are sleepy and bloodshot, but there isn’t a trace of insincerity. In this moment, she also feels the overwhelming urge to be honest—about the butterflies in her stomach that only set flight when he’s around, and the way she constantly wonders what his lips would feel like against hers. But there’s an intensity behind Harry’s gaze, despite his intoxicate state, that stops her.

“You’re making this so hard,” Alani laughs lightly, more to herself than him.

“‘M sorry,” he offers. “Don’t mean to,”

She smiles at Harry’s completely innocent reply, not knowing what to do with all of the pent up affection she has for him. A part of her simply wants to scream in his face to stop being so goddamn endearing. Instead, Alani turns on her heel to put some space between them, but stops when she feels a warm hand tug at her fingers.

“Why d’you always do that?” Harry asks, his expression a little more sober.

Alani takes a deep breath. “Do what?”

“Pull away when I get close. Did it in the car that one time. And the other time at the beach,”

There’s a beat of silence where Alani isn’t sure how to respond, but before she does, Harry releases her fingers and takes a step back.

“Wait, that was stupid. ‘M sorry if I did anything—”

“No,” Alani interrupts, taking a step closer. “You haven’t done anything wrong,”

“So why?”

She releases a breath and swallows. “I don’t know,”

It isn’t the answer Harry is looking for, but he accepts it with a slow nod. Suddenly feeling the need to flee, he takes a step onto the railing of the pier and Alani’s heart rate speeds up.

“What’re you doing?”

“S’hard to tell,” he shrugs before letting himself fall into the water below.

“Harry!” she screams, heaving over the edge of the railing to find him. The drop, unbeknownst to her, is only six feet and he’s done it many times before.

After a few seconds, Alani sees him reemerge at the surface, shaking his wet hair out. There’s a small strip of sand along the shore below, so she bolts down the stairs to meet him at the bottom.

“What the fuck?!” She cries, panic welling in the brim of her eyes. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he deadpans.

“You could’ve hurt yourself,” Alani croaks, her limbs shaking. “You—you could’ve—”

Harry reaches out to comfort her but she steps back.

“I gotta go,”

“Alani,” he says gently, but she doesn’t respond. “Alani, wait!”

She walks briskly back to the front lot, Harry close behind.

“Alani, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t follow me.” she orders.

Her words are like a dagger through his chest, but he respects her wishes and stops dead in his tracks. Harry stands soaking wet under the moonlight, feeling helpless as he watches Alani disappear into the darkness.

********

She wakes the next morning with puffy eyes and a heavy heart, still wearing the same black dress from the night before. The warm water of a morning bath eases some of the tension in her muscles, but she knows it will take a lot more to soothe the tightness in her chest.

Why do you always do that?

Do what?

Pull away.

Their conversation from the night before lingers like a nasty bruise in Alani’s mind, but she senses a bit of harsh truth in Harry’s words. She did have a bad habit of walking away when things got hard, especially concerning matters of the heart. Her instincts were all flight and no fight, so even if Alani had stayed, she isn’t sure how she would’ve explained her reasons for panicking. How do I gently pepper in the whole almost dying thing? she wonders, a lump forming at the back of her throat. Alani was only eight years-old when she nearly drowned, and though almost fourteen years had passed since then, she still vividly remembers the helplessness of sinking further under the strong tide. On nights after a particularly stressful day, Alani’s sleep is often disturbed by the sensation of her lungs slowly filling with water only to wake up drenched in sweat and clutching the sheets. She had worked hard for several years after the incident to overcome her fear of the ocean, but a part of her still couldn’t shed the debilitating need for caution. After all, it was easier to avoid the water altogether than to wade in blindly and get sucked under. Watching Harry sink into the unknown stirred the same sense of panic that Alani had felt all those years ago and threatened to undo her progress, but she quickly realized that it was the idea of losing him that had sent her into flight mode. She imagines the hollowness she would feel at the sight of waterfalls and the scent of vanilla; piña coladas—the drink and the song—tainted in her memory forever. The thought of Harry's absence was all too much to bear, but it’s how she knew that his presence must mean something. He meant something, and she couldn’t let him go.She ends her bath quickly and sifts through the first pair of clothes she can find. Suddenly none of it mattered: what she wore, how she looked, Rolling Stone—nothing but him. Alani thinks back to her mother’s words: sometimes you just have to do what feels right and hope for the best. All she needed to do was see him and the words would find themselves. The sky is overcast when she steps outside, so she quickly puts the top on Stevie and pulls out into the road, deciding to make one quick pit-stop before setting off to find him.

********

Harry’s head pounds and he feels as if the sun has been set to maximum brightness. His clothes reek of saltwater, his skin feels like sandpaper, and his mouth is the Sahara desert. None of this compares, however, to the sense of impending doom that settles in when the memories of the night before, particularly those of Alani, resurface. I’m so fucked, he groans. Harry doesn’t quite remember every detail, but he remembers enough; he remembers how pretty she looked, and reminding her of it. He feels the temporary warmth of her fingers and the coolness of her jacket pressed against his chest. There’s a bit of fuzziness between the Spice Girls and piña coladas, but then Harry remembers crashing through water and his memory gets clearer. He fucked up. He had upset Alani in some way and although he doesn’t quite know how, he knows that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make up for it. Harry sits up suddenly and the whole room spins, but he makes an effort to stand anyway. Need to see Alani, he thinks with determination, I just need to see Alani.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Mitch comments from the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee.

“What time is it?” Harry croaks.

Mitch takes a sip of coffee and checks his phone. “10:30,”

“And last night was…”

“The party?” Mitch fills in the gaps. “Yeah,”

Harry rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and takes a seat at the table. “Did...did you see Alani?”

“No. I don’t think anyone did, actually. Did you?”

“Yeah,”

“So… I’m assuming it didn’t go well?”

Harry’s throat tightens and he hopes that she at least got home safely. He can’t bear to think about anything bad happening to her on his watch.

“No,” he confirms with a sigh. “No it didn’t,”

“Are you gonna go talk to her?” Mitch prods.

“Dunno if I should. She was pretty pissed,”

Mitch thinks for a second, taking another sip of coffee. “What would Noah Calhoun do?”

Under normal circumstances, Harry would be very amused by his friend’s reference to The Notebook, but right now he’s too focused on making things right with Alani. He devises a plan of action and stands.

“On a scale of one to ten,” he starts. “How shitty do I look?”

Mitch scans his best friend over, head tilting from side to side as he considers the question. “About a 7.5.”

“Good enough.”

Harry swipes the keys to the Cadillac off the counter and slips his feet into a pair of beat up vans before heading out the door.

********

The restaurant is fairly empty, as far as Alani can tell from the back. The kitchen staff are gathered in the break room for the time being, which allows her to tiptoe around unnoticed as she grabs the necessary ingredients for her peace offering to Harry. She hurries out through the employee entrance as soon as it’s complete and the key is already turning in her car’s lock when she hears a voice over her shoulder, calling her name.

“David?” she responds, turning to face the brawny man leaning against the car that is parked beside hers.

“Hey,” he starts, offering a flash of pearly white teeth. “I know I’m not supposed to be back here, but I just wanted to talk to you,”

Alani swallows, the icy chill of the drink in her hands reminding her of what needs to be done.

“You know, now’s not really a gr—”

“I haven't stopped thinking about you,” David interrupts, taking a step closer. “Since the other day when you stopped by. I mean, I think about you all the time but…” he trails off and Alani waits awkwardly for him to finish his ill-timed confession. David takes another step towards her and rests his forearm against the hood of her car, practically boxing her in with no escape route.

“We were really great together, don’t you think?” he asks, scanning her face with his prying eyes. “I don’t even remember why we broke things off,”

Alani’s brow furrows, her mind failing to come up with a logical explanation for this very sudden and uncomfortable conversation. She hadn’t lied when she told Harry that David wasn’t her ex, but she hadn’t been entirely honest, either. They had started hooking up during her senior year of high school—mostly because he was the star swimmer on their team that all the other girls fawned over, and despite all the attention, he had wanted her. It made her feel momentarily special, though she knew he wasn’t the boyfriend type. “Just a bit of fun” is what they called it, and the arrangement worked out well until Alani’s freshman year of college when she realized that there was an entire world of opportunities waiting beyond the confines of high school. A world that had brought her Harry, who was probably going to leave just as soon as he’d arrived if she didn’t make amends quickly.

“No,” Alani says decisively, nudging his arm away. “We weren’t ‘great’ together, we weren’t even good for each other,”

“Alani-”

“We were really young,” she continues. “And we did what we did, but that’s all in the past-”

“If you would just give me a chance-”

“I didn’t even know what I wanted for myself back then, let alone what I wanted out of a partner. But I do now,”

She doesn’t have to say Harry’s name, but they’re both thinking it. David steps back, arms crossed, and though he had always been somewhat intimidating, he looks small standing before her now.

“It’s because of that British guy, isn’t it?” he asks, despite the feeling that he already knows the answer.

Alani lets out a light laugh but she doesn’t confirm his suspicions. “We have nothing in common, David. We want different things out of life, you’ll see,”

“And he,” David continues, an accusatory tone on the word “he”. “Wants everything you do?”

She thinks for a moment, her heart pounding as she considers what Harry’s response will be to her confession. “I hope so.”

********

Harry had considered going to Alani’s house first, but he wasn’t sure who else would be home and didn’t particularly want his first interaction with her parents to occur whilst hungover. Sitting parked on the back road behind the café, however, he wishes that he had stopped there first to save him the painful sight ahead. Harry recognizes the other man from the restaurant he had taken Alani to the first time they had hung out, a name that started with the letter “D," though probably not the one flashing angrily in his mind. His arm is draped comfortably along the roof of her car, their bodies inches apart in what appears to be a very intimate moment. While he still can’t remember the exact details of his actions that had upset Alani so much, he fits this piece into the puzzle and it becomes much more clear. She has a boyfriend, and no amount of apologies could reconcile this fact, however tempted Harry may be to try. The word “boyfriend” sits uncomfortably in his mind, but it suddenly puts everything else into perspective. It explains why she fled his car so quickly when his wandering eyes had hinted their desire for her kiss—both times. He could have sworn that it would have happened had her phone not interrupted them the second time, but perhaps it had all been a trick of the rose-colored light. The sudden realization makes Harry feel sick, and a bit foolish, so he speeds off before he can be spotted.

He drives aimlessly for a while, mind still racing with the image of the other man’s depraved hands on Alani’s soft skin. The uneasiness boiling in the pit of his stomach is pathetic—he’s well aware—but he can’t stop himself from wondering why not me? It’s a selfish thought, but it eats at him, nonetheless. It should have been me. But the reality is that it wasn’t him, and it never would be. Despite any feelings he’d had that Alani was the one for him, he was not the one for her, and it’s a fact he must learn to live with. If this thought were a rock, he’d turn it over in his fingers until they bled.

********

Alani pulls up to the studio hesitantly and waits a beat before making her way up the stairs. She knocks twice, but there’s no answer, so she presses her ear to the door in search of any sound. Silence. There’s no trace of the cars Harry usually drives when she wanders to the back lot, either, so she figures that he must not be here. Alani racks her brain for other possible locations, but it’s a dead end. She doesn’t know what hotel or house he could be staying at, and her heart begins to race at the idea that he might not even be in Hawaii anymore. For all she knows, he could be on a return flight to L.A. or London, gone forever with the same instructions she had left him: don’t follow me. Alani lifts her phone with trembling fingers and searches Harry’s name, pressing the phone to her ear and praying like she had never prayed before. It rings three times before she’s sent to voicemail. The sound of his voice on the recording brings temporary relief, but it’s gone as soon as the message ends and she is prompted to respond. She clears her throat gently and speaks as if he is at the other end waiting to hear the right words and pick up.

“Hi, it’s Alani,” she starts slowly. “I, uh…. I’m at the studio. I don’t think you’re here though,”

She walks in small circles around the backyard and lets her eyes roam to the pier where it all went wrong. It sends a pang of guilt through her spine, but it fuels her next words.

“Listen, I really wanna talk—about last night. I shouldn’t have left, I know that now. It wasn’t you, it was me, and I know that sounds cliché but it’s true,”

Alani swallows down the emotion bubbling at the back of her throat and wishes that she could just see him, face to face, one last time. There’s so much more she needs to say, but it’s a conversation she doesn’t want to have with his answering machine.

“Please just call me when you get this. I wanna explain everything if you’ll let me.”

She hangs up and nearly throws her phone into the ocean. Though her trauma response wasn’t completely in her control and it isn’t something she should feel guilty about, she wishes she had been able to explain. Alani hadn’t always been comfortable sharing that part of her life, but there was a security in Harry’s presence that made her feel okay to do so. She wanted to share everything with him, the good and the bad, but she needed to find him first.

Only twenty minutes had elapsed at the studio when Alani decides to head out; there was still no word from Harry and she needed to be anywhere else beside the site of their potential last meeting. She drives with no particular place in mind, the windows rolled down to let in the chilly, overcast air. It isn’t until she’s halfway in the opposite direction that she gets the urge to visit one other location. There’s an extremely small chance that Harry will be there, but she goes less in search of him and more for her own personal wallowing.

When Alani pulls up to the lookout where the two of them had spotted the rainbow, there is another car already parked: a pink Cadillac. The sight makes her entire body freeze.

“Harry?” a small voice calls behind him. He almost thinks that he had hallucinated it until he reluctantly turns his head and sees a timid Alani emerging from her car. A million emotions run through his mind at once, starting with confusion and elation and ultimately ending in grief.

“Hey,” he responds, weakly, still leaning against the hood of the Cadillac.

Alani slowly makes her way over, not entirely sure that he’s actually there. Once she gets closer, however, she can smell the faint scent of vanilla and her chest swells.

“I left you a voicemail,” is all she can say.

Harry’s brow furrows as he tries to remember any phone calls, but he suddenly figures that in all of his rush to see her, he had forgotten to grab it from his bed.

“Left my phone at the house,” he offers.

There’s a brief silence where the two of them size each other up, weighing their own motives against what they assume to be the other person’s. Harry speaks first.

“Alani, ‘m really sorry,” he says gently, stepping away from the car and towards her. “I know I fucked up—”

“Harry—”

“But I understand now,” he continues. “I know why you were upset,”

Confusion settles into Alani’s body and she wonders how he could possibly know about her accident. Or if he didn’t know, what else he could be referring to. She doesn’t have to guess for long because Harry continues despite her silence.

“I saw you with him—your boyfriend, I mean. Derek?” he explains. “But not in a creepy way I just.. wanted to talk. Bad timing,”

“Wait,” Alani cuts in, her brain finally sorting out the pieces. “You saw me and David..today?”

Harry feels as if the knife in his chest has been twisted further at the mention of the other man’s name, but he nods. An uncontrollable bubble of laughter finds its way up Alani’s throat, and the sound would typically bring butterflies to his stomach, but it only exacerbates the heartache.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Alani clarifies. “He’s delusional. And a huge pain in the ass, but I think he finally got the hint when I turned him down earlier,”

Harry’s ears perk up at the news, but he’s still wary.

“But you two were—”

“Ancient history,” Alani reassures him, taking another step closer. “He might as well be Socrates,”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Harry’s lips and he feels a wave of relief wash over his body. The news is music to his ears, but he still wants to know what he had done to make her walk away that night.

“So you weren’t upset because you have a boyfriend and I tried to make a move?”

Alani takes a deep breath, knowing that she has avoided saying her piece long enough. Before she can start, though, a rumble of thunder interrupts her thoughts.

“Can we talk in Stevie? I don’t feel like standing in wet socks again,” she asks, which Harry obliges.

The two climb into the truck and settle in, the atmosphere quickly becoming more intimate than Alani had planned. His vanilla cologne has also become more perceptible in the confined space, and there’s a whiff of spearmint, most likely his gum, that briefly draws her attention to his mouth. She snaps her mind back to the conversation at hand and clears her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, reading his eyes carefully. There’s a faint reassurance behind the emerald surface, so she continues. “For everything that happened last night. You did nothing wrong, please know that,”

Harry wishes he could reach out and comfort her, but he gets the feeling that whatever she’s about to say is important so he doesn’t want to dismiss it.

“It’s hard for me, sometimes, to be around the water,” Alani continues despite the prickling feeling in her eyes. “Because when I was eight years old, I almost drowned,”

The revelation hits Harry like a ton of bricks and all at once he understands. He hadn’t even thought twice about jumping into the water that night, so it didn’t occur to him to rule that out as a possible offense. He understands now that he couldn’t have been more mistaken.

“And I know that has nothing to do with you,” Alani explains, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “Except that it terrified me to think about, you know… if you hadn’t been so lucky,”

Her composure quickly cracks, a single tear spilling down her cheek before she wipes it away with the sleeve of her sweater. This time, Harry does reach a hand out and Alani accepts it gratefully; the warmth of his fingers are a welcome contrast to her icy appendages.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he murmurs as his thumb rubs small circles over the back of her hand.

“But I do,” she sniffles. “Because—”

Alani pauses, unsure of how to finish her thought. Just do what feels right and hope for the best.

“Because I care about you,” she says finally, noticing the way his Adam’s apple bobs at her words.

Harry's jaw tightens at her confession and every muscle in his body longs to bring her close, leaving no inch of space between them, but he lets her lead despite his instincts.

"But it’s also because I care about you that I can’t let this go any further,”

Alani’s words surprise herself just as much as they terrify Harry, but she knows that it’s the right thing to do as soon as it’s done.

“Alani—” Harry starts, all of his worst fears crashing down on him.

“Please, don’t make this harder—”

“Don’t I get a say?” he questions, tightening his grip on her hand, though she still manages to slip away.

Alani runs the free hand through her still damp waves and lets another tear roll down her cheek. “What is there left to say?”

“How about ‘I care about you, too’? How about ‘I want to be with you’?”

“It’s too messy—”

“Everyone has baggage,” Harry defends. “God knows I do, and I would never ask you to carry all of that,”

Alani lets her eyes meet his again; they’re bloodshot and glossy, which sends a pang of guilt and sorrow through her entire body.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” she reasons, this time thinking not only about her own issues, but about everything—the lies she had told and the ambitions she was still nurturing. She hadn’t given up on her dreams and unless Rolling Stone had suddenly changed their mind about the Joni Mitchell piece, there was only one way she was going to achieve them. Alani hadn’t yet reconciled the fact that she would have to put aside her own feelings for Harry to get what she wanted, but she knew that time would heal the wounds.

“All I want,” he continues. “Is a chance. And I know nothing I do will ever change the past, but two hands make the load lighter. So, please, let me carry some of that with you. Give me a chance,”

As she studies the pleading in his eyes, something stirs deeply inside Alani’s chest. She had started the day thinking only of him, but with selfish intentions. Now, she was trying to do right by him, having realized that she couldn’t have both him and the story that would launch her career. Something would have to give, and Harry deserved more than that. He deserved more than her. Despite all of this awareness, there is something else nagging in the back of her mind that she can’t ignore. Don’t walk away, it screams. If Alani ignored her true feelings for Harry and refused his plea, she would be walking away from someone who believed in her, someone who cared deeply for, and wanted to understand, her. Perhaps the universe truly had brought Harry for a story, but to be a part of hers instead of the one she had been so eager to publish. There would be other chances, just like Dr. Hudson had said, but there would never be anyone else like Harry. So with this in mind, Alani decides to stop walking away and stand still, right in this very moment, with the boy who shined brighter than the sun itself and who had only asked for a chance to make her happy.

“Okay,” she breathes and it’s like the weight of the universe has been lifted from her shoulders.

Harry leans in, their foreheads pressed together gently, and cups her cheek in his hand.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

Alani nods and nudges the tip of his nose with her own. “Please.”

Their lips meet like electrically charged magnets, with a force so natural and strong it sends bolts of electrons through their entire bodies. Harry’s mouth is warm and gentle against hers, and the coolness of his mint gum soothes the searing touch of his kiss. Alani’s fingers glide up his chest and along the sides of his neck, pulling him closer as if he’s the anchor keeping her from floating away into the dark clouds above them. Over and over again, their lips collide fervently, breaths mixing and filling each other’s lungs. Their hands eagerly explore the curves of each other’s faces, the softness of hair, and the occasional heat of exposed skin. Harry is the first to break the kiss, panting lightly as he pulls back to search Alani’s face.

“Y’okay?” he asks.

“Never been better.”

next chapter

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