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lyn31 · 20 days ago

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Oblivious

Summary:

A chaotic picnic spirals into you exposing your sister’s and Caleb's past romantic misinterpretations—until the tables turn on you.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes:

Pairing: Caleb x f!OC and Zayne x MC/Reader College AU, fluff, silly, banter, other lads NPC, let them lived in peace in this universe, very dramatic MC but that's to be expected

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The late afternoon sun casts golden light over the grass. Tara and Jenna are fighting over the last slice of pizza, Nero’s leaning against a tree with his earbuds in.

Thomas and Yvonne are setting up a makeshift badminton net, and Caleb and your sister are sharing a blanket—until inspiration strikes.

You sit up fast, eyes gleaming.

"Oh my God—remember when you thought Caleb liked me?"

Your sister groans immediately, burying her face in her hands.

"No. We are not doing this. Let it die."

Caleb, the traitor, grins and leans back on his elbows. "Oh yes, we are. Take it away."

Tara perks up. "Ooh, story time!" She nudges Jenna, who is already interested.

Zayne shifts, quiet amusement in his gaze. He knows exactly where this is going but doesn’t stop you.

You clear your throat, placing a hand dramatically over your heart. "Alright, so—high school. A simpler time. I'm just minding my business, being an amazing little sister, when this one—" you gesture at your sister "—walks up to me, dead serious, and goes—"

You grab Zayne’s arm, tugging him into your reenactment. He allows it, one brow raised, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

"I think Caleb likes you."

Nero pulls out an earbud, frowning. "Wait, what?"

Thomas abandons the badminton setup entirely, intrigued. "This already sounds good."

Yvonne smirks, arms crossed. "Oh, this is gonna be great."

You continue, eyes wide. "At first, I think she’s joking, so I just keep doing whatever I was doing. But then she doubles down—'No, I really think he likes you.'" You pause for effect, then clutch Zayne’s wrist dramatically. "And that’s when I actually look up at her and go—"

You shake Zayne’s arm lightly, voice filled with exasperation. "'What the hell are you talking about?!'"

Caleb barks out a laugh. "This is painfully accurate."

Your sister groans louder. "I hate this. Why do I have to relive this?"

Jenna waves a hand. "No, no—let her cook. This is quality content."

You nod appreciatively before launching into the next part.

"So then she starts listing all these signs that Caleb supposedly liked me. First, she says, 'He always offers to carry your stuff!' And I go—" You throw your hands in the air. "'Because he knows I stuff my bag like a medieval scribe preparing for exile!'"

Caleb shrugs. "It was ridiculously heavy."

Tara clutches Jenna’s arm. "The romance!"

Jenna pats her hand. "Stay strong, Tara."

You roll your eyes before pointing an accusatory finger at your sister. "Meanwhile, he’s literally carrying your books and slinging his arm around you like we’re in a coming-of-age romance movie."

Nero lets out a low whistle. "Damn, Caleb, I didn’t know you had that in you."

Caleb smirks. "I contain multitudes."

Your sister lets out a suffering noise, but you continue mercilessly.

"Then she goes, 'He buys you food all the time!' And I’m like—" You throw a hand to your chest. "'Because I forget to eat, and he’s scared I’ll drop dead!'"

Caleb, entirely unbothered, nods. "Still a valid concern."

Yvonne tilts her head, intrigued. "Wait, so he was buying both of you food?"

You point at her. "Exactly! But for her, it was her favorite food, without her even asking, and he remembered her coffee order perfectly."

Thomas whistles. "That’s some next-level thoughtfulness."

You snap your fingers. "That’s what I said! But no, she kept going. Next, she’s like, ‘He touches you all the time! Look, he ruffles your hair!’ And I go—" You gesture dramatically. "'Like a dog, sis. Not a lover.'"

Caleb bursts out laughing, while Zayne—who has been letting you use him as a prop this whole time—finally speaks, his voice calm but amused.

"You do have very ruffle-able hair."

You whirl on him. "Not you too!"

Everyone laughs, and your sister groans for the millionth time.

"Can we please change the subject?"

Caleb slings an arm around her shoulder, grinning. "Oh, I dunno. I think we should go over every detail again."

She shoves him, but there’s no real force behind it.

You beam, absolutely thriving in the chaos you’ve created.

“Oh, we’re far from done.” You clasp your hands together, locking eyes with your sister, who looks like she’s contemplating her life choices. “Shall I continue?”

Jenna and Tara immediately nod. Thomas abandons all pretense of badminton.

Even Nero, usually indifferent, is hooked.

Your sister looks one second away from strangling you. "I will actually murder you in your sleep."

You ignore the threat.

"So anyway! After the hair-ruffling scandal of the century, she says—"

"He always texts you first!" You shake your head dramatically. "And I'm like, 'With ‘Hey, dumbass, did you submit your essay?’'"

Caleb doesn’t even look guilty. "Hey, those reminders saved your ass more than once."

Yvonne laughs. "But what was he texting her?" She gestures to your sister.

You grin. "Did you get home safe? Or something like You seemed tired today, you okay?"

There’s a collective groan of realization.

Tara clutches her heart. "That is so sweet, what the hell?"

Jenna side-eyes your sister. "And you thought he liked your sister?"

Your sister, fully mortified, waves her hands. "Okay, but in my defense, I was blinded by stupid crush feelings! I wasn’t thinking clearly!"

Caleb smirks. "You were definitely not thinking clearly."

She glares at him, and you know that if she weren’t so flustered, she’d have a comeback. But she doesn’t. And Caleb looks far too satisfied about that.

Which means you have to keep going.

"And then! The ultimate proof! She goes, 'He gave you his jacket when it was cold!' And I go—" You gesture at Zayne, expecting him to already know his line.

Without missing a beat, Zayne deadpans, "Because I was shivering and he was wearing two."

You point at him, grinning. "Exactly! A perfectly logical explanation! And if that’s a sign of love, then I guess Zayne was already setting the standard, because he did all that for me too."

Zayne, mid-sip, pauses—just for a fraction of a second—before continuing like nothing happened.

Yvonne raises an eyebrow. "Wait, so Caleb was out here making romantic gestures, and Zayne was just… doing the same thing?"

You shrug. "Yeah, but Zayne wasn’t in love with me back then. He was just being Zayne."

Zayne makes a small, almost amused sound—something between a scoff and a chuckle. You turn to him, suspicious, but he only takes another slow sip of water, deliberately not meeting your gaze.

Jenna catches it immediately, her eyes narrowing. "Ohhh. Interesting."

"Not interesting," Zayne corrects smoothly, finally looking at her. "Just factual."

Jenna smirks. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Zayne doesn’t argue, but the way his fingers tap lightly against his water bottle betrays him.

Meanwhile, Yvonne whistles lowly. "That’s some romance drama novel behavior."

Nero, usually unbothered by everything, nods. "Textbook obliviousness."

Jenna leans in, eyes sparkling. "Okay, but what finally convinced you she was wrong?"

You dramatically point to Caleb. "Because then this idiot walked in!"

Right on cue, Caleb leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. "And what did I say?"

You roll your eyes but mimic his voice perfectly. "Hey, I got you that book you were talking about." You turn to the group. "And then he pulls out a first edition of her favorite childhood book that she has been hunting down like it’s nothing."

Tara smacks Jenna’s arm. "Are you hearing this?! That’s final boss-level love confession nonsense!"

Jenna, meanwhile, is pointing an accusing finger at your sister. "And you still thought he liked your sister instead of you even after that?"

Your sister groans. "Not after that, okay?!"

Caleb smirks at her. "Oh? What changed?"

She shoots him a warning look, but that only makes his smirk grow. You swear she’s turning pink.

And just because you love chaos, you sigh wistfully. "Honestly, it was so obvious. The way you looked at him? The way he looked at you?" You place a hand over your chest. "True love."

Your sister kicks your leg. "Shut up."

Caleb, looking entirely too pleased, leans back and stretches. "Well, we got there eventually."

Tara clasps her hands together. "And now you’re disgustingly cute and gross in a whole new way!"

Thomas nods sagely. "A beautiful evolution."

Yvonne sighs dramatically. "And here I thought I was coming to the park to relax."

"Anyway!" You clap your hands together. "That’s the tragic and hilarious tale of how my sister thought Caleb was into me."

Jenna sighs happily. "A masterpiece of romantic miscommunication."

Tara raises a pretend glass. "To love, and to being blind to it."

Everyone cheers, even Zayne, who taps his water bottle against Tara’s raised hand.

And your sister, burying her face in Caleb’s shoulder to hide her embarrassment, groans one last time.

"I hate all of you."

You barely have time to bask before Caleb smirks and leans in. "Okay, but you two were even worse."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

Zayne raises an eyebrow, amused but making no effort to intervene.

Your sister, finally recovering from her embarrassment, pounces on the opportunity. "Oh, come on. You guys practically functioned as a couple for years without admitting it."

Jenna grins. "You were just two dumbasses waiting for the other to make a move."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "That’s not—!"

Caleb interrupts smoothly. "Really? Because I distinctly remember Zayne threatening a guy for standing too close to you, and you acting like that was normal."

You wave a hand. "It was normal!"

The group, in perfect, terrifying synchronization, shouts: "SEE?!?!"

Zayne, as always, just takes a sip of water. Meanwhile, you groan into your hands as your so-called friends revel in dragging you through the mud.

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Notes:

I forgooooooot! I meant to post this two days ago...... I thought I did.... welp.... here it is a silly one!

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hestpro · 9 months ago

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viceroywrites · 4 months ago

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deja vu - part six (ford route)

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader / ford x fem!reader

choose your own adventure / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part five | part seven

interested in stan's route? click here for the masterlist

Gdl Gzkvh. Gdl Yilgsvih. Gsv gzkvh nzb wruuvi yfg ivtziwovhh, gsv gifgs droo yv ivevzovw.

With the car all packed up, you slide into the passenger side of the car, expecting Stan to take over the wheel like he did yesterday.

To your surprise, Ford slips into the driver’s seat.

“I thought you don’t usually drive?” You question.

“Well, Stanley wanted to catch up on some sleep still on the drive back so I offered.” Ford explains, the well-crafted lie flowing off his tongue as he buckles his seatbelt.

In reality, he asked Stan if he could drive instead for the opportunity to spend more quality time with you, being met with a thinly veiled threat if Ford scratched or dented the El Diablo while being handed the keys.

The drive back to the Mystery Shack was quite peaceful.

You rolled down the window a few inches, taking in the lush green scenery as the breeze hit your face, during the smooth drive. Ford glances in the rear view mirror, seeing Stan actually asleep, Dipper having his head buried in a book while Mabel looks through the photos she took on the camping trip, both of them having a pair of earbuds in, blasting their own respective music.

“Hey, Y/N, mind opening the glove compartment? Apparently that’s where Stan keeps his CDs.” Ford asks, hoping to fill the silence to drown out his brother’s snores.

You nod, reaching forward to open the glove box and pulling out the CD case underneath all the miscellaneous papers, scratched out lottery cards and… where those fake IDs? You decide to ignore it for now, grabbing the dusty case and thumbing through Stan’s collection.

“Anything catching your eye?” Ford asks after a notable amount of time of you still looking through the CDs.

“Hmm, nothing yet. Your brother really likes disco and jazz… as well as strangely enough, Icelandic pop music.” You hum, pulling out a BABBA CD.

“That actually might be mine.” Ford admits, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m guessing you don’t remember that BABBA is one of my favorite groups.”

You glance between the CD and Ford, expecting the intellectual man before you to be listening to Holst, Chopin, Tchaikovsky or perhaps even Eurythmics.

“You listen to Icelandic pop group, BABBA?” You parrot the information back to Ford who simply nods in response, “I have every lyric memorized.”

“Prove it then.” You say, almost challenging him as you slide the disc into the car radio.

Ford takes on your challenge, singing along to the lyrics albeit slightly out of tune in his deep voice. You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your cheeks, laughing as Ford’s attempts to hit the high notes of Disco Girl.

Mabel looks up from her camera after sorting through the photos to see the two of you smiling at one another as you both sing along. She quickly turns off her flash, learning her lesson from this morning and takes a quick photo before nudging her brother.

Dipper looks at his sister with slight annoyance as she breaks his concentration, but as he looks over you and Ford, he can’t help but smile at the sight of his great uncle happy.

However, he pauses, realizing the words Ford is singing through skilled lip-reading and he rips out his earbuds to confirm what he sees.

“Great Uncle Ford, you listen to BABBA too?!”

You both look back in alarm, Ford’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment before you giggle, reaching over to poke his cheek, “Guess a love of BABBA runs in the family.” - After arriving back at the Mystery Shack and getting some much needed rest via a much needed long nap, you emerge from your room, letting out a yawn. The sun shone through the triangle shaped window, its golden orange hue signaling that it was mid-day. Your feet carrying you to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee in preparation of the night to come.

The scent of coffee hits your nostrils, catching you off guard. It appears that someone in the Pines family had a similar idea.

Expecting either Stan or Ford to be around the corner, you’re even more surprised to see Dipper standing on top of a stool, drumming his fingers against the wood of the cabinets as he waits for the coffee to finish brewing.

“Didn’t realize you drank coffee, Dipper?” You commented, walking into the kitchen to make your presence known.

“Oh hey Y/N, how was your nap?” Dipper asks. A 38-sided die that shines in Dipper’s hand catches your attention before you turn it back to him.

“It was good, much needed.” You chuckle, “Mind if I pour myself a cup of coffee myself from the pot you’re brewing?”

“Oh…” Dipper looks down at the entire pot of coffee before looking up sheepishly, “I don’t actually drink coffee, Y/N. This is for Great Uncle Ford actually. We were in the middle of a Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons game and he asked me to make him a pot to prepare for tonight.”

“The entire pot?”

“Yup.”

Somehow, this sounded like a habit that Ford developed in college from the memories you could recall of all the all-nighters you pulled with him.

“Mind if I join you downstairs to see if he’d at least let me have one cup?” You ask, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard for Ford and you.

“Sure, do you wanna join our game of Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons?” Dipper says excitedly.

“I honestly can’t say I’ve ever played it…” Dipper’s expression slightly drops, deflating a bit, “But I’d love to watch and see if I can get the hang of it to join maybe another time.” You admit, anticipating a very complex game system based on the 38-sided die.

“Trust me, it’s not that complicated once you get past the initial mechanics!” Dipper attempts to reassure you, guiding you to a part of the Mystery Shack that was starting to become eerily familiar the moment Dipper pushed aside the vending machine to reveal a set of stairs that descend down to the basement.

The basement that Ford would be holed up in night after night working on the portal.

The basement that was the setting of your nightmare last night.

You freeze at the top of the steps, a lump in your throat. Dipper realizes that you are no longer right behind him midway down the steps. He looks up at you in confusion, carefully holding the coffee pot in his hands. “Is everything okay, Y/N?”

You almost drop the coffee mugs in your hands until Dipper’s voice snaps you out of your daze. “Y-yeah, just spaced out for a second.” Taking a deep inhale through your nostrils, you start walking down the stairs, meeting up with Dipper as you both descend the stairs together.

“Great Uncle Ford told me that you, Grunkle Stan, and him are going to the Museum of History tonight to hopefully find your memories.” Dipper mentions.

You stare down at him in surprise, wondering what else Ford has told him, “Did your Grunkle Ford mention anything else?”

“No, just that Mabel and I can’t tag along… we were hoping we’d be able to help you out.” Dipper explains, “We discovered where the memories of the citizens of Gravity Falls were kept last summer… we helped Old Man McGucket get his memories back.”

Despite your perplexity surrounding how two thirteen-year olds managed to help your old friend gain his memories back, you can’t help but feel flattered at Dipper’s offer to assist, “Well I appreciate you and your sister wanting to help me even though we just met a few days ago.”

Your hand reaches down to fix the lumberjack hat that was starting to tilt down to cover Dipper’s eyes, and Dipper gives you a gratuitous smile, “You mean a lot to Great Uncle Ford so of course, we wanna help.”

Speaking of Ford, his voice calls out to Dipper, his face buried in the newest edition of the Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons rule book, “Dipper, come quickly! It looks like they brought back the Imposibeast but with a much better probability of defeating him!”

Dipper quickly dashes down the last few steps, and you follow behind him in amusement, “No way! I thought there was no way they were gonna bring him back when I saw the theories about it online.”

Ford looks up from the book, caught off guard as he sees you trailing behind Dipper who places the coffee pot on the desk and eagerly snatches it from his great uncle’s hands to take a look, “Y/N, I thought you were resting. We have a long night ahead of us.”

“Look, who’s talking.” You counter with a grin, placing the mugs down onto the desk. You glance down at it, having a brief flashback of the small of your back pressed up against the cool metal surface in your dream. Ford notices it immediately, standing up suddenly and placing a hand on your shoulder, “Are you sure you’re okay being down here?” He asks in a hushed tone, glancing over his shoulder to see Dipper still preoccupied.

You nod, placing your own hand on top of Ford’s and squeezing it gently, “I’ll be okay. I came down here to ask if I could have at least a cup of coffee from the pot.”

Your gaze flickers over to the two mugs, “Dipper mentioned you were gonna have the whole pot to yourself.”

Ford’s cheeks flush in embarrassment, reaching over to pour you a cup before pouring himself his own, “Yes, of course. I… uh… picked up the habit unfortunately during our college days.”

“I figured,” You grin at his flustered expression, finding it endearing. You take the warm mug from Ford’s hand, “Though it also wouldn’t surprise me if you were able to get through those all nighters through sheer will-power and a thirst of knowledge alone.”

Ford shakes his head, a deep chuckle escaping his lips, “Unfortunately, I have a human body that has its limitations of needing food, water and sleep to function properly. Though I always tried to test those limits.”

“Are you ready to play again, Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper asks, looking up from the rule book, “I wanna get a bit further along in the campaign we started a few weeks ago.”

“Of course, my boy.” Ford replies, taking a seat back on the floor. To his surprise, you join them on the floor, sitting between him and Dipper. “You don’t have to join us, Y/N.” There was a slight tinge of guilt in Ford’s voice, hoping you didn’t feel obligated to stay, especially knowing that you just had a nightmare within the confines of this basement.

You shake your head, “I already promised Dipper I’d stay and watch. Besides, it's better than trying to convince Stan to give up the TV. I passed him on the way to the kitchen and he’s glued to his seat, watching some historical drama.”

Dipper and Ford look at each other knowingly.

Stan was on another The Duchess Approves binge.

“Well, where did we leave off? Ah, yes! You enter the cave, lulled in by the soothing, melodic tones of a sweet song. But it’s a trap!” Ford begins to spin a tale, twirling the 38-sided die between his fingers with skill.

You watch in amusement for the next few hours, seeing the two excitedly play the game before you while you take sips from your coffee and refill Ford’s mug throughout their campaign.

While Dipper is taking his turn, Ford can’t help but relish in this moment, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of you watching intently when Dipper rolls his die, giving him a high five when he rolls a perfect 38.

Truth be told, this was a reflection of the life he had hoped you two would have at one point. Playing DDNMD with what Ford thought would be your child together.

He hoped that tonight would bring him as close to that dream as he could get after losing decades with you. - The hours flew by quickly, almost losing track of time if it weren’t for Stan descending down the stairs and telling the three of you that it was almost 10 PM.

You quickly rushed up to your room, a thankfully roomy storage room inside the Mystery Shack, to get ready. After a quick shower and changing into an all-black outfit to aid in your stealth for tonight’s journey, your fingers ran over the ink of your journal, looking through the pages of the dreams you had cataloged over the past twenty plus years.

Tonight was hopefully the night you would uncover the meaning behind them.

Slipping the journal into your black fanny pack that you are thankful you packed, you close the door of your room behind you, decked in all black attire. You pass by the living room on your way outside, seeing the peaceful scene of the twins watching Duck-tective with Soos and Melody in the living room before making your way to the front door of the Mystery Shack.

As you step out into the cool summer night, you see Stan and Ford already standing outside, their deep voices bickering. Both wearing all black attire with gloves. They practically matched aside from some clear stylistic differences in their tops - Ford wearing a black turtleneck and trench coat and Stan wearing a black t-shirt and black leather jacket.

“Am I interrupting something?” Your voice cuts through as you approach, causing the two to whip their heads around and fall quiet out of embarrassment.

“I was just telling Stanley that it would be much easier if we just bring a pair of bolt cutters, that should be enough to just cut off the lock.” Ford argues, holding up the bolt cutters.

“When you’re breaking and entering, you want to bring as little equipment as possible - otherwise, you might leave evidence at the scene!” Stan counters.

“Well, let’s ask Y/N what she thinks!” Ford says with an already triumphant tone to his voice, his hands on his hips, confident that you will take his side. The two look at you expectantly, seeking an answer to their argument.

Jeez, you wondered how these two resolved issues when it was just the two of them on a boat in the middle of the ocean.

“You did ask him to come along for his lock-picking skills, Ford.” You point out hesitantly to which Stan triumphantly pumps his arm in the air before exclaiming, “In your face, Poindexter!”

Ford sighs, about to protest, but one look from your eyes had his frustration melting away. He finally concedes, “Alright, I’ll put back the bolt cutters then.”

The three of you pile into El Diablo, the twins sitting in the front and you sitting in the back. The rest of the drive to the museum goes smoothly for the most part aside from the twins’ usual bickering and bantering.

After you arrive in front of the museum, Stan steps out to scope the area. You take this opportunity to pull out your journal, skimming through it. Ford can’t help his innate curiosity from piquing, “Is there a particular dream you’re hoping to get clarity on tonight?” You pause at the question, not answering right away before your fingers turn through the pages before landing on one page. You passed the journal over to Ford, and he took it from your hands, staring down at a symbol that Ford was familiar with.

The Cloaked Figure.

An X through an all-seeing eye.

The symbol of the Society of the Blind Eye.

“In what context does this symbol come up in dreams?” Ford asks. He knows that the only context that you probably have of this image is when your mind was erased.

“I’ve seen flashes of it here and there… The main dream I have with it involves a cloaked figure standing above me, it’s on their hood.” You share, seeing Ford’s expression turn ashen. You started to get concerned at his reaction, “Is everything okay? Do you know what this symbol means?”

Before Ford can respond, Stanley interrupts the two of you, “Hey, the coast is clear.” Ford swiftly changes the subject, slipping out of the car, “We should get going then, time is of the essence.”

You can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at Ford’s avoidance of the topic. You take a deep breath to collect yourself before following behind the twins, hoping that tonight would give you the answer if Ford wouldn’t.

You’re not sure whether to be concerned or impressed by Stan’s vast knowledge of lock-picking, but you’re grateful for it the moment the padlock comes loose, dropping onto Stan’s hand. “Great work, Stanley, that went much quicker than I had anticipated.” Ford says, pulling a flashlight to illuminate the dark museum as the three of you slip inside, shutting the door behind you.

Making your way through the museum, the figures and masks that adorn the walls and space looking creepier in the dim lighting, Ford searches for the room full of eyes that Dipper had mentioned to him during their encounter with the Society of the Blind Eye. “Hey Ford, Dipper mentioned to me that Mabel and him found Fiddleford’s memories down here. How did they even end up here?” You ask.

“Would you believe me if I were to tell you that Fiddleford started a cult?” Ford lets out a dry chuckle at the statement, glancing over his shoulder to see your look of disbelief. “You’re gonna need to elaborate on that one, Sixer.” Stan pointed out. “Honestly, at this point, I would have believed you if you told me that you and Stan were actually clones more than that.” You scoff, causing the brothers to laugh.

“When Fiddleford first invented the memory gun, I had warned him about the potential risks it could pose if it fell into the wrong hands. Unbeknownst to me, Fiddleford continued to use it to deal with his anxiety. After…” Ford paused, clearing his throat of the nervous lump that got stuck, “After the two of you left, Fiddleford created what he called the Society of the Blind Eye. Its sole purpose was to help the people of Gravity Falls cope with the weirdness they witnessed on a daily basis by forgetting. Below this museum is where they would erase their minds and store the memories after.”

You stop in your tracks, your brain seemingly buffering. Just when you thought things couldn't get stranger, there was always something that caught you off guard.

“Excuse me, one second.” You announce, walking away from Stan and Ford into another exhibit away from them.

Ford looks at Stan in confusion before both of them jump at the sound of you exclaiming.

“What the hell?!”

You walked back into the room, letting out a sigh after getting that out of your system, “Alright, let’s keep moving.”

Ford and Stan look at each other and Stan pats Ford’s shoulder sympathetically, “Better get used to that, I have a feeling that’s gonna happen a lot tonight.” - After following Stan and Ford down a pole that Ford had insisted lead to where the memories were stored, your eyes widened, taking in the sight of a room full of capsules with different names laid across the floor, and a statue of a figure in a cloak at the center of the room.

“Jeez, how many minds did that old hillbilly erase?” Stan comments, kicking aside a capsule that rolls across the floor.

“I highly doubt this was all Fiddleford’s doing. Apparently, when his mind was gone after multiple uses of the memory gun, someone took up his mantle and took the job quite seriously by the looks of it.” Ford crouched down to survey the different names on the gold tubes

“Well… where do we start?” You ask, still dumbfounded at the sheer amount of memories that seemed to have been erased.

Ford glances around the spacious room before giving an answer, “Divide and conquer is likely the best strategy. I’ll take this area over here. Stan, could you take the area on the other side of the room? Y/N, you can check the capsules that are next to that statue.”

With the directions given, the three of you split up, the sound of metal clanking against the floor with each tube tossed to the side amidst the sorting. Each new name that you read causes a pit in your stomach to form, becoming more and more hopeless about the possibility that your name would be found amongst the massive pile. Part of you wonders how many hours, days, potentially years of memories of people’s lives are lost within this room.

The hours spent searching drag along, time standing still underneath the museum. “How long have we been down here for?” Stan asks, making it halfway through a pile in the far corner of the room. Ford pulls back his sleeve to reveal a calculator watch the twins had gifted him for his birthday, “Approximately two hours, eight minutes, thirty-one seconds.”

“Should we just call it? There’s still a good chunk of the room left to sort through. We’ve already lost sleep over this.” You sigh, tossing another tube to the side.

Ford looks up from his own pile of capsules, seeing the defeated expression upon your face. He gets up and takes a seat next to you, “Listen, I didn’t drink a whole pot of coffee for us to give up halfway through the night. I’m ready to forge onward if that’s what you want but if you would like to call it, we absolutely can.”

Your eyes flick to Stan who gives a noncommittal shrug, “I’ve got the energy to keep going. I’m caught up on all my sleep during the day.”

“Alright… let’s keep going.” You say to Ford, giving him and Stan the green light to continue sorting through the piles. Ford decided to stick closer to you for a bit, helping you sort through the capsules at a much quicker pace before moving back to the other side of the room.

Reaching the end of his pile, Ford grabs the last capsule, turning it over. His eyes widened.

‘No, this can’t be…’ Ford thinks to himself.

Before he can process what he had seen, your voice cries out excitedly, “I found it!” In your hand, you hold up a capsule that reads ‘Y/N L/N Memories’

Ford’s mouth hangs open, ready to speak up. Seeing the look of relief and elation on your face, he decides against it. He puts the golden capsule in his hand into his deep trench coat pocket and rushes over to your side of the room at your announcement, “My god, it actually is here. I was starting to worry that my theory that it may be here was completely off base.” He mutters.

The two of you look down at the capsule and back up at each other. Your eyes are full of uncertainty, and his full of regret. Ford places his hand atop yours, both of you holding onto this small object that contains your memories of the man before you.

“I’m not sure what lies ahead in these memories… but words cannot express how truly sorry I am for everything that unravels moving forward.” Ford sighs, “I know you may not want comfort from the person who hurt you deeply, but if you need any clarity in what you see, I will give you those answers.”

You look down at the capsule before letting out a sigh, “Here goes nothing.”

Your hands place the capsule inside the holder, the screen flickering on the moment that it is inserted. You sit on the floor, knowing you’re in for a long viewing. Ford and Stan follow suit, sitting behind you as to go give you space.

Memories flicker onto the screen like a tape, playing back every single interaction you had with Ford.

Your first meeting in the library.

All-nighters you pulled together.

Reading under the trees in the quad, Ford’s head on your lap.

Tender kisses exchanged, his six fingers intertwined with yours, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Ford carrying you on his back as you wear your graduation attire.

Ford watches on with a bittersweet smile. It had been so long since he had reminisced on these times so to see them so clearly laid out in front of him was comforting. He wonders how he ever let this go, how he let his need to be accepted by people who only sought to use him push away this wonderful person who accepted him in and out - you.

The memories from college that were still quite murky were becoming crystal clear, everything unraveling in front of you. You could almost feel the feelings of affection towards Ford come back, the butterflies in your stomach stirring.

They suddenly drop at the sight of an offer letter to the National Parks in your hands.

You were about to knock on Ford’s door before he suddenly burst out, grabbing you and spinning you around in excitement. “Ford, put me down! What’s with all the commotion?” You chuckle, still clutching the letter in your hand.

“Y/N, my grant proposal got accepted!” Ford shared the news excitedly. Your eyes widened, and you embraced him in response, “That’s amazing, Ford! I-” Ford cuts you off, “I’ve decided that I want to study anomalies, the oddities of the world like myself… There's a sleepy town in Oregon that is a hot spot for them!”

“Oregon…? That’s so far away from here… but I suppose we could do long distance while you’re doing your research.” You mutter, clutching the paper in your hands tighter.

“Well… we don’t have to.” Ford pauses, holding you by the shoulders, “I would love for you to accompany me on this journey. Oregon is chalk full of geological findings, I’m sure you could find work out there.”

“Right…” You trail off. You had to make a decision right here and now - pursue your dream job or follow the man that you loved to support him. You knew if you shared the news with Ford, he would insist on you taking the job.

“Is everything alright, my star?” Ford asks with a furrowed brow, seeing the conflicted look in your eyes.

“Yes… I’d love to join you in Oregon.” You say, crumpling up the offer letter.

Ford watches in awe, guilt washing over him. He was not aware that you had been offered your dream job right after finishing school. What was always a joyful memory from his perspective was a choice he unknowingly forced you to make - him or your dreams. He wonders in his excitement that he took away that moment for you to shine.

“Y/N, I’m so-” Ford is about to apologize but you look back at him, shaking your head.

“Not yet, Ford. Please save any apologies for now… we still have a ways to go.” You sigh, turning back to the screen.

Ford nods in understanding, looking up to see your drive up to Gravity Falls and him gifting you the sunstone. Seeing it shine just as brightly as you did underneath the sun.

Your first year in Gravity Falls flies by, showing your adventures with Ford hunting anomalies, several nights of attempting to get Ford to go to bed at a reasonable time that seemed routine, and Fiddleford’s arrival to help with the portal. S hortly after a clip of you, Fiddleford and Ford building a snowman in the front yard of the Mystery Shack, the beginning of your dream from the night prior plays on screen. Ford’s figure whips around revealing those vibrant yellow eyes and face-splitting grin characteristic of Bill’s possession.

“Y/N, maybe we should take a break. We can always skip over this.” Ford says in concern, seeing your shoulders tense up.

“No, let’s keep going.” You reply with a tightness in your throat.

“Kid, my brother has a point, you don’t have to sit through this another time. You already have this memory back.” Stan tries to interject, knowing from first hand experience how difficult it was for him to see his memories be played back before his eyes when he and Ford were reviewing the home videos from their childhood.

“It’s going to be painful. I know that. I know what I’m getting myself into.” You snap at the two before looking over at Ford, “Please… just let me keep going.”

Stan and Ford look at each other before backing off, allowing you to continue watching the memories that play out in front of you.

You wince as the screen plays out your nightmare before your eyes. Your hand clutches your necklace tight to your chest, almost wanting to rip it off as it feels constricting, your breath picking up in pace. Your body was stuck in freeze, unable to fight or fly your way out of the scene before you.

Ford watches the screen helplessly, watching Bill use his body like a puppet. Anger and sadness washes over him, wanting nothing more than to comfort you, but worrying that it may only make things worse. A war wages in Ford’s mind, wondering whether he should just bite the bullet and give you some form of comfort.

Just as a panic attack was starting to settle in, you felt the weight of Ford’s body pressed behind you. His arms wrap around you, embracing you from behind and helping to ground you. “Breathe, Y/N. You’re safe, Bill can’t harm you any longer. I’m sorry for letting him hurt you.”

You try to follow Ford’s gentle reminder to breathe. Your lungs expand, taking that first initial deep breath in. When you try to exhale, it comes out as a soft sob. You find Ford’s hand resting on the back of your head, pulling you into his chest. Shielding you from the sight as he watches Bill stand over you with a mocking grin, distorting Ford’s features in a way that almost looks like a caricature.

When the scene finally passes, Ford instructs Stan to pause the video. Ford continues to hold onto you tightly, almost as if you were going to slip through his fingertips. You peer up from Ford’s chest, flustered after calming down at how close you two are, “Um… Ford.”

Ford looks down at you, his thumb out of habit brushing away a tear that had formed at the edge of your eyes, “Yes?” You curse in your head, feeling those butterflies in your stomach pick back up at his affectionate gesture. You clear your throat, “You can let go now, Ford. I’m okay now.”

It dawns on Ford that he was practically squeezing you against his chest, and he quickly let go of his hold on you, “M-My apologies if I was too forward with providing comfort, you may not have been ready and I could have potentially made things worse-” You silence his apologies, pressing your finger to his lips, “Ford, it’s okay… thanks for helping me stay grounded.”

This action flusters Ford even more, his cheeks turning as red as his usual sweater. “O-Of course! Let’s take a break, I’m going to investigate if there is a way to take the memory display with us at the end of the night.” Ford quickly gets up from his spot next to you, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You look around the room, trying to distract yourself from the image of Bill’s hand around your throat that still lingers at the forefront of your thoughts. Your mind is still racing at a million miles an hour, blurry images in your subconscious slowly coming into focus. Your shaky gaze ends up landing on the statue that towers before you, staring at the daunting symbol of the Society of the Blind Eye.

An X through an all-seeing eye.

Your pupils dilate as the symbol suddenly conjures up a memory that was shoved deep in the back of your head.

The symbol glaring back at you, etched atop a red hood that cloaked its wearer’s face. Staring down the barrel…. though it was more like a bulb… of the memory gun.

The cloaked figure’s hand trembling, the finger on the trigger slipping off every time it tries to pull it.

The constant shaking causes the hood to fall out of place, revealing the holder of the Memory Gun to be Fiddleford before a flash of light clouds your vision.

The sleep deprivation over the past few nights mixed with the overwhelm of all these memories flooding back, caused your body to begin to slump over, your vision blurring and making the room hazy.

‘Y/N!’

One pair of hands keep you up right to prevent you from falling over, while the other cups your cheeks, slapping them lightly to knock you out of your stupor.

“Come on, stay with me, Y/N.” Ford’s voice rasps. Feeling six fingers against your skin tells you that Ford is the one in front of you holding your face.

Your eyes flutter open to see Ford staring back at you with concern, “What did you see, Y/N?” Ford asks, having a gut feeling that another memory had resurfaced.

“I-It was Fiddleford… he was standing over me, pointing what looked like a gun at me. He had on that cloak.” You explained to the best of your ability the details of your flashback, pointing to the statue.

Ford’s expression turned grim, “Maybe it would be wise to end the evening here, we can pick back up where we left off tomorrow.” This was a memory that Ford had no part in, but felt an enormous sense of guilt over, “I… wasn’t there for that memory so perhaps we should give Fiddleford a call tomorrow.”

“Wait… I’m okay… please, let’s keep going.” You say shakily, your hand grasping his forearm. After that memory resurfaced of Fiddleford, you’re now more than ever desperate for answers. Desperate to make sense of the voices ringing in your head.

‘I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone!’

‘Stop being a distraction.’

‘You’re useless.’

‘I thought you of all people would understand what I’m up against!’

You knew at least one of them had to be Ford, and your mind was tired of playing a game of constant tug of war - leaning into those feelings of affection that were rising to the surface again or keeping your guard up due to the implied pain Ford had caused you all those years ago.

“Y/N, you almost fainted. I fear that if we continue onward, the amount of memories resurfacing may be too much for your subconscious to handle, causing a physical toll on you. Similar things occurred to Stanley when he was gaining his memories back.” Ford attempted to rationalize with you, looking to his brother for back-up.

“Kid, I usually don’t agree with my brother, but he has a point. I know we didn’t get that far but you gotta pace yourself. Otherwise, you’re not gonna have any energy for tomorrow to keep getting those memories back.” Stan chimes in.

Both brothers both had points that you couldn’t argue against - you were on a tight schedule and any days spent purely on recuperating from the overwhelm would be a day wasted. You also did get back the memory you wanted to understand the most - albeit with no context. You let out a sigh of surrender, “Ford, did you figure out if we can take the monitor with us?”

Ford blinks at your sudden question before nodding vigorously, “Yes, thankfully Fiddleford created it with portable capabilities from the looks of it.”

“Alright then, we can call it for tonight. You and I will have to make use of as much time as we have left so expect to be up early tomorrow, Ford.” You say, already concocting a schedule in your head, “Stan, thanks for tagging along tonight to help us break-in.”

“No problem! Glad I could put these skills to use again,” Stan says with a sense of pride.

A sense of relief rushes over Ford as you agree to end here for the evening. “Stanley, could you go and pull the car up so we can get the monitor out of here smoothly? Y/N, you can go with my brother to get some fresh air.”

You go along with the plan, ready to leave the eerie former meeting place of the Society of Blind Eye behind you as you follow Stan outside.

Ford is thankful that tonight went relatively smoothly, grabbing the monitor and picking it up with ease. He pulls the capsule out of the slot, moving to place it into his trench coat pocket.

Any sense of relief that Ford had felt quickly dissipates, dread flooding his system as he remembers the unknown contents of the capsule that he had found earlier.

‘Y/N L/N Memories 2.’

#gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls reader insert #ford pines x reader #ford pines x you #stanford x reader #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines x you

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cosmicstxrdust · 2 years ago

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Not Like Quill

PAIRING: adam warlock & fem! quill’s sister!reader

WC: 2.5k (longer than I intended, oof!)

SUMMARY: after your half-brother and half-sister leave, you’re left to fill in Peter’s shoes on the Guardian team. Unfortunately, Rocket can only see the faults where you lack the qualities that his best friend has. Luckily, though, a certain golden boy is always there to cheer you up.

WARNINGS: slight gotg three spoilers, fluff, angst if you squint.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: so this is my first official one shot AND first time writing for GOTG (hopefully I did a good job.) I saw GOTG3 in the theaters almost a week ago and WOW, was I surprised by Adam!! (I make it a point to not watch trailers to avoid spoilers.) I liked Will in The Dawn Treader but I haven’t seen any of his other movies since they’re not genres I usually watch, but I have been SLEEPING on this man!! I’m now obsessed with Gally (I’ve never even seen TMR but I’ve now read a ton of FFs) and, of course, Adam. So, here’s a one-shot :)

I know that Peter gave Rocket his Zune but in this scenario he gave it to you, his other half-sister. You do have powers but they’re not really mentioned here; if anyone is interested I can make a sequel/prequel.

Part 0 , Part 2

The repairs to Knowhere were going well— or at least as well as could be expected with leaders who bickered as much as the remaining Guardians. Peter and Mantis had left the planet a few weeks ago, leaving everyone quite sad at their departure. But, there were things to do so those that remained moved on as best they could in order help out. You, however, as Peter’s half-sister, had been hit harder by their departures than the others. Mantis and Peter were the only family you had, especially since the group had killed your father (not that he’d been a good one, of course.) Sure, the other Guardians had become like family to you over the years, but they weren’t blood— but this is also the only reason why you decided to stay instead of going off on your own like your siblings.

To make matters worse, the only physical reminder that you had of your brother was his Zune, which he’d left to you since you’d always stolen it anyway. Almost every day since his departure you could be found with the Zune clipped to your belt with at least one— and often both— earbuds plugged in to drown out the world. You busied yourself with helping the rest of the population repair their homes, enjoying the physical work as it tired you out too much to think about your missing family. When you weren’t working, you were training, which is how you (more officially) met one of the newest members of the Guardians, Adam. It hadn’t been the best first meeting, but that was a story for another time.

You were grateful to him for saving your brother so after he apologized for almost killing you, you forgave him pretty easily. Since you wanted to fill up your free time as much as possible, you offered to help train him because although he had powers, he’d barely been a match for the Guardians during the initial fight. You became close because of this and you found that you enjoyed his myriad of questions. You made sure to always be patient when answering him since you knew that the other Guardians were either too busy or would snap at him.

However, that was about the only good thing that had happened to you since the defeat of the High Evolutionary. The only time you really saw Rocket, Groot, Drax or Nebula was when you helped out around the headquarters or went on a mission, and even that wasn’t the same as it used to be. Rocket was a very different leader than Peter; he was, well, smarter, so that was good, but he had yet to acquire any sort of nurturing or encouraging attitude. When they trained as a team to get used to each other (as they had also added Kraglin and Viola to the group), Rocket would veer towards critical rather than critiquing.

“No, on your left, you idiot! Your other left!”

“You call that aim? Blurp could hit the target better than you!”

And, lastly, “that’s not how Quill would do it!”

Ouch. That one was always aimed at you, for anything Rocket could criticize you for. It didn’t have to just be training; sometimes he took it to ridiculous levels, either for the music you selected or the food you cooked. Anything you did, he compared you to your brother. And of course, you loved Peter; along with the other Guardians, he had saved you and Mantis from Ego and for that alone you would love him, but he had left you terribly big shoes to fill and you weren’t even the leader. You tried to hide how much Rocket’s words affected you— usually by keeping your Zune close at hand to drown him out, but they did get you down.

Even worse was his nickname for you. Although it had once been endearing, “little Quill” now felt like more of an insult— as if he knew you could never measure up to Peter. You never confronted him about this since you knew Rocket had a barbed tongue, but after being abandoned by your siblings, his words seemed to hit you harder than before. So, you kept your distance from him as best you could and tolerated it when you couldn’t.

On this particular day, you had decided to make chocolate chip cookies, which Peter had taught you to make on the first ‘Christmas’ that you’d been with the Guardians. You were really missing your brother so you plugged in your earbuds and started on the familiar recipe. In this instance, the kitchen that you were using was communal, so it was no surprise that someone else walked in on you as you baked. You didn’t notice at first, too lost in the music of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Adam had come into the kitchen after following the sweet scent that had caught his attention. He smiled a little at the sight of you standing at the counter, elbow-deep in. . . something. It was golden in color, although lighter than his skin, and flecked with black. He waved to get your attention but as usual, you were oblivious to your surroundings (and you were a fighter?) so he made his way over to you and tapped you on the shoulder.

Feeling the presence of another person, you turned around to see who it was— if it was anyone worth talking to— and when you saw that it was the (literal) golden boy, you sent him a smile and pulled one earbud out of your ear. “Hey, Adam.”

“Hi,” he replied you, still a little uncertain with less formal greetings. “What are you making? It smells really good.”

“Chocolate chip cookies,” you said. “Peter taught me how to make them. Do you want to try some?”

He looked at what was in the bowl curiously. “What does it taste like?”

“It’s sweet. If you liked the smell I’m sure you’d like the taste. Watch,” you instructed. Then you carefully picked up a small bit that had a chocolate chip in it before you at it. You closed your eyes and hummed at the delicious flavor.

Adam copied your action carefully, even going so far as to close his eyes and make the same sound— and then he repeated it more genuinely as he realized how good it was. You grinned at his reaction. “You like it, huh?” When he nodded, you added, “want to help? I’m almost at the fun part!”

“What’s that?”

“It’s where we make the cookies— this is just the batter,” you explained.

After you both washed your hands, you showed him how to form the batter into matching spheres and line them up on the baking tray. As you worked, you talked about the music you were listening to and even transferred your spare earbud to him so Adam could listen as well. Bohemian Rhapsody had become Starless by the band King Crimson. . . and of their better-known members, Adam Belew. You couldn’t help but find it amusing that Adam had the same name, and that one of the lines was “sundown dazzling day/gold through my eyes.”

As he finished forming one of the last cookies, Adam glanced up to see the hint of laughter in your expression. Although he didn’t know what was funny, he smiled back at you. For some reason that he didn’t understand, he was happy that you were happy; it was an emotion that you didn’t really seem to show that often, so the rare chance that he got to see it only made it more special. Your grin widened at you leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially: “now comes the fun part!”

He frowned with confusion. “I thought making the. . . cookies was the fun part,” he said slowly, trying out the new word.

“Sort of, but everyone knows the fun part is licking the bowl!” you exclaimed happily. “Like this.” You scraped some of the remaining batter together until it was big enough to eat before you popped it into your mouth. Together you made quick work of the remaining batter and then you put the bowl in the sink. You’d started the oven earlier, so it was ready for the tray.

After setting the timer, you made a face. “Now it’s time for the worst part: doing the dishes. Peter hated doing them so much that we usually just put them in the contamination chamber and chucked them out to space,” you explained with a giggle. “If anyone asked why we had to buy so many new dishes we just said that Peter was really clumsy.” You finished the story with a wistful look, remembering all the fun that you and your siblings had had before the Snap had ruined everything.

Adam wasn’t sure if doing the dishes was really that bad, but the happiness that had been present while making the cookies had slipped off your face, so he figured that it must be an arduous task. Wanting to spare you the discomfort, he offered: “I can do them, if you want. You did most of the work anyway.”

His suggestion pulled you back to the present and you shook your head. “You don’t have to. Since this is your first time having cookies you can just enjoy them. Next time you have to help,” you added playfully, covering up your sadness as you always did with humor— you learned that from your brother, after all.

The golden boy allowed a small smile at that, although he’d picked up on your habit. “I can wash and you can dry?”

You agreed, and soon the task was done. While you waited for the cookies to be finished you answered a few more of Adam’s questions. You found his curiosity refreshing after spending so much time with smart-ass, know-it-all teammates that wouldn’t know how to ask question if it slapped them in their face. (And yes, you did love your teammates— that’s why you could call them out on their stubbornness.)

The cookies were done about fifteen minutes later and you took them out to cool for another ten before you took one for yourself and one for Adam. You sat down next to him and bit into the warm dessert, closing your eyes again to enjoy it. As much as you liked the batter, the finished cookie was definitely better. Adam seemed to agree as he made the same sound of enjoyment from before, causing you to open your eyes and grin at him. “Good, huh?”

“Definitely,” he agreed, and he was finished with his cookie before you were done with yours.

You saw him eye the tray greedily, which caused you to laugh. “Go ahead, you can have another one.”

As he did so, the other members of the Guardians entered the room, apparently drawn by the same scent that Adam had smelled. Kraglin took his with a nod of thanks, stuffing one in his mouth as he left the room. Viola took one as curiously as Adam had, seeing as she’d never had a cookie either.

“You can take some to the other kids,” you told her— you’d made a double batch since they were pretty popular, so there was plenty. She thanked you as well and took some extra for her friends.

Then, it was Rocket’s turn. After the rest of his reactions to whatever you did, you found yourself holding your breath as you waited for his opinion. It only took a moment before he pronounced: “not bad, Little Quill.” You perked up at that, eyes wide with hope that you had finally done something right— something that Peter couldn’t do better than you. But Rocket wasn’t done: “not like Quill’s, though.”

You slumped in your chair as he took a few extra, oblivious to the effect his words had on you— but Adam noticed. “I think hers are better than Peter’s,” he spoke up quietly.

“Sure, blondie. You ain’t never tried Quill’s though, so ya don’t have a comparison.”

“I don’t need to,” he insisted, glancing over at you. “I know they’re better.”

Rocket scoffed with disbelief but didn’t bother arguing the point (he knew he was right, anyway), and left the room without so much as a thank you. Adam glanced over at your defeated posture; you’d been so confident and happy moments before the other Guardians had come in, but now you seemed to shrink into yourself, as if Rocket’s careless words had physically hurt you. Normally your recovery time after such an incident would be fast so no one else could pick up on your feelings, but this was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back— if you couldn’t do cookies right, what hope did you have for anything else?

You suddenly felt a warm hand settle on top yours, which had been resting on the counter. You looked up sharply, surprised by the touch— you hadn’t been so much as hugged since Peter and Mantis had left. Adam’s expression was sympathetic, but there was a hint of anger in his golden eyes. “You’re not like Quill,” he said.

Unfortunately, you mistook his words after being so used to Rocket’s insults and looked away. You’d expected this sort of thing from him, not from Adam, and the blow hit you harder than anything Rocket had ever said. “I know,” you snapped, taking your hand away from his. “Thanks for the reminder.”

He gave you a confused look since he wasn’t sure what chord he’d struck to cause your reaction. It dawned on him quickly how his words could have been interpreted and he gently took your hand again as he repeated more firmly: “you’re not like Quill. You’re. . . there isn’t anything to compare. You’re not your brother— Rocket shouldn’t expect the same things from you that he did for Peter.” He hesitated for only moment before he added, “I can. . . talk to him, if you want.”

As he’d spoken, you realized you’d made a mistake and your initial thoughts had been right: Adam wouldn’t use your brother against you. You felt guilty for jumping to conclusions and gave him an apologetic look. Then, his words really sank in; a statement about how special your uniqueness was from someone whose society was literally carbon copies made your face heat up at the impact of his sentiment. You found that you couldn’t look him in the eyes and lowered your gaze to your still-connected hands. “I— thank you,” you said softly. “I just wish Rocket would see that. You don’t have to talk to him— I should be able to do that myself; I’ve been his teammate for longer, after all. But. . . I really appreciate it.”

His expression softened as he squeezed your hand, which inexplicably made your stomach roll nauseously (but in a good way, like when Peter would do loop-the-loops with Milano’s pod.) “Anytime, Little Quill.”

And just like that, “little Quill” went right back to being an endearing nickname.

#adam warlock #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x y/n #adam warlock x you #will poulter x reader #will poulter #marvel x reader #will poulter imagine #gotg imagine #gotg v3 #guardians of the galaxy #adam warlock imagine #mcu fic #mcu x reader #adam warlock fluff #adam warlock fanfiction

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nexusrasp · 2 months ago

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the audio on youtube uploads is compressed. this means that the sound quality is lower than a more direct source like files downloaded from an official source. this is true of most streaming video and audio, and for people talking it usually doesn't matter much. but for music, it does. i won't get into the technical details here but the more compressed something is, the more digital audio artefacts you get. now, when you download something using a youtube-to-mp3 tool, it continues to compress and transcode that audio, and you typically get something that sounds really, really bad. and if you listen to it on cheap earbuds or laptop speakers, you might not notice. but come on. there are better ways that are just as easy to learn. if you must steal, at least respect the musician, respect yrself, and don't steal like a high schooler.

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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Assistant Hottie

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader (implied Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason Teague, Assistant Football Coach, meets you in the faculty break lounge at Smallville High. He tries to kick you out, thinking you’re a student. Technically, you are. Turns out, you both go to the same university.

AN: So I know it’s about 20 years late, but I’ve been wanting to write some Jason Teague for a while now. There’s a very dated reference to iPods (remember this show was circa early 2000s).

Word Count: 2,600 Tags/Warnings: Implied love triangle (quadrangle?), fluff, tinge of angst, and a meet cute.

“Hey, Coach T!”

Jason turns his head, shooting Clark Kent a smile that’s just a little bit forced. He slows down in the busy hallway so the younger man can catch up.

Clark’s friends, Chloe Sullivan and Lana Lang keep walking, though the brunette glances his way. Her hazel eyes catch his.

But Jason focuses on Clark, who’s coming at him with all six feet and three inches of farm boy earnestness.

Jason has City Boy Charm in his arsenal.

“What’s up, man?”

Clark smiles. “Real quick, just wanted to ask you about the drills we’re running today…”

Eighth period is about to start, meaning just another hour until school ends, and another day of practice begins on the football field. Clark takes all five minutes between classes to ask his questions about how he can better move the ball, his throwing technique, how to better communicate on plays with the rest of the guys.

As always, Jason gives Clark the best advice he has to offer. Even a few months into this job, he’s still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome. He’s only a couple of years older than the guys he’s coaching, and Clark is looking at him like he’s got all the answers.

Newsflash, champ. I don’t. Jason smiles though.

Because Clark is something else. He’s a starting quarterback of a game he’s never played before in his life. Head Coach Quigley thought it was steroids at first, but Jason had a gut feeling about the guy.

“He’s not a cheater,” he’d told Quigley. The other man had scoffed, rubbing his chin.

“Okay, Teague. If you think so,” he said. “…Make him piss in a cup anyway.”

Since then, Clark hasn’t given Jason a reason to doubt him, at least on the field.

No, his reasons for still being wary of Clark are more…personal.

“All right, we’ll workshop the rest later on the field,” Jason says, as the starting bell rings. “You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Okay, see ya later.” Clark nods and holds up a hand in goodbye. To tell the truth, Jason is a little relieved to see him go.

Instead of heading to his office, he makes a pitstop at the faculty break lounge for a cup of coffee. He could use a little pick-me-up, even if it is from a watery K-cup.

When he pushes open the door, he’s greeted by the familiar smell of stale roasted hazelnut and microwaved fish. Along with the wall-to-wall countertop and refrigerator down the end, there’s a small round table fitted with just three chairs.

Uh oh, he thinks.

You’re sitting there with a pair of earbuds in, nodding to your music while you make notes with a red pen. The contents of your messenger bag are half-strewn across the table, displaying a couple of notebooks and binders, different colored highlighters, pens, and a post-it pad.

Your back is facing him, so he has to walk around the table to get your attention. He hesitates, before he taps your shoulder. He’s never had to do this before, and he’s actually a bit nervous.

“Hey there,” he says. His lips quirk when you jolt a little. You stare up at him with wide eyes and the top of your pen resting against your lower lip.

“Uh…” You remove your ear buds and hit pause on your iPod.

“Did you get lost on the way to study hall, or you just here for the coffee?” Jason gestures to the Keurig machine on the counter. “Hate to break it to you, but that stuff’s not exactly quality joe.”

You blinked at him. “What? Um…I mean yeah, the coffee’s ass. But it is free, I guess.”

Jason tries to reign in his smile. He cards a hand through his blonde hair and taps his free hand on the table.

“Uh, are you ditching class or something?” he asks. “If it’s history, I get it. Snooze fest.”

He makes a flatlining motion with his hand. Your brows knit together in confusion…but then you brighten.

“Oh, I’m not a student,” you laugh. “But good on you for trying to lay down the law, Coach Teague.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be confused. “How did you know—”

You point with your red pen, over to the yellow patch emblazoned on his red polo that says: Crows Football and Assistant Coach.

“Pretty sure you’re the one the cheerleaders are calling Assistant Hottie,” you say. Your gaze is wry and a hint playful.

He lets himself smile, albeit with some embarrassment. He points at you.

“And you’re…”

“Part-time teacher’s aid,” you reply. Your hands make a frame around the stack of papers in front of you, that Jason now realizes you’re grading.

Great. His face warms a bit.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, and points to the coffee maker. “Let me just mind my business.”

He doesn’t know it, but you subtly watch him with a small smile while he goes about said business. The Keurig eventually spits out more roasted hazelnut into his Styrofoam cup.

With his prize in hand, he means to leave you in peace to head for his office, but your voice stops him.

“You can sit if you want. I need a break anyway.”

Jason can admit, at least to himself, that he’s curious. (About you.) He goes over to the table and sits down across from you. His eyes unconsciously dart over the splayed contents of your bag, and you don’t miss it.

“Sorry,” you say, as you try to reign in the mess and corral things back into your bag. “I’m kind of an organized chaos kind of girl.”

“No worries. I dabble in that philosophy myself,” he says with a grin. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, giving him your name in return.

You like his smile. His long fingers are wrapped around the steaming cup. Meanwhile, the afternoon sun is pouring in from the windows behind him. It shines golden on his hair and broad shoulders, and makes his green eyes look warm.

Those eyes glance down and focus on a familiar badge sticking out of your bag. His brows furrow.

“No way. You go to Kansas A&M?” he asks. “So do I.”

You blink at him. “What, you’re still in college?”

He laughs and leans back in his chair, blowing out a breath.

“Okay, wow! A bit rude," he says. "Just how old do you think I am?”

You bite your lip in embarrassment.

“Second thought, don’t answer that,” he quips.

“I’m sorry,” you say, through a bit of laughter. “I guess we’re both reading each other wrong today.”

Jason shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“No, no. It’s fine,” he says airily. “Lest I be any more presumptuous, can I ask what year you’re in? Major?”

You concede with a nod, but you’re still smiling too hard.

“Secondary Education. Junior year,” you say. Jason’s brows raise with his grin still in place.

“Okay, a future teacher on our hands.” He leans forward. “As it turns out, I’m actually a sophomore.”

A year below you. You bury your reddened face in your hands, though a giggle still bubbles up.

He doesn’t let you stew in your misery for long though.

“Eh, it’s okay. Don’t feel too bad,” he says. You hear the smile in his voice, and you peek out at him from between your fingers. “I’m technically a year behind. Transferred from another school so I could take this job.”

Once again, your eyes widen as your hands fall away from your face.

“Oh, yeah? I assume you play football, but I’ve never seen you on the team…”

Jason’s smile turns playfully cocky.

“I don’t play anymore, but I’ll have you know, I was on track for the NFL.”

Yeah, for about a minute, comes a dull reminder in his brain.

You rest your chin in your hand as you meet his smile. “Okay. You definitely have the face of a guy who almost went pro.”

Your voice lowers at the end there, impersonating every “dude bro” you’ve ever met who thought he could throw a ball across a field.

“I’m serious.” Jason laughs, but then his eyes dim a bit. “I played for Metropolis U. Tore my rotator cuff, and uh…that’s it. Scrubbed. Had to start over.”

You dim along with him. “That sucks ass. I’m sorry.”

He snorts, almost spilling his coffee. “You’ve certainly got a way with words.”

“But you feel better for me calling you old, don’t you?” Your pen taps on your lip, and his eyes are drawn to the gesture.

He also notices your eyes, the shape of your face, the shade of your hair, the black Fleetwood Mac shirt (with a ripped V hinting at cleavage). It doesn’t exactly scream T.A., but you’re pretty.

Beautiful, really.

He tries not to notice that too much.

“Maybe a little,” he allows. He smiles behind a sip of his drink. It’s getting cold, as he forgets to actually drink it.

“My parents sent me to college to be a lawyer,” you confess. It perks his interest with raised brows. “Like my mom, and my uncle, and his father before him, and so on.”

Jason’s smile is back. You consider that a small triumph.

“I sat in one class. Intro to Business Law.” You shudder at the memory. “Jason, I wanted to bludgeon myself with the textbook. And it wouldn’t have taken long. That thing was the size of a Dostoyevsky novel.”

Jason laughs, even though he doesn’t know who Dostoyevsky is. It does unearth a distant memory of his 12th grade English class (he barely passed that one).

“So, I decided to disappoint them,” you say ruefully.

That, he understands all too well. He raises a finger at you. “Hey, a teacher’s respectable. But I happen to be an expert at disappointed parents, so you’re in good company.”

You smile, small but genuine. Jason counts that as a win.

“What’s your major now?” you ask.

“Sports medicine,” he replies, but you both hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

Your head tilts, and your eyes soften. Not with pity, he thinks. Maybe with understanding.

“You could find something else you’re actually passionate about,” you say.

Jason bites the inside of his lip, sets his cup back on the table.

“Sure,” he says.

His lackluster answer is telling, and he can’t even think of a joke to inject into this moment to lighten the mood. (He even disappoints himself there.)

“Look, I get it,” you say at last. “You probably ate, slept, breathed that game. Like that’s what you were put on this earth to do. And I know you must’ve been good. Because the fact that this school hired you while you’re still in college is amazing.”

He meets your gaze steadily.

Your smile brightens. “But I’m sure football’s not all there is to you.”

That touches him. Warms him even, though he’s reluctant to let it.

“We just met, and you’re already sure about that?” he remarks.

You shrug, gesturing at his cup. “Well, I’m sure that you probably have crappy taste in coffee. I’m broke as hell, and even I don’t drink from a Keurig.”

Jason laughs. If you only knew that he’d spent his summer in Paris, sampling some of the best restaurants and cafés in the world without even looking at the bill…until his dad cut him off. Needless to say, he’s had to refine his tastes.

“What kind of teacher do you want to be?” he asks, instead of getting to all that.

Your brow arches. “You mean what subject?”

“Yeah. What, like physics or something?”

“Ew. God, no!”

“What’s wrong with physics?”

“Too much math. I’m shit at that shit,” you reply.

“Okay. No to the sciences.” He laughs and rubs his chin, squinting at you. “Let me see if I can guess.”

You gesture widely. Go ahead.

“Not economics, I’m thinking. Too close to business,” he teases.

“Business law,” you correct. “But you’re actually right about that.”

“Hmm, history?”

“It's interesting, but it’s also rigged,” you say. “Only the victors in society get to dictate what gets remembered. Just look at Columbus Day. What a sham that is.”

Jason allows that with a nod and a smile. “All right, what then? Algebra? Geometry?”

“That’s math, remember?” you reply, with furrowed brows. “Besides, I don’t like mixing letters and numbers. It’s not sanitary.”

He chortles at that. You’re a little ridiculous, but he kind of likes that.

“Okay, how about English?” he says.

Your gaze flicks up to his. A small, growing smile.

“What makes you say that?” you ask.

“Process of elimination?” he says. His smile curves. He saw your little reaction. “But I don’t know. I get the feeling you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me. The way you’re talking, all quick as a whip… Like I said, you’ve got a way with words.”

You laugh a little. “Oh, do I?”

Jason’s brows raise expectantly as he leans back in his seat again.

Well, then? that move says. “Am I right?”

Your head tilts, and you answer the unspoken challenge in his eyes. You raise a finger and pull out one of your notebooks and you take up your red pen. You tap the top of it on your lip, in what seems to be your habit, and you begin to write on a clean piece of paper.

Your hand moves with purpose on each word. Jason watches you in curiosity. Though when you realize he’s staring hard at your paper, your free hand forms a wall against his probing eyes.

“No cheating,” you reproach.

He scoffs, but he waits for you to finish.

Finally, you tear off the piece of notebook paper, fold it up neatly, and you slide it over to him.

“What, are we passing notes now?” Jason can’t help but joke, even as he opens the little gift. “I thought we weren’t in class, Professor.”

You shake your head. “Just read it.”

He starts to, and his smile grows. He glances back up at you. “You wrote me a poem?”

“Just a little haiku.” You gesture at him to keep reading while you start to pack up your things. The alarm bell just tolled for the end of class, and you have another job to get to.

Jason’s eyes lower back down to the looping scrawl of your handwriting. His smile deepens into a smirk.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

He stares at your words for a while. He rereads the last line a few times.

By the time he looks back up, your bag is packed and you’re standing, ready to go. You smile at him.

“See you on campus,” you say. “I also work at the Writing Center, if you ever need a spruce up on your essays.”

“Can I get you to rewrite my history paper?” he teases.

“Make an appointment,” you counter, still with that smile. “And we’ll see.”

You leave the faculty lounge, and Jason feels a suspicious jolt in his heart.

Something he immediately feels guilty about.

Because the real reason he came back to Kansas is to continue his summer fling with Lana Lang, a senior at Smallville High.

Well, to him, it’s not a fling. He used to think it was as close to love as he’s ever been. Recently though, he’s been getting the sense that she’s still hung up on her not quite ex, Clark Kent.

That’s not even the most complicated part.

She’s 18, and Jason’s barely 20, but their relationship could still one day be the reason he loses his job…

And maybe, any chance he might have of being friends with someone like you.

AN: Lol no shade to my sciences, history, and math people! Just creating a character. Let me know what you think! 😉

And if you liked this...

Read the Sequel!

Check out "Miss Professor" to continue reading. ❤️

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dronebiscuitbat · 8 months ago

Text

Give Me a Reason: Chapter 3 -"Ew… Lettuce"

The cafeteria was loud with the murmur of high school students, and Uzi was already gritting her teeth, it wasn't so much the volume that got to her as much as the consistency, it didn't really matter what she did, there was always noise. And it was making her more irritable then normal.

“Did you hear about Rodney?”

“And Like, I told him it was fine or whatever.”

“God my uncle is so hot…”

She got snippets of conversations as she made her way to the lunch line despite her best efforts to block them put, she put an earbud in to try and help to block out the constant noise, but it only helped so much.

She picked up a stainless steel tray, ones that reminded her of the one's in prison shows. And she wouldn't be surprised if they were the same honestly. The quality of the food had to be similar, anyway.

Speaking of, a lady in a haircut dumped a spoonful of mushy peas, then a spoonful of carrots, and a sandwich on her plate, none of it looked appetizing in the slightest, the peas didn't even look like they had salt on them.

She sighed as she moved through the line, grabbing a milk cartoon that had a 15 percent chance of being spoiled and a cup of peaches. Before finding an empty table to sit at near the middle of the cafeteria. If it was anything like last year, people would avoid sitting here unless they didn't have anywhere else to go.

She broke into the peaches immediately, it was the only thing that ever had a chance to taste any good, since it was prepackaged little fruit cups instead of being “cooked” by the staff.

“Hey Uzi!”

N came to sit beside her, something she should have probably been preparing for, considering his behavior all day, but it still caught her off guard and she found herself choking on a peach as she startled, she beat her chest a few times, struggling to breathe until she was able to force it back down her throat.

“Whoops! Sorry! I need to stop sneaking up on you.” He laughed lightly as he sat his backpack down between his legs and started digging into it, by the sounds of it, the thing was almost full to bursting.

“You got your backpack.” She hummed, trying to play off the fact she'd nearly died in front of him. What a way to go, death by peach.

“Well it has my lunchbox in it… can't really forget that when my stomach feels like it's about to digest itself.” He replied, pulling out a blue lunchbox that had been completely stickerbombed with dog stickers, you could barely tell the box underneath was blue to begin with.

He unclamped the lunchbox to reveal one of the best looking packed lunches Uzi had ever seen, there was a plastic covered bowl of soup, crackers, a whole ass salad and a tuna sandwich with the crust cut off.

Because of course the crust was cut off.

“Holy crap. Who packed your lunch? A chef?” Maybe that question was a little rude, or a little loud. And Uzi found her face heating up as she heard it come out of her mouth. Why was she like this? That was such a weird question what is wrong-

“Oh.” He laughed a little nervously, and his cheeks were dusted pink “N-no that would be my older sister, Tessa, she packs all our lunches.”

“Looks way better then…this.” As she said that, she stuck a plastic spoon into the green mush that was supposed to be peas, lifted it above the tray and dropped some off the edge, the peas slid off the spoon and met the rest on the tray with a wet and disgusting slap.

“Gross.” She muttered, leaving the overcooked peas alone in favor of the sandwich. Well… at least it was hard to fuck up a sandwich.

“You wanna share? Tessa always packs too much.” He offered, giving her a genuine smile as he also eyed the peas with apprehension.

The heat on Uzi's face worsened, she'd just met this guy today, she wasn't that interesting she was sure, so what was this boys actual deal? Did he have a goth fetish? He probably had a goth fetish.

“And let you poison me or something? No way.” She grumbled, knitting her brow into a frown and looking away, she wouldn't let this rando get any closer, not until she figured him out.

“Why- Why would I poison you? Also that would imply that I'm risking eating poisoned food as well.” He looked a little confused, but also fairly amused, with one eyebrow up in curiosity but a half-smile on his face.

“Bite me. I don't want your food!” In indignation, she bit into the sandwich she'd been provided with without checking what was on it, and it gave a good crunch.

What? Oh. Oh no.

There was lettuce, fucking lettuce, it felt like thin rubber and tasted like lame water and almost instantly set off every single nope response off in her brain, she gagged, immediately covering her mouth as her eyes watered.

Of all the food aversions, why did her brain bless her with one to the texture of lettuce.

“Woah, Uzi! Are you okay?” N Immediately leaned forward, hovering but not quite placing his hand over her back and she immediately lept for a napkin and coughed her lungs out into it until the flavor and texture was out of her mouth.

She was silent for a moment before she crushed the napkin in her fist and flipped open the sandwich to glare at the offending green, which whoever had made her sandwich had piled on like it was about to go out of style, she couldn't even tell what the other ingredients were aside from mayo.

“Fucking seriously!?” She exclaimed a little louder then intended, as the sandwich mocked her, apparently one could fuck up a sandwich.

“Wow that's a lot of lettuce.” N remarked, before looking over at her with a look of concern. “Are you alright?”

“M’fine. Just don't like lettuce.” That was a severe understatement, but N didn't really need to know that.

She waved him off, grumbling, looks like it was peaches and corn for her lunch today, great. Hopefully she could scrounge for something else when she got home, wouldn’t be the first time she would have to without.

Then, without warning, there was a crustless tuna sandwich being offered to her, along with N's beaming smile, she still wanted to say no, but damn that sandwich looked good and having eaten only half her breakfast… she was hungry.

She took it from him, giving him a side eye and a mumbled “Thank you.” As she took a bite of it tentatively.

“I promise it's not poisoned.” He chuckled, turning to dig into the bowl of soup he also had, but Uzi barely heard him, she couldn't belive she was about to think this about a simple sandwich, but it was one of the best tuna sandwiches she'd ever had, it also had some kinda of rich cheese and… something else that was probably really expensive.

“Oh my God this is so good…” She said after taking several bites of it, she probably looked like a pig. But she didn't care at the moment.

“Yeah that's Tess's cooking… glad you like it!” He beamed, dunking a cracker in his soup and popping it in his mouth, then sticking his tongue out in some goofy pleased expression.

Uzi couldn't help it, he looked so silly. She snorted and giggled, something that sounded completely foreign coming out of her mouth. If anything N's smile got even wider as he was able to draw a genuine laugh out of someone.

After her little outburst, she found herself a little bit embarrassed. It wasn't often she genuinely laughed, even less in front of someone she barely knew, but something about N’s vibe was making it easy to let down her guard.

Which… was a little bit scary, and Uzi didn't know what to think about that.

Next ->

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #nuzi #biscuitbites #n and uzi #give me a reason #Uzi's aversion is my aversion #fuck lettuce #all my homies hate lettuce

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