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anjuschiffer · 4 months ago

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Of Forgotten Memories and A Beloved Mother - Chapter 2

...So this was only suppose to me a oneshot but has turned into a short mulitchapter fic... enjoy!

Chapter 2: Dami's Whale

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They had warned him several times to never lower his guard. Never.

To never underestimate his opponents.

And yet he did, causing this current dilemma.

“Give it back!” Damian yelled, running after a howling Jason, Damian chasing him with a Nerf gun in his hand.

“I’m so glad it’s only a Nerf gun in your hand!”

“You’re lucky Dad doesn’t- Dad!” Damian yelled upon seeing their father enter the foyer, scowling at the fact that he just missed a shot. “Dad! Jason won’t give me back my sketchbook!”

“Jason.” Bruce tried to say sternly but failed when a smile escaped him. He had come back from work, Alfred walking off with his coat in hand and wasn’t expecting to hear Damian call him Dad shortly after entering the manor. After all, he was always calling him Father up until a few weeks ago. “Give Damian back his sketchbook.”

“I say you look at it. You should really be getting him better materials for his drawings instead of whatever office supplies you keep getting him.” Jason suggested as he gave back Damian his sketchbook. “Like seriously, whatever you’re getting him keeps drying up the day he opens it.

So I asked an artist buddy of mine to give me some suggestions.” Both stifled a smile when Damian’s scowl softened upon hearing the words ‘art store.’ “He highly suggested Holbein gouache or Winstor and Newton acrylics for someone who paints.” Jason said with an innocent smile.

The boys watched as Bruce gave it some thought.

“I’ll ask Alfred to look into it and we’ll take Damian to pick out whatever he wants.”

“We’re going to an art store?” Damian asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Can I get whatever I want?”

“He’d buy the whole store while you’re at it.” Jason instigated, watching Damian stare at his sketchbook.

“Dad, we have to go. Now.” Damian practically begged, lifting his sketchbook to his father’s face. “I’ve been meaning to turn more of my sketches into portraits to put around the manor.”

“Excellent idea, Master Damian.” Alfred spoke, returning from the coat room. “The manor can surely use a more modern touch to its decor. Your paintings will add a nice touch of color to this dreary place.”

“Alfred.” Bruce tried to admonish but was met with an unfazed look from the man.

“I’ll make sure to leave a list of some nearby art stores on your desk. If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to prepare.”

Calls. Bruce forgot how much he hated them. But this one was an exception.

Bruce was already halfway through settling the conditions he had set down for the art store he had planned to take Damian that weekend when the boy himself hung up the call.

Bruce watched as Damian lifted his finger from the switch hook, his eyes not once looking away from Bruce’s. Bruce listened as the dial tone droned in his ear.

“Damian. I was in the middle of finalizing the trip to the-”

“I know.”

“So why-”

“Can’t we just enter like any other customer?”

“But you’re not any other-”

“Can’t we just go? I don’t care if people see us go in just like that. You’re my dad and- people should accept the fact that you’re my dad. And just like any other dad, you’re spending quality time with his kid- me. Is that too much?”

And with that mini speech, Bruce agreed to just walking into the art store that weekend, doing his best to ignore the glances he and his son would get every now and then.

Bruce had his share of following people around a store and trying to understand their enthusiasm regarding products. He would smile and give them nods of approval and sweet words of encouragement as they would ask him questions about items he could care less about.

But unlike the various times he had to follow a woman around a jewelry store, Bruce found himself intrigued and actually invested in the conversation between Damian and the store employee who greeted them upon their arrival.

It didn’t take long for Bruce to completely ignore the stares and whispers that surrounded the two.

Heck, he was too busy absorbing every piece of information the store employee gave them, he didn‘t realize they had already been in the store for two whole hours.

He listened as the employee would ask Damian what media he was looking for and what type of project he was working on.

They discussed different types of media, the types of paint and texture each variety would give him. How oil paint would give him the texture he wanted in this project but if he was on a short deadline, it would not be recommended to use.

Damian would then go on a lengthy discussion on how he didn’t have a deadline and would much rather use oil paint opposed to acrylic due to the tones he needed for this piece, considering he needed a paint that had a longer drying time frame. He also had to consider that he wasn’t set on all the colors of his painting and had found mixing oil paints was easier for him compared to acrylic paint.

Bruce couldn’t forget the face the employee made upon hearing that.

Wrapping up the media choice, they moved on to canvases, something called gesso, as well as thinning and thickening agents for the paints. They then spent another hour at the brush aisle, Damian carefully selecting at least 20 different brushes before they made their way to the register to pay.

Luckily there was no one in line and the employee who had helped them already placed most of their items into several canvas bags. Paints, carefully wrapped brushes, bottles of unrecalled liquids, palettes and containers peaked from them. When Bruce was told the whopping total of 700 and something he had to pay, Bruce just handed over his card.

‘Pocket change,’ was all Bruce could think of when he heard the price.

As they waited for the employee to finish the transaction, Bruce realized it was already three in the afternoon. He turned to Damian to ask him what he wanted to do afterwards.

Maybe he was hungry. They had skipped lunch after all.

“Damian, what do you think about going to- Damian?” Bruce called out when he realized Damian wasn’t by his side, feeling a pit in his stomach.

He was starting to notice the edges of his vision fuzz as he scanned the area near the counter.

Empty, save for a single person who just realized Bruce was standing right in front of them.

“Damian?” He called out again, apologizing to the staff and letting them know he was coming back as he found himself picking up a jog as he searched the store for his son.

“Damian.” But no response. “Damian.”

“Damian!” His chest felt heavier with each aisle he found void of his kid, his eyes darting all around as he passed by yet another aisle with no Damian in sight.

“Damian!” He called out once again, when he came to a halt when his eyes caught sight of Damian standing near a gallery tucked in the back of the store. “Damian!” Bruce scolded as he turned the boy around to face him. “What are you-”

“She made that.” Damian cut him off, turning back to look at the wall behind him, Bruce only then realizing that the gallery was a collection of paintings. With a quick glance, he realized it was a collection of paintings put together by participants from one of the store’s events.

A Mother’s Memories.

Each painting that hung on the wall portrayed one of the many memories that a mother who participated in the event cherished.

Some mothers had painted their kids at a park, a family outing, visiting a farm or aquarium. Family time at home. Holidays. Birthdays.

Every painting had a child painted on the canvas, the children usually smiling back, except one.

There, on the upper most corner to the right, on a canvas no bigger than a sheet of paper was a painting of what appeared to be a bathtub filled halfway with water. A fluffy baby blue towel hung on its side, bubbles floating on the surface of the water. And there, right in the center was a lone blue whale.

The tiny baby toy smiled right at them, as if having been waiting for them all this time.

Bruce looked back at Damian, noticing his son stuck in a trance. “She made that.” He said again, but louder this time around.

“She? Who are you referring to?” Bruce dared to ask.

“Momma did.” Damian easily answered, Bruce hearing his breath hitch. There was that name again.

Momma.

Ever since Dick told him about the day he found Damian talking about a person named Momma, he tried his best to coax an answer from Damian himself. But every time he tried to, all Damian could remember from her was the color of her eyes and her voice.

“Talia?” Bruce asked, hoping it would jog up his memory a bit.

Maybe this time, Damian could recover some information on the woman he once called ‘Momma.’

“No, Momma.” Damian clarified, his brows furrowed. “Mother never delved into the arts the way Momma did. She’s the one who taught me how to draw.”

“How did you figure out she was the one who made it?”

“The whale.” Damian pointed out, letting out a ‘tt’ when Bruce only stared back at him. “Momma made me that whale with her magic. There’s no other whale like that anywhere in the world.”

Bruce looked back at the whale, wondering how that exact whale didn’t look like any other baby toy on the market. “Momma even made sure to flawlessly replicate the Guardian’s Emblem at the top of the whale’s head.”

Guardian’s emblem? What was a Guardian?

“Emblem?”

“Don’t you see it?” Damian asked. “It’s right there.” Damian tried to point, but the longer Bruce stared at the whale, he couldn’t see what Damian was able to. “Dad, it’s-”

“Oh, I see you’ve taken a liking to one of my favorite pieces.” A voice spoke up, Bruce and Damian turning to see an old lady with a red ladybug cardigan. Her gray hair was short, two strands framed her wrinkly face, the curl ends reminding Damian on bug antennae. “Such a heartbreaking story that one has.” She said, tutting as she remembered the tale.

“Heartbreaking?” Bruce asked. “Did something happen to the artist behind, um.”

“Dami’s Whale. That’s the piece’s name.

When I asked Marie why she chose to draw this piece, she told me that bath time was her baby’s favorite activity of the day.” The lady smiled when she saw Damian quickly look back at the painting. “She told me she would do anything in the world to go back to those times, saying his squeals and laughter were all she needed to get through that part of her life.

When I asked her what she meant by that, she told me one thing.”

“What did she say?” Damian asked, returning his attention to the old lady. “What happened to her? To her baby?”

“They took him away from her.” The lady softly said, frowning. “She only loved him the way she was meant to love him. And they took her away from him.”

“They got separated?” Bruce tried to understand what the owner was trying to say.

“That I would not know. Shortly after finishing the piece, Marie suddenly got a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Damian asked, his voice warbling. “Is she okay? Where can I find-“

“You seem to be familiar with Marie, young one.” The lady looked at Damian and then at Bruce. “Do the two of you know-”

“He has been searching for other family members ever since he recovered some of his memories from his childhood.” Bruce provided. “He used to live with his mother as an infant but then lived with his grandfather when his mother couldn’t provide for him anymore.”

“Oh dear.”

“He was brought to me by social services once he passed away as I’m a family friend and someone his grandfather trusted” Bruce struggled to say as he half-lied to the owner. “Since then, Damian has been searching for his only other living relative.

Somehow, this painting of Marie’s seems to be a clue to finding his mother.”

“I see.” The old lady softly said, patting Damian’s head. “You must’ve really loved your mother, didn’t you, little one?”

“I had a whale like that as a kid.” Damian spoke to divert himself from the commentary of being seen as a child. “I want to ask Marie some questions regarding it…if she can.”

The old lady hummed

“Marie did tell me only a few people would be able to tell that the whale would attract some attention.”

“A few?”

“She told me to be wary of those who ask about her upon seeing that painting. But, she did tell me to do one thing if a young boy were to ever ask about her location.”

The lady took an envelope out of her pocket and handed it over to Damian, an oddly designed wax stamp sealed on it. “Do you recognize this?”

“It is a Guardian's Emblem.” Damian answered in a whisper. “It looks just like the one on-“ he looked up to tell the old lady it looked like the one on the whale only to find her gone.

“Where did she go?” Bruce asked, wondering what the hell happened.

Weren’t they just in front of a gallery?

How did they manage to be standing outside the store with bags of art supplies in hand?

Bruce turned to Damian who still held the envelope in his hands.

Damian ran his finger over the wax stamp before deciding to open it, finding a photo of the same exact painting that was inside the store. Only, this time, he was also in the photo.

Or rather, his baby self was in the photo.

He looked so small. So fat.

He turned it over, feeling a weight lift off his shoulder.

You’ll find her at Gotham General Hospital. Best of luck, Damian.

-Tikki

#maribat #mominette

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whalesforhands · 1 year ago

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purge your turmoil pt.8 (satosugu x reader)

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warnings: yandere behaviors and tendencies, my experimental tone shifts, not really creepy unless u find obsessive behaviors and patterns horrifying, gore mentions

Surrounded by debris of the dilapidated, abandoned hospital, you hold onto a raggedy stuffed doll left behind.

It’s soft and colourful. Or, it once was. Her dress stained and riddled with blood and dirt, her cotton body having been slashed through the middle, soft cotton falling out as you hold her.

A child’s final comfort in their last moments. It’s hard to breathe thinking about it.

Your thumb gently caresses the doll’s smiling face, clearing off dust and remnants of dirt as best you could.

“Will this,” Your words tremble. “Ever end?”

Suguru stands beside you, hands clenching when he catches the look of quiet despair on your face.

“I think… It’s not something to hope for.” He wishes he could offer more than just this.

“It’s,” You suck in a harsh breath, not realizing you’ve been holding your breath. “Been hard.” Your eyes flutter close as you try to ignore the haunting memories of blood on your hands, of cries for help, of massacred bodies of unfortunate victims. Over and over and over and over-

“And here you are, despite how hard it’s been.” He’s beside you now, kneeling down on one knee next to you as he tenderly grips a dirtied, matching ribbon found within the rubble back around the doll’s neck, tenderly patting its head when he finishes.

It’s whole once again. You gently prop it against the crumbled pillar.

You hope that in another life, that doll and her owner are reunited.

——

The ticking of a clock sounds out somewhere around you, quiet and constant, each tock giving your eyelids the strength to finally lift, only to be met with the endless darkness ahead of you.

You don’t know if you’re still alive.

You’ve been floating around in here for… God knows how long. It’s lonely. Everyone. What’s happening? Where are they? You miss Shoko. You miss Satoru. You miss Suguru. You miss Yaga. You miss that little boy.

“You look like someone I know.”

You gently smile at him, eyes closed in amused bliss as you continue to stroke his hair, his head in your lap as he stares up at you with a furrowed brow of scrutinization.

“That so? I don’t think my features are very distinguishable from others, I suppose.” You giggle out, happy to have the young boy so comforted in your embrace as you softly pat his head.

(He’s so soft and squishy. You want to pull and stretch those mochi-like cheeks of his. You refrain, afraid of another barking remark that ultimately held no bite.)

“That’s not what I meant.” He pulls a sulky, irritated expression, brows still downturned into one of dissatisfaction, as if he can’t put his finger on where the sense of familiarity was coming from.

“You look like the pictures in the-“

You miss everyone. When was the last time you talked to them? You think and think, churning your brain, eyes squeezing close as you’re hit by a wave of bitter pain, your spine straightening out as you clutch your head.

“I think…” You begin to trail off, eyes stuck to the glowing blue glass of the aquarium as you watch a whale shark swim past your vicinity within the enclosure.

It’s tranquil. You squeeze the warm hands you held as you watched the sight before you with a smile.

“If I could choose… I’d like a life where I could grow old with all of you.”

You’re smiling as you think about it. Maybe you could rent a little apartment near wherever the 3 of them are staying, a quaint, quiet neighbourhood…

(…marriage? Maybe. That promise still makes you blush.)

Riko would give up on her little Star Plasma spiel. Live the way she truly wanted to, a way where she can finally find happiness, experience the joys she’s yet to feel.

Everyone… Would just be happy. Just like they deserve, just like they should.

But… You can’t possibly witness that if you’re dead, right? Your fingers claw at your face as you feel the bewildering pain of your thoughts. Are you really dead? No— Please, there’s still so much left to do. Your pitiful life should’ve had a reason for your living, and yet—

You can’t hear them. Can’t hear anything. You’re dead. Dead. What’s happening out there? Move. Move. Move.

The silence is deafening as your body squirms and you block out your ears.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tickticktickticktick-

Nobody is answering you. You’re missing the physical connection you once had to your body. How long has it been? How long have you been stuck like this? Time doesn’t even feel like it exists while you’re here.

The incessant ticking comes to a stop.

——

You learned to recognize this place in your time here. Your cursed void. One where no one but you could enter, and no one but you could leave.

The problem was… You couldn’t leave. You’ve tried. Walked and walked for endless miles, clawed at the abyssal darkness that never had an end, screamed into the void for hours just to never have an answer.

You… Can’t really be in here forever, can you?

It’s lonely in here.

“Gojo-sama, who is (last name)-san…?”

The tall man grins micheviously, looking down at the tiny hand he held within his palms as he squeezes lightly, before bending down to be eye level with his child.

“A special someone you’ll meet soon enough.”

——

“Nanako… We shouldn’t be in here…”

“It’s fine, Mimi! Papa and Daddy didn’t say we can’t visit! We just want to put the fresh flowers in for her! Plus…” She pauses, turning her head left and right, scouring the area.

“Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t here to stop us!”

The last sentence was dropped to a whisper, as if the blonde just realized her voice could attract attention.

Suguru kisses your hair, hands trailing to interlock your fingers with his own as he breathes in the very feel of you.

“Look, kids.” Geto pulls away, touch still lingering on your skin that had long gone cold years ago. He flashes a smile towards his awaiting children, showing you off for them to see.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

You startle from your curled up position, hearing two faint sets of feet patter into the room. Slow, trying their best to tiptoe before a certain pair gives up, breaking into a sprint towards you.

A tiny crack forms within your domain as your ears keen to listen.

��See! It’s perfectly fine!”

You hear tapping, the fumbling of paper and plastic.

“Papa said it’s okay to give her flowers. I wanna be first cause today’s her…” She furrows her brows as she tries to mouth out the word. “Anniv- Ersaury?”

Mimiko frowns at her twin. “We should wait till everyone gets here…” She’s unsure, hugging her plush to her chest as she nervously looks around, more afraid of getting in trouble with her beloved parents more than anything.

The crack grows larger, making its way towards you.

“But last time we only got to spend like 10 seconds with her before Papa and Daddy chased us out!” Nanako huffed, a hand on her hip as she gripped a large bouquet of white lilies and osmanthus flowers, Mimiko holding onto the incense sticks.

“Anyway!” Nanako turns back to face you, settling the flowers down as she moves to kneel before you, hurrying Mimiko to start placing the incense.

“Let’s just start!”

You swiftly move towards it, ignoring the shards of glass digging into the soles of your feet, eyes burning from the shimmers of light shining through the holes as you chase it down, wanting, yearning for this escape.

The anxious twin lets out a deep sigh, lighting the incense sticks with a nearby candle as she hands a few to her awaiting sister, who settles down comfortably on her knees atop the prayer pillow.

“I wish for you to get better soon!” She holds the incense sticks up with her hands as she prays, eyes closed in deep concentration.

“Mhm…” Her twin follows suit, surrounding the room in a deep silence as they are joined by the flickers of the flame, the slow dripping of dewdrops from their fresh flowers chorusing with their heartfelt pleas.

Your surroundings begin to shatter, glass like formations raining down upon you as a shining bright light envelops your sight, a bubble immediately blowing up and swallowing you in its embrace as you begin to glow, the twins jumping off and Nanako standing protectively before her sister as she gets pushed back by your cursed technique.

“I- I think we broke it…” Mimiko’s voice is starting to crack as her tears begin to well up in her eyes, her hand dragging Nanako further back from you.

“Shh! What if Daddy hears us?”

“But he’s gone to pick up Gumi and big sister Tsumiki…”

Your eyelashes flutter as you slowly blink open your eyes, sensations of touch and your feel of the atmosphere slowly return to you. Your dried up flesh slowly plumping up, blood beginning to flow throughout your body, face instantaneously flushing with colour once more as you gasp out, taking lungfuls of air, irises rolling back to the front to view the space before you.

“Nanako… Is that…?”

You’re met with the darkness of what seems to be a bedroom. You slowly move to get up, bones creaking and your fingers slowly twitching to really get the feel of your body back, brushing against the various lilies and osmanthus flowers surrounding you, seemingly fresh in nature as dewdrops slowly dripped off the petals and onto your fingertips.

You look around you, disoriented and feeling fatigued, slowly sitting up against the plush area you were lying upon. It felt like you had just awoken from the dead.

“H…ello?” Your eyes flicker over to the 2 little girls standing before you, voice hoarse, broken. Vocal cords tangled together from years of underuse as you feel your organs literally start to pump to life, eyesight slowly coming back as your vision gets restored by the bubble.

It pops.

They scream, rushing towards you as they lunge towards your form.

“We did it Mimi! We cured Mama!”

Mama…? Did you- Oh my god. You’re blushing up a storm at the thought of it.

“Wha-What…?” Their smiles grow ever bigger, hugs growing startlingly tight for their small forms.

“Mhm! Along with Gumi and our big sister Tsumiki! But they’re at school now and Daddy is gonna pick them up and buy us lunch, then, then! We’re gonna eat dinner together cause Papa’s coming back today, then we’re gonna tell them we woke you up!”

“B-but we have to apologise to Papa and Daddy first for going inside the room, Nanako…”

You hear Nanako audibly gulp. “O-okay, but what if-“

Your eyes are starting to gloss over. You didn’t think that you’d be having 4 kids after being in that void for so long…

“W-wait—“ You’re trying to get used to your voicebox, trying to get used to the feeling of being alive once more. “Y-Your par—“

“Ahh, I’m so hungry!” The blonde one is curling herself into your chest as she whimpers from her hunger, a loud growl coming from her supposed sister next to her as she hugs your arm to her chest alongside her plushie.

You look down at the girls who are still upon your lap, staring up at you in expectant want. Oh— You suppose your question can wait for later.

…everything happens for a reason, right?

(Where is everyone?)

——

“Is the fridge always this empty?” You’re standing shakily on your feet, almost akin to a newborn whilst trying your best to not lose balance.

“No, Papa is just out of town on his job right now!” Nanako puts her hands on her hips as Mimiko signals you to come down with a frantic come hither motion of her hand, you kneel to her level, nearly falling over had it not been for the second twin flanking onto your other side and pushing you up with all her body’s strength, whilst Mimiko cups a hand around her mouth, whispering into your right ear.

“Daddy can’t cook, so he always buys takeout when Papa isn’t around…”

Nanako tugs at your sleeve on your left, signalling for you to come towards her.

“Don’t tell Papa but,” Her voice gains an excited tremor. “Sometimes Daddy lets us eat ice cream and cake for dinner!” She pauses once again.

“And he forgets to remind us to brush our teeth!” The girls giggle together in unison.

“Then sometimes, when Daddy is called on for a sudden mission…”

“He brings us all along and lets us watch him beat up the bad guys right in front of us! Gumi likes it the most!” The girls start zooming around you, throwing punches into the air and pretending to hit each other as Nanako feigns hurt when she takes a ‘direct’ hit from Mimiko’s plush.

“Ahhh! I’ve been hit by Red! KABOOSH!!” She falls dramatically to the ground, imitating a explosion with waves of her little arms before splaying herself by your feet and clutching your calf.

“Like that!”

…

You’re sweating with stress as you listen, patting their heads as they smile angelically at you. You need to talk to their parents about this before you get a heart attack.

(Missions… Red… Are their parents jujutsu sorcerers?)

“Girls.” You stand back up, your hands placed on both of their heads as you began to pat them gently as they nuzzle up into your warm touch. Nanako holds your hand in place when she feels you try to pull away, whilst Mimiko begins to intertwine her fingers with your own, trying to trap you.

“Why don’t we go buy something?”

——

You’re silently panicking as the two girls drag you towards the old crepe shop, tugging you by the hand as you’re slightly hunched over to allow them easier access to you.

You forgot the most crucial thing.

Money.

“Papa and Daddy always lets us follow them to the school! Then, then-!”

“Then we buy chocolate milk because Papa and Daddy really like it!”

“But Daddy never finishes his, so we get extra cause he gives it to us!”

“Then we play with Uncle Yaga who gives us new dolls every month! Then Uncle Yu, he’s super, super fun! Auntie Shoko gives us sweets when Papa isn’t looking!”

(Yaga, Yu— Shoko…!)

Mimiko pipes in. “Uncle Kento sometimes plays with us when he’s not busy eating his big sandwiches… Then Megumi and Miki comes back from school and then-!”

(Kento… Megumi? Miki? Does this mean— Could it be?)

“We eat dinner together!”

“You’re gonna lovvvveeee them!”

Your hands pat their hands, feeling them nuzzle into your warm touch.

“I’m sure I will.” You’re suddenly before the crepe stand as the two girls drool over their options. “But first, um… Do you girls happen to have any allowance?”

(“Oh! Yea!” Mimiko unzips the back of her plushie, pulling out a singular 10000 yen bill as your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“Daddy gave it to us before he left so that we could use it if we wanted!”

Your jaw is still hanging low in shock to process her words.)

——

“Uncle Yaga!” The girls pounce into his arms, causing him to stumble before he firmly plants his feet onto the ground.

“Children…! What are you doing here?” His voice had lost their usual rough tone, turning softer as he smiles down at the familiar kids. Still… They shouldn’t be here. Is Gojo nearby—

He senses it.

He feels the pulse of a familiar energy, hurriedly pushing the kids behind him as his sunglasses scan the area, spotting your tired form slumped over against a tree, trying to catch your breath.

“Kids…” You’re huffing as you try to get your bearings back. “Please don’t run…!”

No. It couldn’t be— There’s absolutely no way—! His hands ready themselves, calling for his cursed corpses to the scene before you-!

“Ahh! Yaga-sensei…!” You’re still panting as you reach him, sweat on your brow and your legs jellylike as the twins continue to cling onto him, wondering what’s going on.

“I’m so glad you weren’t so far away!” You’re sweating, smiling through your tiredness as you try to regain your bearings.

“I have so much to ask you!”

…

“Let’s talk in my office.”

——

There’s a hurried stampede of feet before the door is quite literally ripped off its hinges.

Her unlit cigarette collapses to the floor from her grip as she stares at the sight before her, felt the surrounding cursed energy as her body freezes in place.

She takes a step back, legs trembling when she places a hand over her mouth in shock, her eyes widened in horror and distress as she met your form.

Suguru’s distraught as he looks into your eyes. Eyes that never should’ve opened ever again. Eyes that he thought he would never see again. Eyes that he missed seeing with every fiber of his being, every speck of his soul.

You.

How are you here? Why were you out of that room specifically made to contain you?

Why are you alive?

“Yaga.” His eyes have narrowed into dangerous slits, fingernails digging painfully into the calloused flesh of his palms as the snarl he has on his face grows turbulent and murderous.

His curses are immediately summoned, one delegated to swallowing Shoko and tucking her away in its belly as it brings her devastated form to safety.

It’s tense. The words are stuck in your throat as you try to make yourself heard.

The mere presence of his cursed energy is causing you to freeze up from the overwhelming fear.

His cursed spirits were on their haunches, ready to pounce and stab and claw through the flesh of anyone who dares to stir the rage, the trembling anger of their master.

Your eyes widen as you witness the familiar worm spirit appear by his shoulder, hurling out a long set of nunchucks from its disgusting mouth. Your hands tremble as your spine straightens, his gaze deadset on you as you see the flashes of a million emotions running through him.

You’re breathless in his presence.

“You have 5 seconds,” Yaga feels the dreadfully cold voice of the special grade shaman, the aura emanating sending chills down his very spine as the lightbulb bursts, darkness swallowing the room as the air suddenly fills with putrid, thick smoke that crept into his lungs, skin prickling with goosebumps.

The suffocating presence of Geto Suguru.

“To tell me why my wife’s corpse is in front of us.”

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Notes:

Through abuse of his power as the revered Six Eyes and Limitless technique inheritor of the renowned Gojo clan, Gojo was able to get possession over your body.

Geto and Ieiri were the ones who made a special coffin in efforts to preserve your body utilizing cursed energy.

Yaga was about to attack you after sensing your cursed energy. But the sight before him— Made him realise you can’t exactly be a threat.

Geto thinks you’re a curse. How devastating, to think that a mere curse dares to imitate your presence, dares to imitate you on your death anniversary. He wants to hurl, to vomit. The feeling in his mouth more disgusting, more vile than any curse he’s ever swallowed.

And yet, his heart yearns to feel you in his arms once more.

nvy’s aftertalk:

who wants to guess wtf is happening hahahahah

that praying scene is inspired partially by the way i do it when i go to the temple to pray haha

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #whalewrites #dyf au #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader

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lomlhwa · 2 years ago

Text

the silent sea (p.sh)

pairing: siren!seonghwa x marine biologist!reader

preview: strange things have started happening around your boat. you've been out at sea alone for a few weeks, studying whales. but recently, things on your boat have started disappearing and animals have started dying. you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched by someone. or something.

tags/warnings: fem reader, monster cock seonghwa, scales everywhere (i mean everywhere), biting (he has sharp teeth and they do pierce your skin), belly bulge kink, degrading, sadomasochism, he eats a chunk of your leg (it's not fatal), unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, impregnation

trigger warnings: blood, cannibalism(?), a whole lot of dead animals, it's pretty much not consented cause um siren song

wc: 2.1k

song recs for this fic: bye bye bye by wei, tank by nmixx

a/n: when i posted my yeosang siren fic forever ago, someone asked for a less violent version with seonghwa. so here it is. still slightly violent but you don't die this time <3 (please note that i made up some things about sirens to make the story better. there's a lot of variation in the story of sirens so please don't take my word for anything.)

you wake up to the waves crashing on the side of your boat just as you had for the past two weeks. when you got your marine biology degree, you didn’t realize how lonely you’d get at sea. you go to grab your binoculars and look out into the open sea, only to find that they’re missing. you search for a few minutes before deciding to just use your backup pair.

you hold the binoculars to your eyes and peer out into the never ending water. you see a few fish and the large shadow of one of the whales you’ve been following. it’s a beautiful female blue whale. tracking her size and interactions with other blue whales has been your task for the past few weeks.

you walk to the other side of the boat to see if you can spot your male blue whale. when you look through your binoculars, you see something floating in the water. you squint, trying to make out what it is. you’re horrified to find that the water around it is red and it’s clearly a dead animal.

you put on your full diving suit and get into the water, worried about what had happened. you tether yourself to your boat before swimming over. you come to find that it’s a dolphin. you roll it over to find strange bite marks. they’re much too small to fit any of its natural predators. the bites look more like the bite size of a human. you run your finger over one of them, finding that a couple of the teeth sink deeper than others, indicating sharper and longer teeth.

you leave the dolphin where it is, knowing that there’s other wildlife that will use it for nutrition. you climb back into your boat and detach from the rope you’d used to not float too far. you grab your journal to note down your findings.

the rest of your day is pretty typical. you spot your male blue whale later on in the day, monitoring his interactions with your female. nothing else seemed out of place but the incident with the dolphin never left your mind. what had killed it?

the next morning, you wake up, prepared for more research. when you walk to the side of the boat, you scream. 4 more dolphins have been killed overnight. the closest one smacks against your boat with every crash of waves. you use the net from your boat to catch it and bring it on board so you can examine it.

you find that this dolphin has the same bite marks as the one from yesterday. you assume the other 3 are in the same condition. horrified, you try to figure out what could be doing this. it can’t be a shark, their bites are much bigger than this one. it can’t be any of the fish because their bites are too small.

bewildered, you put the dead dolphin back in the water, leaving it for food as you had done with the previous one. you look out into the vast waters, wishing you could spot something else out of the ordinary that might explain all of this.

while you’re standing on the right side of the boat, you get a sudden chill that feels like you have eyes on you. you feel like you’re being watched with malintent. you turn around abruptly, only to find that there’s nothing there. you walk over to that side and lean over to see if there’s something hiding. nothing. unnerved, you go to note down the sudden death of these dolphins.

tonight, you decide not to sleep. you need to find out what is causing these animal deaths. what sort of monster is killing full grown adult dolphins with a bite so small? you keep a small flashlight on you and wander around the open space of your boat. you keep the light off so you don’t scare whatever is lurking in the sea. you’ll only turn it on if you hear something.

for a few dark hours, you hear nothing but the usual sounds of the ocean. crashing waves, whale songs and the wind. but then, you hear the flap of what sounds like a fin. you think for a moment that it might just be a fish, but the contact it makes with the water sounds too big to be a fish but too small to be a whale.

you rush to click on your flashlight and manage to catch a glimpse of an unusual tail-looking fin. it’s bright orange and highly bioluminescent. it doesn’t look like it belongs to any of the known animals of this ecosystem; at least not to the ones you know of. it appears a couple more times before disappearing. you can see it glowing under the water for a few meters before disappearing into the night completely.

the next morning, you hope and pray that no more animals have died since you went to bed. you stayed up as late as you could but you did need to sleep. unfortunately, your worst nightmare has appeared. one of your whales is dead. one of your huge blue whales has fallen victim to this unknown creature. this feels like it’s getting revenge on you for spotting it.

you scream and collapse to the floor, staring at your whale floating on the surface of the water. the water surrounding it is dark red. you can see that he’s missing chunks of blubber from his back and sides. “leave my animals alone!” you yell out into the vast sea, wishing that whatever was doing this would hear you.

you feel that same feeling of being watched again. the thing is listening to you. you can just feel it. “stop killing the animals, they never did anything to you! if you want my attention, just show yourself!” you yell again.

you hear the water splash before hearing and feeling something crash onto the floor of the boat. fear shoots up your spine, every part of you urging you not to turn around. are you really about to face the thing that’s been tormenting you and the ocean? yeah, you are.

you turn around and you’re faced with a beautiful man standing across the deck from you. his arms are crossed and his dark eyes pierce yours. you know that he was the one causing the feeling of being watched but there’s no way he could kill a whale. matter of fact, there’s no way he could be all the way out here without a ship.

“you’re really fucking annoying. all that screaming these past couple mornings has been piercing my ear drums,” he finally speaks. he tilts his head and smacks the side of it, forcing water out of his ears.

“are you what’s been eating the dolphins? and my whale?” you ask, getting up off the ground. you gesture to your very dead whale behind you. the man nods, shrugging. “i’m not really a fan of the taste of whale but i knew it would set you off, so i killed it,” he picks at his teeth as if he has food stuck in there. “your scream made it worth it.”

“what kind of sadistic fuck are you?” you stare at him, completely horrified at what he just said to you. he laughs at you. finding joy in your displeasure. “what, sea creatures can’t have a little fun anymore?” he walks closer to you, waving his hands in the air as if he’s offended.

“you don’t look like a sea creature,” you make a confused face at him. he doesn’t have gills or fins or anything that would really scream ‘sea creature.’ he rolls his eyes, rolling up his sleeves. he reveals bright orange scales that go all the way up his arms. they seem to match the color of the strange tail you saw last night. he grins with terrifyingly sharp teething, seemingly sensing that you’re putting the pieces together.

“what… what are you?” you say, subconsciously taking a step back to go back to a safer distance. “well, let’s list my features and see if you can figure it out with that stupid brain of yours,” he bares his teeth at you. “scales, mermaid-like tail and sharp teeth. take a guess little miss marine biologist.”

that’s impossible. what he’s describing is fictional. merely folklore. “siren,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. he clasps his hands together in excitement. “ding ding ding! look at your feeble brain go,” his smile has sinister undertones and a new rush of fear surges through you.

“now, i’m here for one thing and one thing only,” he plops down onto the ground, crossing his legs. “see, sirens can only reproduce with a human, not other sirens. and you, being out here all alone, are the perfect candidate,” your face contorts into minor disgust. “no,” you retort.

“i think you’re misunderstanding. i’m not asking,” he says before he shakes his head at you. he opens his mouth and a beautiful song fills your ears. it is haunting and echo-y in your head. you feel yourself being drawn to him instantly. you’re unable to move at your own free will.

your legs carry you to him on their own accord. despite his mouth closing, the song continues to possess you. you halt in front of him, your body completely limp. you’re only being held up by the powers of his siren song.

he removes your clothes with an inhuman ferocity. your body is laid down on the ground, completely stripped. he hovers above you having removed his own clothes as well. you come to find that the orange scales cover his whole body. you strain your eyes to look further down his body and find your eyes meeting what was hiding under his pants. it’s basically the size of your forearm. you can already tell it’s gonna hurt.

he spreads your legs and gets between them, lining his length up with your hole. you want to fight and close your legs, but you’re completely immobilized. he shoves his whole member into you at full force. it hurts so much you see stars. the stretch is enough to make tears sting your eyes.

“shhh, good whores can take cock with no warm up,” he caresses your face with a gentleness you had yet to see from him. “you’re gonna be my good cum dump and do what i make you.” he lets you adjust for a few moments before pulling all the way out and slamming back in. screams beg to leave your throat but you’re unable to release them.

he pounds into you with animalistic speed. his only focus is on breeding you. that’s the only reason he’s been tormenting you. he’s using your body for continuing his own bloodline.

out of nowhere he pulls out of you, his high clearly creeping up on him. something in his demeanor changes as he leans down to one of your legs. without warning, he bites a chunk out of your thigh, chewing and swallowing it in front of you.

“need more stamina to fill you up like the good whore you are,” he says as he wipes your blood off his lips. he shoves back into you before leaning down and digging his teeth into your shoulder. he doesn’t rip any skin off but he leaves a few deep bites.

his hips stutter and his sharp nails dig into your hips. he pumps you full of his seed. it’s so much that it streams out of you as he continues to thrust into you. “gotta make sure you’re gonna get pregnant. otherwise i’ll have to follow you home for more than claiming my child,” he whispers in your ear.

he pulls out of you, cum spilling out from inside you and pooling under you. he puts his clothes back on and sighs, staring at you. “your pregnancy will be fast with a siren baby. maybe, 3 weeks? don’t go back to shore until after you give birth or i’ll gut you like i gutted that whale.” with that, he jumps back into the sea.

you lay there in shock of what just happened. you finally regain control of your limbs and you stand up. you grab tissues to clean yourself up. you put your clothes back on and sit on your bed, wondering how the hell you just lived through that.

before you know it, 3 weeks has passed and you give birth to a beautiful baby boy. he takes after his father with his orange scales. as promised, the siren returns to claim the child. “perfect,” he says, taking the child from you and heading for the water.

“wait!” you yell. he turns around, looking at you puzzled. “what’s your name? that’s the least you could tell me after i just had your kid.” he smiles at you and jumps into the water. you rush to the side of the boat and he pokes his head above the water.

“seonghwa.”

#lomlhwa #ateez #atz #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez smut #atz smut #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut

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bigification · 1 year ago

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Whale Beach

I heard it was a popular vacation destination. Men flocked to it to help speed up their bulk because it was said to increase the weight of anyone who entered its waters. I guess the name whale beach is a little on the nose, and a little offensive but I don't really care. What I care about is the part where it makes you fat. Most people who want to bulk a little bit only go in for a minute or so and that's enough to make a significant change in their weight. But some brave, or horny, souls have tested what happens if you stay in the water for an extended period of time. That's where the name 'Whale Beach' was coined. I heard that the people who went in at around 160 pounds came out 30 mins later at 400 pounds. This is exactly why I was going to take a trip to whale beach. Not for myself, no, for a 'friend'.

Dan. Dan was a friend from work, but calling him a friend would be an overstatement. I've grown to despise him, mostly from envy. I know it's not healthy but I can't help it. It's gotten to the point that I just get annoyed whenever he's around. He's so perfect. All the ladies, and the men for that matter, flock to his side. They go along with anything he says cuz he's hot. I've tried working out and dressing better to live up to him, but I never will be able to. I miss the days before he showed up, when everyone would kiss up to me. When I was the hot guy in the office. That's why I'm gonna invite him to whale beach. I want to see the look on his face when he comes out of the water and realizes he's twice the size he was going in. Even the thought of it makes my dick tingle. Anyway, tangents aside. I've got it all planned out and he just agreed to go, so all there is left to do is get him in the water.

Time flew by the next few days, while I was waiting for my trip. The mix of excitement and anxiety made the time move quickly. Soon enough I was already at the beach with Dan. I had gotten good at acting nice around him, so he wouldn't suspect anything. I got into my dark blue bathing suit and watched him change into his light blue board shorts. Even now, I couldn't stop staring at his perfectly toned body. I hate it.

We both sat there talking for a little while. We had a few beers and actually had a nice conversation. But while that was going on, I was also trying to pay attention to the other people on the beach. There was no one in the water, but I wanted to keep an eye on anyone who went in to see what happened. I eyed down a group of three young men, hopefully they'd hop in and I could see if what I heard about this beach was true. They were all quite skinny so it should be easy to tell any weight gain when they come out.

I almost missed it as the group of men ran into the water. I was so engrossed in the conversation I was having with Dan. I was starting to question my decision to bring him here. But I caught the men in the corner of my eye, I need to keep track of them.

I spent the next 45 minutes or so going between talking to Dan and glancing over at the men in the water. They were there for a long time. Did they not know? It didn't matter, but I was getting impatient and it seemed like Dan was getting antsy to get in the water. Soon enough, the three men started to return to the shore. I almost did a double take as they walked out. There's no way those are the same guys. They must have been nearly 400 pounds each. They all hate giant bellies that spilled over their swim shorts, sagging man tits, and asses that threatened to rip right through their shorts. I watched in awe as they hobbled their way out of the water and went back to their spot on the beach.

I had to stop myself from staring and I curled my legs up to hide my growing boner. I turned back to Dan and he was giving me a funny look. He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of my chair. He kept pulling me towards the water, I had to think quickly. I wanted him to go in the water but I didn't want to go in myself. I didn't think fast enough and he quickly dragged me into the water with him. I played it off cool, just don't stay too long. I swim around with him for a couple minutes and then make up an excuse about the water being too cold so I can leave. I run out of the water and stop right at the edge of the water. I look down and to my horror, I see a flabby belly in front of me. And it's right under my swollen moobs. I started freaking out, I thought it would take longer. I stood there for a few minutes just poking and prodding at my soft body. I could lose this pretty quickly right? What will I tell my family? My mind started to wonder.

I'm interrupted by a splashing sound coming from the water. It's Dan approaching me. I can't tell he's put on about as much weight as I have. He's got a round belly and moobs, but he's still got big arms and a pretty face. He continues marching towards me and grabs my hand again. His hands are so big, I think as he drags me back into the water, "Come on you big baby, the water's not that cold." How has he not noticed either of us growing? I question. I tried resisting a bit, but he was way stronger than me anyway so I gave up.

We spent the next 40 or so minutes just swimming around in the water and chatting. I had given up on trying to leave early, but I was still aware of the fact that I could become so fat that I would be immobile. That wasn't a concern yet though. As time went on, I noticed myself getting more buoyant, and I also noticed Dan's hair started to recede. I guess the water has more effects than just weight gain. I started to feel folds forming around my body as I swam, and I kinda liked it. My growing boner would have been obvious if my large gut hadn't covered it by now. I also saw Dan's outline under the water grow and grow and grow. He didn't seem as flabby as I did though, probably because he had more muscle, but it made it so he had a large round belly that floated in front of him.

After a while, he floated over to me. Our guts collided as he got close. "I like us like this." He whispered in my ear. He knew!? Did he know the whole time and just wanted it to happen, or did he realize later? "I feel so strong and manly" he said as his hands wandered under my belly and to my crotch. I let out a moan as his hand pulled down my shorts and grabbed my cock. "Did you really think I didn't know what Whale Beach was?" I didn't respond. "I just couldn't wait for the moment we would both return to work as obese pigs. I couldn't wait for the chuckles behind our backs as co-workers talk about how we let ourselves go. Oh and the sex, I couldn't wait to hear the bed creek under us as I fuck you like the pig that you are." He said between heavy breaths. His hand sped up with every sentence. "Call me a pig again" I yell. "You're a fucking pig" he growled. "I'm gonna feed you until you can't move, held down by your enormous pig body." He continued. I let out a loud moan as I shot my load into the underside of my belly. Afterwards, I reached around his gut and into his shorts. I wrapped my hand around his dick, pushing into the fat pad that engulfed it. It didn't take long for him to shoot his load all over my hand.

After a moment of silence, we made our way back to the shore. It shocked me how much heavier I was on the ground. I was basically weightless in the water, but now I have to put effort into every step. My stomach made me feel like I was gonna fall forward. We both managed to hobble over to our chairs, but I couldn't fit in mine, my love handles stuck out too far. Dan can barely fit in his, but only because his fat was all in his gut so he was not as wide as me. I decided to sit between his legs with my head essentially under his gut. I don't know what came over me back then. Maybe the water just does that to you, I was just so horny. I looked over and saw the group of three men in a threesome on the beach. Maybe the water does have that effect on people, maybe that's why there are so many love stories from this beach. My hand instinctively reached down to my crotch as I couldn't turn my eyes away from the three men. It seems Dan saw them too as I could feel his dick harden against the back of my head. I felt his hand begin to rub my shoulder and it sent a tingle down my spine. I turned around and got on my knees. He opened his legs as I pulled down his shorts with my mouth. I licked the end of his dick as it entered my mouth. My face was pressed against his fat pad and my forehead pressed against the underside of his gut. His large hand pushed on the back of my head as I went back and forth. The feeling of the hair on his belly rubbing against my head was almost soothing. His moaning got louder and louder until a warm liquid filled my mouth.

I sat back down in the position I was in before. Dan stretched my head and ran his fat fingers through my hair. I wondered how he felt about being bald. He did say something about feeling manly, and maybe that added to it. His big biceps and round gut sure made him look manly though.

We sat there for about an hour or so. The three men were still going at it, oh what I would give to be young again. I wondered what it felt like to be obese in your twenties, it couldn't be that different from being obese in your forties right? Maybe just a little less back pain. It had only been a couple hours in this body and I already couldn't remember what it was like being skinny and fit. How the only thing I could think about was being fed like the pig that I am by my big man.

Eventually, we grabbed our stuff and made our way to my car. We confidently left the beach with our tiny clothes. At this point, our shirts looked like bras and our shirts looked like speedos. After a lot of waddling, we made it to the car and put our stuff into the trunk. Dan gave me a kiss before closing the trunk and getting in the car. I got in the car and we both slid our seats back at the same time. "Do you have a bed that can fit both of us?" Dan asked. "Do you think we can fit in a king size?" I responded in a flirty tone. "Only one way to find out." He smiled at me.

We made it home to my place, I was shocked at how hard it was to get through the front door. I had to put some stuff down to even get through. I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

Wow. I thought I would look more like Dan, but I was far more flabby than he was. My tits sagged into my armpits and my gut spilled over my waist. My arms and legs were riddled with rolls of fat and my jawline has disappeared under a thick double chin. Even my nipples were swollen and sensitive.

I walked out of the bathroom and saw that Dan had stripped down to his underwear. It was probably the closest thing he had to fitting him, but it still looked like a stretched out speedo.

His big arms and even bigger gut made me shiver. I couldn't believe how much hotter he was now.

"It's been a long day, how about we hop in bed and call it a night." Dan said

"I'd want nothing more." I replied.

We both curled into bed, barely fitting on it. He laid facing me and wrapped his arm around me. He could barely reach around my shoulder though because his gut pushed us apart.

"Love you." He said as he drifted off to sleep.

"Love you too."

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we-stan-the-stans-27 · 24 days ago

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Dead Asleep AU?

Okay, so I kind of wanted to write another part/version of that sleeping beauty AU from the other week. But this time, Stanley is the one who gets too suffer! HAHAH!

So, here is part two. Also, I posted both parts up on my Ao3 account and I'll link it here if you want to save it for later or whatever.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62066953/chapters/158737552#main

And of course, I'm going to @sixerstanley again! Because this was their idea. Now. Let's get into being evil. Heheh.

(I had most of this done on the tenth, but then I basically died and couldn't finish. So, enjoy. That live stream was like crack or something. Idk guys.) (P.P.S. Gonna post this on its own now because I don't think anyone saw it when I reposted it attached to the old post. Rightfully so. That shit was long as hell.)

Truth be told all of Stan Pines favorite and happiest memories took place on a boat. It didn't matter if it was on some crappy litter scattered beach.

It was theirs and nothing could soil those memories. Back then all that mattered was the hot burning sand, maybe the stings of glass cuts across a sole, and tumbling along getting hurt, hand in hand.

Sure, it took forty damn years to get back there, but he's anything if not stubborn. And it paid off.

What's that saying? 'Most gamblers call it quits right before striking it big?'

Good thing he never stopped betting with higher and higher stakes then, right?

The future is much brighter because of it. The deck of the ship has a sharp bite to it now. From one extreme to the next. A hot infected wound, now soothed by a cold compress.

The arctic Ocean.

There isn't a lot in the area for fishing, but there is still plenty of wildlife to watch from the top deck if your patient.

Late at night the sky lights up with the northern lights, or 'Aurora Borealis' if you speak blabbering scientist. It's beautiful and a new flavor of Ford's favorite activity, Stargazing.

Out at sea there is no better place for it without any light pollution. Just them, the universe, and the expansive inky blackness below.

Sitting out on the deck, fish watching with a pair of binoculars, the world is practically blinding this time of the afternoon. The white overcast clouds mixed with the occasional chunk of ice covered in snow lights up the world like being inside a light bulb.

That's not what pulls Stanley's attention from the endless water he's been looking at all morning though. Finally, he sees something!

Off the starboard side from where they've been anchored a group of Narwhals is swimming by, long tusks poking out of the water and interrupting the sleek outline of the waves.

"Sixer, get the hell up here!" He knows his brother won't be nearly as excited about seeing this marvel as he is, but Stan still wants to share it with him anyway.

Just because Ford saw a million different impossible things through the portal doesn't mean whales aren't interesting too. Sure, not what they're hanging out waiting for, but who cares?

When Stanley can't hear Ford immediately running up the stairs, no big surprise if stuck in a book, he stomps on the floor of the deck without looking away from the water. Grinning like an idiot.

"Stanford Pines, get up here! I'm having a heart attack!" Okay, yeah. It's not funny. But that never fails to get him top side no matter what he's in the middle of.

'Boy who cried wolf' Yack! Yack! Whatever. If it works, why fix it?

There are at least ten different Narwhals intermittently breaching for air but the sight is incredibly short lived before they dive again on another breath hold, disappearing from sight below the grey waves.

"Awe, too slow! You missed it!" His booming voice is the only sound on the ship and it makes Stan finally drop the glasses and get up out of his chair with a crack from both knees.

He stomps, again, and then listens with a little more attention to the ship.

There is the lapping of the waves against the side, the slight breeze blowing the fresh smell of sea salt over the vessel, but otherwise its quiet.

Hmm. He could stay up here, maybe even pretend to fall over and really scare his brother. Except the last time he did that Ford almost threw him overboard into the freezing cold water.

Still. It is a little weird that Ford didn't at least yell a few foreign curse words up through the ship.

"Alright, fine. You want to prank me back? I'll bite." It comes out in a mutter and Stan makes his way across the deck after one more glance around at the water.

Through the wheel house, down the steep steps, and around the corner into the room dubbed 'the office' only in the name on the door. It's a glorified science lab that Stan gets to store a shelf of books inside of.

Pushing open the door is a little challenging, like something is blocking it but after a minute of shoving he's able to get enough room to squeeze through to get a look around.

Yep. This is 100% a prank.

The thing blocking the door? Ford, leaning back and looking pretty limp. Stan has got to hand it to him, this is a really convincing look.

"Nice try genius, laying around on the floor isn't going to convince me. Come on, up we go." It takes a lot more work than it should to move Ford from the floor up into the single chair in here.

The only real dead bodies Stan has ever seen have been bloody from being murdered or covered in vomit thanks to overdosing on something. Lots of blood, bruises, stomach acid and empty eyes stained with their last moments.

Ford's open, blank ones, do cause a little bit of alarm, but. It's how damn cold his body is that brings the first real taste of concern to the forefront of his mind.

"I thought I told you to turn on the space heater periodically. You have bad enough circulation as is, you idiot." Ford is very cold, and limp just like a dead body, and his eyes-

To humor Ford, and to reassure himself, Stan does a big show of rolling his eyes and then putting two fingers to Ford's wrist. You can't hide having a pulse, genius.

"................................................................................................................"

Okay. Maybe you can hide a pulse on one arm, if you cut off circulation. Whatever, big whoop?

Stan shifts over to check the other wrist and lets out a tisk of annoyance before raising those same fingers up to Ford's neck.

Same result.

Huh.

Now that's a neat trick.

Ford is doing a really good job pretending not to breathe too.

A really really good job.

That's bad.

"Alright Sixer, good one. I've learned my lesson here, you can undo whatever witchcraft you used to manage this." His confidence that this is a joke is cracking with every second Ford doesn't hop up and start lecturing him.

That's what should be happening. Another long rant about how pretending to be injured or sick isn't funny, not a good way to get attention, and unnecessary.

Yeah. Stan knows all that.

Ford does come topside, eventually, whenever he yells. It's just-

Sometimes Ford gets a little too caught up in his work and needs to be reminded the rest of the world exists. Extremes are the easiest way to do that.

And, yeah. Stanley can admit in the safety of his own head that he enjoys the fretting Ford does, despite knowing it’s a false alarm. It's been a long time since someone cared about him enough for something like that.

Or maybe those memories are what decided not to come back. Eh, his life seems pretty sad. Makes sense.

What doesn't, however, is why Ford is doing this for so long.

Plain and simple, he wouldn't.

But, that would mean something so terrible that his mind still won't accept it.

Because Ford can't be dead. That's not possible. They had this conversation.

Before leaving Gravity Falls, they had a really long and difficult talk about health issues. Ford came up with game plans for emergencies, Stanley had to own up to his numerous health issues, and how does Stanley know with complete certainty his brother can't be dead?

Bill said so.

Ford isn't supposed to die until he's ninety-two of a heart attack.

Now, Stan doesn't trust that demon on much. Or anything. Except this.

Because Bill liked Ford to an uncomfortable degree, otherwise he'd be dead right now. Or, would have at some point during the apocalypse.

So. The devil must have been telling the truth on this one thing, right?

Ford had seemed pretty sure that he wasn't going to be the one needing healthcare at sea, solidifying the belief in Stan's own mind. If Ford wasn't worried, why should he? He's a genius!

But-

What if Bill did lie? Tricking them into a false sense of security only for Ford to drop dead one day. Honestly? That does sound more his style.

Except, it can't be today.

It just can't.

Because if Ford is dead-

That's not a possibility Stanley Pines has ever considered for so much as a millisecond.

Not when Ford went through the portal.

Not for thirty years during the rebuilding process.

Not even prior to rescuing him from Bill and saving the world.

Because he can't imagine a world without Stanford Pines.

Sure, he's been gone before. Missing, but he came back from the portal and they eventually fixed things. They're okay now.

That was six weeks ago.

And, yeah, they still fight, but that's normal. Expected, living so closely after so long apart.

Stan has found himself frozen standing next to the chair simply staring down at Ford waiting for-

The joke to end? The camera crew to jump out? Ford himself to come in from the other room telling him this is a dummy or clone?

That spurs him back into action, rushing out of the room. "You aren't funny, Stanford Filbrick Pines! When I find you, I'm going to give you the worst wedgie in the multiverse!"

There are really only four places Ford could be hiding, given his size. Their bedroom underneath the bunk beds, the bathroom, the tiny kitchen pantry, or the engine room.

The kitchen pantry is bare, as expected. It’s a pretty shitty hiding spot.

Looking underneath the bed is tricky, but he isn't under there either.

The bathroom shower is clear too and he leaves the lights on, doors open, as he yanks the tiny half-sized door to peer into the almost crawlspace-sized room-

Empty.

For good measure Stanley does a second, and third, lap of the ship from the deck all the way back through leaving no chance for his brother to be sneaking around hiding.

In the end he still lands back in the office, leaning against the wall, looking at his brother's freezing cold and lifeless body.

Dead, body-

Nope, nope, nope! Ford can't be dead, he can't be.

Instead of looking at 'Ford' Stan looks around the room at anything else in search of answers. There's a stack of books and some science doohickey on the desk, but that's not all.

When first entering the room, Ford was laying on the floor back against the door. The chair was sideways, almost like he'd fallen out of it.

Down on the floor is a small collection of scattered papers.

It certainly looks like-

"Nope. Not happening." I'm not going to entertain it, not going to think about it. Ford is cold and being an idiot.

Stan busies himself with gathering up the scattered papers off the floor and organizing them on the desk and-

Ford's phone.

Before leaving port they'd both gone out and bought one at the behest of Dipper and Mabel. For taking pictures, calling, texting, and use of the internet.

They have this thing called a 'hot spot' that allows them to use the internet on their laptop for video calls and such. Ford usually sets that up and Stan gets the call going.

Neither of them knows the full process, so they have to work together.

Finding it discarded on the floor fits with the scene Ford has laid out trying to play dead. It's all very convincing, really.

But all that panic and worry remains buried deep, because what else is there?

Losing Ford would probably give him a heart attack, for real, right about now.

So. It's pretty concerning to see the phone open, wasting the battery, to their text chain.

It looks like Ford tried sending him a text up above deck.

'Stanley, I require medical assistance, follow protocol 32-C. Thank you. -Stanford Pines'

Except the text never went through, that red bubble with the exclamation mark 'Not delivered' is obvious enough for even Stanley to see.

Okay. There isn't any ignoring that.

Why? Ford was right here, why didn't he yell or come upstairs, or knock on the ceiling for fucks sake?

Except it does look like Ford might have tried to leave the room-

Real, honest panic claws its way up into the center of his chest from where he's kneeling on the floor looking at the text that didn't go through.

Maybe it was never a heart attack, could've been a stroke-

This text is pretty long and lacking spelling mistakes though, like all the other messages Ford has ever written.

His last words.

"Stanford..." It comes out broken and he ignored the complaints of the floor in the rush to get up, still clutching the phone, and across the room to his brother.

Idiot! Stupid, God damn idiot!

Instead of helping him for one fucking second you decided to play hide and seek!

Nope, we aren't going to cry. Not now, nope. Doesn't matter that there isn't anyone around to-

Nope!

Pulling Ford down onto the floor to assess him is easy with how limp he is and Stan makes quick work of pulling off his gloves in search of-

Something.

There still isn't a pulse, but the skin along each wrist and the neck feels colder than it did earlier. Stan's hands are shaking like he's going through withdrawals, trembling.

Focus.

Despite what his brother might think, he did in fact take the time to review the procedures stored in their extensive first aid kits. Not because any of them are helpful here though.

Ford put that together with Stan exclusively in mind.

What to do in the case of a heart attack, stroke, aneurysms, seizures, and all the small things too. Stuff for stitches, concussions, burns, and there is one small pamphlet on amputations.

The reason he took the time to review them was to put together his own plans, just in case.

If this is a heart attack he can't use to stupid paddles on Ford because of his metal plate. Besides, who knows what kind of effects that might have if it is a stroke-

He's already dead-

"Shut up! Just, shut up. He isn't, not until I say so!" The yell echoes back inside the claustrophobic room. The boat has never felt so painfully small-

CPR it is then.

Thirty-two C is essentially an undefined chest pain. Aspirin, monitoring, and high tailing it to the closest port.

Hard to do any of that when Ford can't breathe, much less swallow. And, you know, being three hours from the closest dock doesn't help either.

Stan has wasted too much time fussing and being useless as is. He knows how to do this. Where the hands go, the rhythm needed and the right amount of pressure to apply. How often to force Ford to take air.

This gives his hands something useful to do, his mind something to focus on instead of pure white-hot panic.

Because that's what he feels.

There is only one thing he could never protect Ford from, himself.

Sickness, and eventually death fall into that same category because the body does those things without considering what you want. Old age would come for his brother someday, regardless of how anyone feels about it.

Stanley had always assumed- no, made damn sure -that he wouldn't outlive his brother.

Because he can't be the one to carry on. That is a world he wants no part in.

He realizes, a while into doing compressions, that he should have consulted a clock before starting to try and keep track of how long he's been doing this.

Whatever, like it really matters.

Stanley continues anyway, long past when his arms started to burn and past hearing two different ribs crack.

What makes him stop is when he physically can't catch his own air enough to continue.

He is, understandably, a mess.

Snot smeared between both faces, tears across the front of Ford's shirt and cheeks, and Stanley himself can't breathe, chest tight and wracked with sobs.

Even if Ford did have a heartbeat Stanley knows he wouldn't be able to feel it because of how badly his hands are trembling and how fast blood is rushing in his own ears.

Six god damn weeks. Is that really all we got? All that time, all those mistakes? So much wasted all because I couldn't control myself for five fucking seconds!

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry Stanford." It comes out choked, barely real words around his chests arguing efforts to sound like a dying animal and take in enough oxygen to avoid meeting his own end.

The pile of regrets is immeasurable, but not so much about the past.

They've done that song and dance, so those aren't the thoughts that tear into him now.

So many things missed that still need to be made up for.

Christmas. New Years. Drunk nights out. Their birthday for fucks sake!

Now they'll never get to share that, ever again. Forever Seventeen.

Just-

Being together again.

Joking together.

Together!

Not apart.

Haven't they had enough of that? Wasn't four cursed decades of loneliness plenty?

Guess time has a funny sense of humor.

Or the world just hates him specifically.

Stanley Pines isn't allowed to be happy, hopefully everyone got the memo!

He can't remember ever crying so hard or for nearly as long ever in his whole life. Countless nights spent breaking down in the basement, slumped over the desk in the upstairs office, or camped out in some slum across the back seat of the car are nothing in comparison.

Lying across Ford's chest feels unnatural. It's too cold, too still-

Wrong.

It's like someone just broke one of the fundamental laws of physics here in their office and Stanley can't handle it.

When he finally manages to pull away a crazed laugh bubbles up and out into the room without permission.

There is nothing funny about this, but it seems to have a mind of its own, running away with his vocal cords.

What the hell else is he supposed to do? His whole world just died. Ford might as well of snuffed out the sun, causing the whole universe to go out with it. All that's left are stars.

Memories.

That's not fair. None of this is, and he knows that life ain't fair. Why would it be now? Of course it wouldn't, but-

"Why?! Why now, huh?! You couldn't of waited ten fucking minutes? At least let me be here with you? I could of done something useful for once! But no, I always have to fail! It's the only thing I'm good at!"

The humor vanishes, the hysterics of it washed away by anger and grief.

He ends up sitting back on his ass with knees drawn up with both arms wrapped around them, just like when they were kids.

What is he supposed to do?

Ford's dead. Stanford is dead. Sixer is dead. My twin brother is dead-

Repeating the same thought doesn't make him feel any better. If anything, it makes the shaking ten times worse. Unsteady hands, trembling shoulders-

He's shivering all over, goosebumps caused by something other than the cold.

"God, i really am a failure. Can't argue with me now, huh? You died, fifteen feet away from me and-" He can't look at Ford like this anymore, so he brings up a hand to cover his face while trying to regulate his own awful breathing.

Who cares? Why does it matter? Why bother calming down if Ford's dead?

As much as he'd like to give up, because it would be incredibly easy to do so, Stan knows he can't. Not now.

Okay. Deep even breathes.

In. One, two, three, four, five.

Out. One, two, three, four five.

It takes several tries to manage getting past two, but it gets a little easier to stop feeling so light headed the more he focuses on it

He can't give up, because like it or not-

Why not?

Because of the kids? Because of Soos? How exactly would they feel to find out both of us were brought into port dead by the coast guard? Two funerals to attend.

Although they would probably do them together-

That's a nice thought.

Nope, we aren't encouraging that!

"Alright, come on. Get it together. You know what to do..." That doesn't make it easier.

Back up. First onto both knees, then both feet.

Unlike moving Ford into the chair, dragging him around, Stanley takes more care lifting Ford up over one shoulder to carry him from the office across the boat into the bedroom.

Laying him out on the bottom bunk, tucked into the blankets, it looks like he's just sleeping.

Despite barely doing anything Stanley is exhausted already. Arms sore, his back is going to be killing him tomorrow from picking up all that dead weight, so he settles on the edge of the mattress. Just for a minute.

There was once a day when the gun would, metaphorically, already be in his hand.

The world hadn't exactly been kind to him. Not growing up. Not on the road. Not even fully in Gravity Falls. Sure, it was home, but the basement was its own form of torture and suffering.

All of that was supposed to stay off the boat.

Land was pain, the ocean was perfect.

Or at least he'd thought so. If death was going to come for them, taking them into the ranks of lives lost at sea, they were supposed to go down together.

It's tempting. More tempting than ever before.

"I'm sorry." He can't turn and look at Ford, but the presence of his body is comforting in a weird way. Just don't think about how-

"I know you keep telling me I don't need to be, and that we're all good, but I really am. I'm the reason we lost so much time, so maybe it’s just that I have to live with that until my heart gives out." These are the kinds of things he'd never say if Ford was really here.

Or in front of anyone, but what's the harm now? Might as well get it out now before heading back.

From there Ford will be carted off to the closest morgue, body probably cremated, leaving Stanley to bring the ash remains home.

"Maybe I was a damn fool to think I could have it all. Should have known it was too good to be true. I can't-" He has to stop to take several deep full breaths before pushing on.

"I can't do this. Thirty years, forty, all alone. Ruined, and now-"

Things were good, fantastic, for fucks sake!

Having someone to cook and clean with. To get annoyed at when they hog the bathroom. Pointless arguments, bickering, but always getting over it.

It was domestic in a way he'd always wanted but never allowed himself. Always afraid anyone who got close would leave.

In a way, Ford did. Not intentionally, but he did walk right back out the door just like everyone else. Who knows, maybe it would have happened sooner or later anyway.

"I-I know I wasn't great to live with. I'm a pain in the ass screw-up and I guess that's all I'll ever be." Failing to notice something was seriously wrong sooner, not hearing any noises his brother might have made, not getting that text-

Overshadows saving the world. It doesn't matter if the sun keeps rising if his brother isn't here to see it.

He doesn't really know what's considered 'normal behavior' around a corpse. It might be incredibly weird of him to decide to sit up against the wall at the head of the bunk and get Ford situated laying back against his chest, repositioning the blankets.

Stan finds he doesn't care either way. If his brother is dead, the love of his life, he's going to sit with him for a little while before his body gets all stiff and gross and corpsey.

It'll take about two hours, give or take, before then.

Other than the bed being cold it’s not hard to pretend things are okay. Stan's own breathing moves Ford with each inhale and exhale in the otherwise quiet room.

They're both to old to be cuddling, but who's around to judge him? The next closest human is miles away and Ford...

He doesn't really get a say anymore.

Stan lets out a sad and exhausted chuckle, shaking his head and tucking his face down into Ford's hair while keeping both arms tight across his brother’s chest.

It smells of sweat, sea salt, and something chemically that makes his nose burn a little. He needs a shower, gross bastard.

"You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you, Sixer. No fucking clue how much I love you."

Never, ever, would Stan dare be so open in front of anyone, much less his equally emotionally constipated brother. But it’s not like he's going to be able to say all this stuff in front of people.

Not when he heads back to Gravity Falls, tail between his legs. Much less at the funeral.

"I mean, you had to know. One person doesn't dedicate a lifetime to fixing a mistake like that if they don't give a shit. But, well, you know."

He's a corpse Stan, he doesn't know anything. Not anymore.

"It was never the boat. I didn't care that you wanted to go to school. I didn't care about taking the journal. I didn't even care about you being a pretentious asshole. Okay, maybe I did care about that last one a little." It's the first genuine laugh Stan's let out since finding Ford.

"It was the separation I had a problem with. We could have been enlisted in the military for all I cared, as long as we did it together. Talk about codependent, am I right?"

His arms are tired from doing compressions so instead of continuing to hug Ford in a vice grip he settles for holding one of his hands instead.

Cuddling, weird but not outside of things they've done before. Usually after or because of nightmares.

Hugging is practically a daily occurrence at this point, sometimes multiple times depending on the itinerary Ford's always got in his stupid head.

But this, holding hands, isn't something they've done since they were kids.

Hopefully, Filbrick found a special space in hell for yelling at them until they stopped. He was right, socially, of course. But Stan can't help holding a grudge regardless. As if Ford needed more negative press about his perfect hands.

They're cold but Stan pointedly ignores that in favor of savoring the moment.

"It was good we spent time apart, in its own stupid way. Not because either of us had a good time or anything, but we finally grew up. Eventually. Just took the world ending for you to get your ego checked." It's nice having Ford lying back against his chest, their hands intertwined over Ford's cold one under the blanket.

It's sad, and temporary, but better than nothing at all.

You take what you get and you don't throw a fit.

"But hey, it wasn't all bad." Looking around the room the proof is right here. "We did it, eventually. We had some fun, stole some treasure. Never did get any babes though, but-"

The wall closest to the door is covered in a large cork board covered in pictures from the camera Soos gifted them as a housewarming present before leaving port. Original pictures of them back in Jersey pinned at the top with their adventures detailed in the ones below, picking up decades later.

He sighs, bringing up his free hand to straighten out Ford's hair. It's always a rat’s nest. "I was never as worried about that part as I probably should have been, because I-"

Dead or not, is this really the kind of thing he should be saying out loud?

The things he's saying aren't really for Ford, they're for Stanley's own benefit anyway. "Well, heh. You see, about that...I, uh. Really only had interest in getting one babe on board." He squeezes Ford's hand for emphasis, like he's listening.

But even Stan can't help bursting out into laughter at his awful joke, managing to avoid letting out more than a couple tears. "Oh god, that's terrible. I'm terrible, I know. But, you never had to worry about that. You being here is more then I could've asked for. No sense betting it on the bonus word and getting left at a dock when things where good as is."

There. It's out there, in the room, shared with someone who can never tell his worst secret. That wasn't so bad now, was it?

"As it was, I guess. Still can't believe you're gone and our adventure is over before it really got started." It's a somber thought, but he leaves it at that.

What else is there to say?

Time passes, only marked by the slight darkening of the clouds outside the boat and the ticking of Stanley's watch.

He keeps saying 'five more minutes' but that started up about two hours ago. It's been nearly three since settling into bed. His back hurts from staying in the same position, fingers cramped, but he still doesn't want to get up.

That means letting go. He isn't ready for that.

Probably never will be either.

It must be the cold keeping Ford from getting all stiff like dead people should because he's still just as limp and relaxed as when he first died. That thought makes him wince.

"Alright. As fun as this is, I should probably get up and bring us back to port before it gets dark." He says it like Ford will be able to encourage him to do so, like the corpse is going to hold him accountable.

Except, it can't.

Stan finds the willpower to get up and off the bed anyway, leaving Ford tucked in, and heading out into the hallway that is the kitchen and dining room.

Next step is getting back to port, calling the local authorities, and explaining what the hell happened. That won't be fun. None of this is.

He only gets as far as the kitchen before having to sit down.

Who is he kidding? This is impossible. How the hell is he supposed to do any of this?

No matter how hard he tries to cling to the fact that he has other family, because Stanley knows full well how much the kids and Soos care for him, that doesn't make the suddenly unbearable weight on both shoulders any lighter.

The boat is suffocating, cold, and it’s only going to get worse.

When Ford had gone through the portal it was easy enough to rationalize his feelings of hopelessness away using pure denial. Can't be sure Ford is dead if you can't see him.

And yeah, he'd been right, though on all accounts he shouldn't have been.

Stan can't do that here because Ford is very clearly dead and gone.

All those years he'd already been through the first several stages of grief periodically. Denial, anger, and bargaining but had always gotten stuck in the second to last step. Depression.

If people can get past that one, they usually reach acceptance and from there, it’s all about finding a way to live with it.

I can't do that.

How on earth am I supposed to after everything? So many mistakes, miscommunications, lost time, and for what? For it to end here?

What the hell am I supposed to do? Pack it up, return to Gravity Falls, and drink myself to death?

That's probably what he would have done if Ford hadn't been able to make it home. If he'd actually been dead for thirty years and all that effort was for nothing.

It doesn't take much to make up his mind. It’s only a matter of when, not a matter of if.

The painful silence of the ship is interrupted by his watch beeping at him several times, indicating it’s time for his blood pressure medications.

This watch is considerably uglier than his gold one, but its water proof and has some fancy alarm and timer settings.

Ford set it up to remind him.

He all but collapses in on himself with tears escaping easier than before in the office.

This was all he ever wanted, for someone to give a damn about him and now the only person who ever did is gone!

No more bickering about who used all the hot water. Complaining about who's turn it is to handle the laundry. Doing dishes together.

No more laughing, cracking jokes, or arguing over what to have for dinner.

"I can't do this, I'm not strong enough for that." His voice is choked, barely above a whisper.

His own feet bring him to the first aid kit fastened to the wall above the toilet in the bathroom. It's where any medications they might need are kept from ibuprofen to some other more questionable alien junk of Ford's.

Nutrition pills are not a substitute for real food, even when you’re sick of fish Stanford.

Down on the bottom shelf right next to the Aspirin and Tylenol is where his stupid medication is to take-

Except currently there is a small and simple letter propped up on the shelf blocking the several bottles there with 'For Stanley Pines' on the front in neat and actually legible cursive handwriting.

He looks around the bathroom, almost comically, because he really has lost it.

Maybe he actually had his own medical problem while trying to do chest compressions and now he's a ghost or something?

Because this looks like Ford left him a letter right inside their medicine cabinet.

Except he's dead in the other room.

After picking up the letter, and taking his stupid meds, Stan goes back to the bedroom to double-check that the corpse hasn't managed to go anywhere in the last ten minutes.

Nope. Still there.

Okay.... Well, might as well read it then?

He closes the bedroom door first and goes about straightening up the million open doors and all the unnecessary lights left on this whole time, settling against one of the kitchen counters and tearing the envelope open with his pocket knife.

'To Stanley,

If you are reading this letter then you must be in the throes of panic at the moment. As I know well, it’s not very fun to have a brother who continues to terrify you with health scares. I have tried discussing this with you several times, but clearly, you don't fully understand.

Perhaps this spook, over a supposed 'blocked blood vessel', will set the record straight. I do not find your jokes about 'keeling over' to be amusing. Waking me up purposefully drooping one half of your body also isn't funny.

It is for these many reasons I've devised a plan to scare you, briefly. The serum I gave myself to cause the presentation of symptoms should have no permanent or ill health effects. However, it does eventually result in a loss of consciousness, so you will need to administer the antidote.

It is tapped to the roof of our fridge and kept at the appropriate cool temperature until it is ready to be used, with the dosage already measured out in a previously prepared needle. Any vein will do, though it may take some time to circulate and take-"

Stanley doesn't bother finishing the stupid list of instructions Ford may have left him filling out the rest of the letter. In fact, he can't even bring himself to be mad right this second about Ford torturing him like this.

He's alive. That's all that matters.

It’s a rush of slamming open doors, making a mess of the top shelf of the fridge, before Stan is able to find the supposed needle right where the letter said it would be. Back to the bedroom he yanks on the light, tearing off the blanket.

"I knew it, I fucking knew it-"

Or at least he hopes this is real and not some hallucination caused by grief. Seems a little too good to be true, but he'd be willing to gamble on giving Ford sulfuric acid if he left a note saying so right about now.

Sure enough, by the time Stanley is able to yank Ford's closer sleeve up he can see a big X drawn with a sharpie over the vein along the interior of the arm where you'd have blood taken. Or shoot up heroin.

How long does he have to give the antidote? Could it be too late? That letter was probably supposed to be opened hours ago.

Whatever.

No time like the present.

He's done this plenty of times on himself, so it’s not hard.

Using one of Ford's ties out of the closet (a ridiculous thing to bring on a boat) he's able to create a tourniquet without having to go back to the bathroom.

The cap gets removed with his teeth and once the vein is visible, he carefully presses the needle in under the skin before pushing down the plunger and injecting whatever the weird black medication is.

Only after putting the needle aside does he run off to get dressings and gauze to patch up the injection sight and stop the bleeding. The same amount you'd expect from a live body.

A weird sense of euphoria takes hold in the time it takes to secure the gauze over the injection site with some medical tape.

And a little bit of hope.

Rightfully, he should be beyond pissed. What the hell was Ford thinking in the first place? Okay, yeah. They suck at talking, and he hadn't been the most open to Ford's previous complaints about his 'death jokes' and such.

Dark humor. But he hadn't expected Ford to do something this extreme in retaliation.

Talk about a prank war getting out of hand.

This is worse than when they got into a closet territory war in high school and it had ended with them both getting yelled at, and grounded, when some itching powder accidentally ended up in the wrong laundry.

Later he can be upset, but right now Ford will probably be waking up in enough pain over his own stupid choices. Being given CPR is a rather violent experience, his chest is going to hurt considerably for a long while.

That's revenge enough, and-

Okay, maybe you could consider this lesson learned.

Stanley is left to wait, with bated breath, for Ford to wake up.

It's pretty safe for Ford to say that this whole experience turned out to be a lot more traumatizing than it should have been.

Maybe he was a bit of a dick, planning on scaring Stanley a little, but that's all. Just a tiny scare to get his brother to stop being so-

Difficult, let's go with that.

Pain in the ass would be more accurate

Regardless, absolutely nothing had gone to plan and it had very nearly ended in the worst possible way. Him dead, and Stanley heart broken.

What was supposed to happen was pretty simple.

Starting with sending the text, which Stanley would get above deck. Meanwhile, below deck, Ford would cast the spell meant to slow his pulse to an unsteady rate on top of accelerating his breathing. Mimicking something close to a heart attack.

Just for a little scare, with no real consequences.

Then Stanley would come downstairs, freak out, but follow the procedure.

Which is when he would have found the letter, stopping the whole scene before everything got so out of hand. Easy.

But, no.

The text hadn't gone through, because their signal was spotty at best out here.

No problem, because the spell does technically leave a window before putting you into stasis.

Or, it’s supposed to.

Thirty-two and a half seconds isn't nearly enough time to do anything useful, as Ford found out the hard way.

The results were him being left waiting on the floor for Stanley to find him and being left fully aware of every second without being able to do anything to stop it.

Having chest compressions done when your heart is fine, just old, is not fun. Very not fun. One of the more painful experiences he can admit to participating in.

This whole thing, in fact, is up there with one of the top five worst moments in his life.

All because Stanley wouldn't listen!

No, it's because you’re an idiot who seems to only know how to hurt your own brother-

Shut up!

That's not helping anything.

The slow-to-restart heart rate, which never fully stopped, is more painful because of the time left lying around. Not a surprising response to his apparent death, but-

Two broken ribs, and some pretty bad bruising, but otherwise physically he'll be fine.

Just as soon as every vein stops burning from the antidote.

Truly that's a just punishment for the time he's left waiting after feeling the injection up until he's able to breathe and move again.

There is a lot that he could unpack here, but that would involve facing everything that he just caused. Which is terrible.

Better to focus on the one damn good thing to come out of this whole mess.

Stanley loves him.

Not only in the 'brotherly love' kind of way, but it certainly sounded like it had been implied romantically, hadn't it?

The spell or the cold he'd been experiencing couldn't have made up a hallucination like that.

It's logical if you think about it.

Stanley was under the impression he was dead, so why not own up to all kinds of gross and sappy crap? Taking time to mourn everything that was, could have, and is.

Brother, best friend, and-

Lover is a rather big leap to make from some simple implications on their own, but-

Was it two or three hours of straight-up cuddling and holding hands?

That might be as much evidence as Stanley would ever willingly provide without being physically tortured out of it.

Knowing that his own feelings are returned is actually worse than being trapped inside your own skin, because what the hell is he supposed to do with this information?

If they can't talk about Stanley no longer making jokes, how is he supposed to bring this up in a way that doesn't make his brother jump off the boat to drown?

Ford can't help but let out a quiet pained groan with the first gasp of air, taking away the option of saying something first thing.

It's better than screaming, which is what he feels like doing from the pain.

Not the first time an experiment resulted in such poor results, it'll be fine.

"Stanley," is the first thing Ford forces himself to say just as soon as it’s not going to come out sounding too pained. As if either of them needs to feel worse at the moment.

Stan hadn't so much as gotten up off the bed after dressing the injection. He brought up a hand to steady Ford when he tried to sit up too fast. "Woah, take it easy there, Sixer. The world's not going anywhere."

Now is not the time for jokes, Stanley. This isn't funny.

His brother’s ability to compartmentalize traumatic events and the emotions associated with them is astounding. Must be a shared trait.

Trying to talk is like swallowing tacks but he managed to make a motion towards the water bottle they kept hanging from a hook above the bedside table halfway between their bunks.

Relief was about all Stanley could feel getting up only enough to grab the water bottle for Ford before settling back next to him on the bed.

He's still cold, but very much alive.

It's visible in the tense set of Ford's shoulders when he's awake, the crease and possibly only wrinkle on his whole stupid perfect face between his brow from worrying or fretting over something, and the strong grasp around the bottle when taking a drink.

It's almost enough to make him cry again, except Ford is awake now, so he keeps a better lid on those feelings by shoving them back in a closet. Hugging Ford as soon as he's had a drink also allows for a good expression of his worries while actively hiding any stupid emotions (or tears) his face could be doing against his will.

No matter how much it physically hurts (maybe at least one of those ribs is broken, rather than cracked) Ford wholeheatedly returns it while trying to lubricate his mouth and throat enough to say something, anything, useful.

"Did it work at least? Do you understand now how physically upsetting it is to have you faking health scares? That pure terror is what I feel every single time, regardless of if you’re kidding. It's not funny." His voice is still ruined and dry with an edge of ache, but audible.

Stan lets out a dry chuckle, but it's forced and tight. "Yeah, yeah. Alright, you got me. But for the record, I knew it was a sham. I could smell it from a mile away!"

Both eyes are also a little dry from the extensive time spent open up until Stan closed them, which gives a good excuse for why he blinks at Stan like an idiot.

What, does he think I'm stupid?

Sure, Stanley seemed fooled for a while, but the last several hours of panic and grieving-

He doesn't know.

Oh.

Well, that's. A perfectly rational assumption given that's what the letter said, the spell was supposed to end in unconsciousness in a form of slowed metabolism and heart rate in a form of intense hibernation.

"I was awake." The reaction is immediate feeling the hand on either shoulder tighten momentarily with several emotions passing over Stanley's face too fast to read.

Panic is all he catches before its smothered with the rest.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Well, that is almost worse than Ford being dead, because what the hell is he supposed to do now?

They're three hours from port, without anyone around, and no internet connection.

Ford could easily kill him and no one would ever know the difference.

Because that is certainly what's about to happen. He knows, he heard, he saw for fucks sake.

If it wasn't for the physical and literal beating Ford would have already had him in a headlock on the floor.

Watching Stanley physically, and not so subtly, recoil is heartwrenching and Ford won't stand for seeing any more pain on his brother’s face.

There has been enough of that in one lifetime, and tonight.

"Hey, I'm not upset." He has to physically stop Stanley from getting up off the bed by grabbing one shoulder and the closer hand tightly, pulling him back to sit again.

This might be the absolute most embarrassing moment of his whole life.

Worse than the teasing they got as a pair over Ford's kissing bot in high school, which previously held the top spot.

Maybe I should just throw myself overboard to get away from this conversation.

Sure, I'm not dead, but living with 'being let down easy' and then everything spiraling into the most awkward friend zone of all time is much worse.

Death would be kinder.

Stan's whole face flushes bright red but otherwise his expression remains mostly neutral and steeled waiting for whatever comes next. Though its still tempting to run.

Very, very tempting.

This is terrifying, but not nearly as scary as thinking Stanley was going to do something drastic while left to his own devices. In comparison, this is easy.

If you ignore the fact nothing has ever been easy for them.

"I'm, you could say that- I understand." What the fuck was that? He tries again, pushing on because that didn't make any sense. "I mean, I've visited more dimensions then I can count, I'm certainly not- I've grown out of my own reservations, so you could say. But, obviously, I never thought..." He does another lame motion with their linked hands, hoping Stan will read his mind and end this painful moment.

Okay, now this is definitely a hallucination triggered by some sort of mental lapse or stroke.

Ford being dead absolutely did get to him.

Enough to make up a whole letter and shoot up a corpse with some random chemical and now some sick hallucination.

That seems more likely than what Ford is trying to imply or suggest.

But the hand in his, with six fingers enveloping Stan's five, certainly feels real.

And there is the small, helpful, argument-nagging details coming from the back of his head that Ford never actually pissed himself or anything like most dead people do.

Stanley must have picked up the habit of laughing when he's nervous over the last several decades because, from Ford's perspective, nothing about this conversation is funny.

It's very serious and raw, so why the hell is he laughing so hard?

At least he isn't pulling away. That's good?

"For fucks sake, Stanley, can you take anything seriously for one whole minute? Why the hell do I even fancy you? You’re an ass!"

"Fancy me, what are you, a British nark?" Jesus, Stanley can barely breathe trying to calm down but doesn't let Ford pull his hand away an inch.

"I'm going to kill you, just as soon as I can breathe without my whole chest convulsing, I'm going to-"

"Oh, I'll show you being unable to breathe alright." He does not know where the boldness comes from exactly, probably the high from the recent near-death experience, but either way he snatches Ford by the shoulder with his free hand to pull him over into a proper kiss.

He ignores how it tastes of stale water and snot.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #stan x ford #stancest

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caniball1sticdes1re · 8 months ago

Text

quick rant — life is strange is such a beautiful representation of how there are no "good" or "bad" people, they're just people.

this is mainly (in my mind) shown through nathan. its so easy to hate him, but he won my heart just as easy. his character is so well written, i can talk about him for years — a broken boy from a broken home, searching for somebody, anybody to accept him and love him for who he is.

first, he's abused by his stuck up father, shunned by his entire family, and then is revealed to have multiple mental illnesses, that he has to take medication for, and is expressed as an embarassment, not just at home but at school too. nobody accepted him, nobody liked being around him besides victoria, rachel and samantha. samantha, being the only person to defend him and show him love and kindness, who claps for him and just him at the end of the play. then that ends, one way or another judging by the fact that samantha isnt a character in the original game and nathan seemingly just gives up on her when she unknowingly walks away from him at the end of before the storm. he spirals, becomes bitter and angry between games and is no longer the introverted, kind, quiet, nathan we see in before the storm. he's used, manipulated, (probably blackmailed) and forced to aid in drugging, kidnapping, and photographing girls. he "accidentally" (i have theories..) kills rachel, another one of his friends who genuinely treats him well enough to even have a picture of them together in her room. and then he has to bury her and live with the guilt of a closest friends death hanging above his head, which worsens when her missing posters are splayed across blackwell, and the entire town. he gets busted for the gun, gets busted for kates (attempted) suicide, gets beat up, has to live with knowing that jefferson is planning on kidnapping another one of his best friends, and then gets murdered.

characters like him (and finn) and discussions of "i feel bad for him but i still hate him" "i have a love hate relationship with him" are so silly to me because hes not necessarily a "bad" person or an "evil" character, he's just a person. of course, this does not at all excuse helping jefferson or killing rachel (i have my own theories on how it isnt as bad as it sounds on nathans part, but not really going into detail on that rn) but his voicemail to max really changes the perspective on everything (to me)

"max, it's.. it's nathan. i.. i just wanted to say.. i'm sorry. i didn't want to hurt kate or rachel, or.. i didn't want to hurt anybody. everybody.. used me. mr. jefferson.. is coming for me now. all this shit will be over soon. watch out max... he wants to hurt you next. sorry." (Life Is Strange: Episode 5: Polarized, heard while max is driving to the two whales diner)

a broken boy, from a broken home looking to be loved, and in the end he's tricked and manipulated, only to be killed by his one escape.

i love him; his writing is so beautiful. he isnt evil or good, there is no angel or devil on his shoulders, he's a person.

i will always defend him, i literally love nathan with my whole heart.

#— lina speaks !#life is strange #square enix #dontnod entertainment #nathan prescott #life is strange: before the storm #life is strange 2 #life is strange: true colors #max caulfield #chloe price #rachel amber

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kekaki-cupcakes · 9 months ago

Note

Hey !

Hope ure doing good

I like AU and I wondered if u could please do a leo valdez x reader fic

Like...They live in the same apartment at the same floor and they see each other frequently in the corridors, and with the time they create an affinity

I have emerged from my cave. hello world. <3.

Leo Valdez x Reader--- Mortal/Apartment AU

»»————-　★　————-««

“...Hi?” You said, hitching your tote bag, the Kiki’s delivery service-patterned one, back onto your shoulder. It always fell down when you were walking down the front steps, past the skinny stray cat who slept underneath the mailboxes. Everyone in the building had named her Stick Insect.

It was in a loving way. You hoped.

Leo made an odd wheezing sound that sounded a lot like a beached whale taking its last breath as he dragged one of those old-fashioned red waggons behind him. He wiped his hands on his green army jacket, the one with all the jangly badges you could hear coming from a mile off.

Your favourite was the Minecraft TNT one, underneath the trans flag pin, and one that just simply said ‘BBS’. You didn’t quite know what that meant.

He grinned at you brightly, despite his shaky arms, and lugged the wagon of cardboard boxes and what seemed to be an entire chunk of golden sheet metal along the pavement.

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hi,” you said, holding the door open a second longer than necessary so that Leo could lug his giant cardboard box through. You still hadn’t figured out what he kept in all those boxes and bags.

“Hey!” he said, and bumped straight into a doorway with a red face. Then he scurried up the stairs and left you in the liminal space that was the empty apartment complex hallway after ten p.m.

You stood there for a moment, and then realised you were still smiling.

»»————-　★　————-««

Shit. Shit.

You were running so late. I mean, technically, it wasn’t your fault you were going to miss the start of your favourite classes ever. Your alarm clock, one of those old-fashioned red ones [it was also missing one of the bubble things on top and only rang on one side until it vibrated itself off your bedside table], hadn’t gone off in time this morning and began ringing loudly at nine thirty instead of seven thirty.

You tossed your apple core into the little waste paper basket by the big hallway windows, and searched your pockets for your keys. Shit.

“Hey,” Leo said, from where he was unlocking his door. He was room 7. He also had massive bags under his eyes, you noticed. You also noticed that his eyes were the prettiest glowing brown when the morning sun shone through the windows.

You blinked, forgetting why your hands were in your pockets. You probably looked like an idiot. “Uh, hi.”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry… if your power went out at some point last night…? That might’ve been me.”

“Can you, like, control electricity or something?” You asked with a laugh.

This was the first time you’d exchanged more than a few words since you’d asked for his name when you watched a very loud girl dressed solely in Olivia Rodrigo merch yell at a confused white guy to ‘pivot’, as he carried a complicated looking egg chair up the stairs.

Leo shook his head. “Nah, I wish. ‘Was just... working on a project... And I may have blown up my power sockets. And the street lamp.”

“What are you building in there?” You asked, “A moving castle?”

»»————-　★　————-««

Your friend burped in your ear—in quite a disgusting way, may you add—and stumbled forward, arm slung over your shoulders. You roll your eyes at their inability to walk like a normal person after only three shots and pull your phone out of your pocket. After a few tries at putting your password in, 1989, you manage to unlock it. You’ve got charms hanging off the clear case—little soot sprites that swirl in your vision as you blink forcefully.

The Uber’s on the street now, so you heaved your door shut behind you, room 4, and began to trudge down the staircase. There’s a new scorch mark on the third from the bottom step, and you picture a dragon stomping up after his 9-5.

You tried to hold in a laugh, only to fail. Your friend giggled loudly, the laughter contagious, and faceplanted.

“Fuck, dude,” you heard, and then turned to see Leo standing by his door, three raspberry slushies in his arms. It was the first time he hadn’t been lugging canvas bags or wooden crates in a while.

He nodded. “Metal.”

“Shut up!” you chuckle, wiping your brow. You reach down and pick up your friends floppy arms as they begin to snooze diagonally. The taste of vodka and pineapples rose in your throat. “Come on, get up!”

Leo peeked over the stair bannister.

Nosy little bugger. Cute, nosy little bugger, you corrected yourself. Then you frowned, watching him blink owlishly and blush from the roots. You didn’t say that out loud, right?

“Uh, yes,” Leo squeaked, “you did.”

»»————-　★　————-««

You carried the coffee cups as you walked up the stairs, eyes on your phone while you texted your friend to stop watching reruns of Brooklyn Nine Nine and get onto the word doc.

The group project was due tonight, and the lazy bugger was stress-obsessing over Gina Lenetti, the human form of the one hundred emoji.

You slid your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, soot sprites catching on the denim, and fished out your keys once you reached your door. Another one banged shut further down the hall. You stuck your keys into the lock. “Hi.”

“Hey!” Leo panted, still in his pyjamas, and raced out of the building.

You rolled your eyes and grinned.

»»————-　★　————-««

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you’re doing with all of this junk,” you said cheerfully, moving your eyes in sync with the black and white cat clock hanging on the wall.

You turned away when you got dizzy, taking in the piles of things balanced precariously around you like a steampunk library. Vintage machines like typewriters, telephones with the spinning number circles, and record players—the ones that have that big tuba shape sticking out the top—.

Drills and hammers were scattered on the layers of cute little rugs, posters from animes you hadn’t seen yet stuck to the walls, and a lot of Polaroid pictures. You picked one up.

The two people you’d seen helping Leo move in a few months ago were grinning at the camera with Mickey Mouse hats on.

“It’s not junk!” Leo looked up from the pile of jackets—black and white chequered ones, a giant purple hoodie, and one with flames up the sleeves—that he was hastily shoving off a mustard-coloured armchair.

“Sorry,” you apologised with a laugh. “You’ll have to tell me what you’re doing with all those bits and bobs.”

He ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. “Okay, okay, but you can’t dob me into the landlord.”

“I would never,” you said, completely serious. Leo stared at you for a moment, his eyes all weird-looking. They made your chest feel like Ponyo, floating around and grinning.

Then he looked away nervously. You smile and look away too. Leo’s kitchen, in the same spot as yours, with the same apartment layout, could not look any more different from yours.

There were coloured magnets moved into swear words on the fridge and golden, oily instant coffee machines in parts on the bench.

Your kitchen had jam jars of little flowers and chocolate-covered almonds scattered around the collection of salt and pepper shakers you’d inherited from some badass old aunt. You had matching sets of penguins, mushrooms, and creepy baby dolls, all filled with salt and pepper.

“Sure…” Leo shoved some empty take-out boxes into his bin.

He looked at you with a wide smirk. He led you through to what you’d made into a spare room for your friends, and opened the door triumphantly. “Come on through... to Leo Land!”

You stepped around the door, even though you could’ve looked through the wide hole in it if you really wanted to. A hulking metal form was hanging from a wooden stand in the centre of the room, with wires and coils hanging out of it.

More collections of scrap metal folded up into shapes that could be claws or grabber machines, maybe, were sitting on benches between spray cans of gold paint.

Welding material, or at least that’s what they looked like, took up a corner, sparks flying.

You narrowed your eyes at Leo, finally realising why he had so many tears in his cargo pants and paper clips in his jacket sleeves. “Leo…”

“Yah?”

“Are you perhaps building a bomb?”

“No!” Leo scoffed, literally hugging a giant metal boot to his chest like it was his baby. Except the boot had green eyes. “This is Festus!”

“A foetus?” you asked, wondering how deranged this pretty boy was, despite his cool old-fashioned toys, big jackets, and need for multiple slushies at a time. “Are you feeling okay?”

Leo rolled his brown eyes at you. “Festus is a dragon! Well, he's not a dragon yet; he’s just a torso, a half-done head, and a bunch of feet. He’s got nine feet right now, cause I haven’t been able to replicate a working one more than once.”

“You’re building a giant metal dragon in your spare room?”

“Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“You’re so cool.”

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hey querida,” Leo said, kissing you on the cheek before you grabbed your mail from the boxes outside the building, waved to Stick Insect the skinny cat, and ran to your car.

Stupid broken alarm clock.

“...Heyyy.”

»»————-　★　————-««

“Mi amor!”

You turned around on the couch, putting down your takeout box of noodles [from the good place near the park where the old dude who plays chess against anyone who walks past lives]. “Yah?”

Leo came trudging into the lounge, slash kitchen, with your bright red alarm clock in his arms, all parts attached. “Fixed!”

He plopped down on the couch next to you, squashing the lion squishmellow that had been ripped open in the back, and showed you the now shiny metal and matching bits on the top, with that stupid little grin of his.

You kissed the top of his nose and took the clock from his greasy, scarred [incredibly nice-looking] hands. “Thank you.”

The TV crackled in front of you both, balancing on the stack of old record players Leo was repairing for the second-hand store full of goths and old ladies down the street. You put the little alarm clock down near your feet and pulled out the strawberry-patterned blanket Piper’s girlfriend crocheted you both for Christmas.

Leo leant over and curled his arm around your waist, laying half across you like a cat in the sun. You sat up a little, as he fiddled with the remote he’d added far too many buttons to for no reason at all. "Here, stick insect, kitty! Stick insect, here, kitty!”

Little padding sounds came from the hallway, and then the chubby, spotted cat launched herself over the back of the couch and onto Leo’s shoulder.

He shreiked and headbutted you as Stick Insect hopped over and sat between you both, plopped down in loaf position, fluffy feet hidden. Leo sniffed haughtily and sank into the hug you gave him. Stick Insect began chewing on the necklace around your neck, the blue teardrop one Leo had made you a while ago. You kissed his forehead, stroking the cat's soft forehead gently.

He turned the TV on, looking up at you with sparkling eyes. “Howl, or Kiki?”

»»————-　★　————-««

I HAVE A PJO EVENT GOING ON RIGHT PLEASE GO INTERACT YOU CAN REQUEST ANYTHING JUST CHECK THE POST <3 <3

#pjo fandom #Leo valdez x reader #Leo valdez x you #leovaldez #leo valdez fanfic #Leo valdez pjo #pjo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #leo valdez #leo valdez x y/n #hoo

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