#ice cream truck driver josh

[twentyonepilotsficlibrary]

hi! can u please find the story where i think tyler kills pedophiles and josh is an ice cream truck driver? thankyou!

here ya go! (**hasn’t been updated since nov 2018)-madi

Best Served Cold by headfirstfrhalos (4/5 | 33805 | mature)

Josh drives an ice cream truck. Tyler is a serial killer. Both are, in their opinion, working for a good cause.

//brutal murders //suicide attempt //pedophilia //implied rape/non-con //child abuse

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - The Treehouse

Summary: Right before Dipper and Mabel return to Gravity Falls for another summer, Stan and Ford decide to do something nice for them only for it to nip them in the butt.

Author’s Note: So if there is ONE thing I'm disappointed in the GF fandom for (besides BillDip and ANY incest shipping) is that there are NO Drake and Josh references! I can think of at least twelve episodes that would fit PERFECTLY with the silver foxes! Seriously, am I just in the dark or crazy or has no one else made that connection? Anywho, thank you so much for reading and if you liked this one-shot then you should check my fics out; I've done quite a bit of Gravity Falls that can be found on FanFiction.net. Have a great day!

https://www.fanfiction.net/story/story_tab_list.php

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford hummed a mindless tune to himself as he picked up the red toolbox and climbed up a make-shift ladder; he had made it by hammering planks of thick wood to a tree, leading up to where the Treehouse of Dreams was, or will be when he and Stan finished it.

It was so hot in the early summer afternoon that Ford had actually shed his trenchcoat and rolled up his sweater-sleeves, showcasing his less-gruesome scars. His six-fingered work gloves covered the old burn-scars on his wrists given to him by Bill, so he was comfortable freeing some skin in order to work more efficiently. While it was an adventure of a lifetime to sail with his brother on the Stan O' War II, Ford found it extremely rewarding to build something bigger than a hand-held invention and to do it for two people he loved very much.

Dipper and Mabel would be back in Gravity Falls in a few hours, and when they came back, they would find a huge "Beginning of Summer" party waiting for them at the lake and a new treehouse in the woods. Stanley first snorted and said the teenagers were too old for a treehouse, but then Ford showed him the blueprints and the old conman agreed to help.

This treehouse was located about two or three rows of trees away from the Mystery Shack, enough to give a brooding teenager privacy if wanted, and it had three sections and a small deck for fresh air. The middle section was designed to be a shared space between the twins, but then they each had their own space, Dipper's host a work-deck and a bookshelf while Mabel's had a rocking chair (made by Ford himself and decorated with birds, gnomes, pinetrees, and other things one would find in the woods, carved into the soft, polished wood) and drawers for art supplies. There were no walls separating the sections, but Ford did have curtains that could be drawn for alone-time if desired. The whole treehouse was furnished, decorated, and ready to go, except for the last wall.

Stan walked up to the old okay tree with a glass of lemonade in his hands. He gave a low whistle. "Lookin' good, Sixer."

"Stanley!" Ford scolded from the treehouse. "You were supposed to be helping me!"

"I did help you!" Stan argued. "I made the walls and got the stuff up there! Now, I've been resting, the way old men should be, which hey, have you seen Soos' new attractions? Genius! I dunno where he gets these ideas!"

Ford rolled his eyes and had a small smile on his lips. "Fine, fine, just get up here, you knucklehead, and help me with his last wall."

"You got it." Stan sat the lemonade down on the grass and climbed up in his Hawaiian shirt and tanned shorts. "Right, so what do we do?"

"I got it all set up." Ford explained. "See, it's a pulley system. We just pull on his rope and the last wall will swing up, then I'll screw it into place."

"Right, gotcha." Stan said and grabbed the thick rope hanging above him. "Okay, ready?"

Ford grabbed the rope, as well. "Alright… pull!"

The two men worked together to pull the rope and it worked just as Ford said it would; the wall with a window came up into place just in front of the small deck (the deck was only big enough for either two small people to sit or one adult). With a small creak of wood coming together, the wall was in place.

"Hold it, Stanley."

"I'm holding it." Stan growled as he pulled on the rope tightly solo.

Ford quickly grabbed the power drill and used five-inch titanium screws to secure the wall; he didn't want Steve or a Manotaur to bring this treehouse down. When all fours screws had been placed, Stan testily let go of the rope and let it hang. Ford pushed heavily against the wall and smiled proudly at his work. "Great! We're all done!"

"Hot tamales, the kids are gonna love this place!" Stan punched Ford's shoulder lightly. "Kinda envy 'em, we sure didn't have a cool treehouse like this when we were kids."

"Yes we did, it was just shaped like a boat and on the beach."

Stan laughed. "Right. So, ready for the party?"

"Yes, just let me put away the…" Ford was heading for the exit as he answered his brother, but he found there to be no exit. There was a door drawn on the wall by the window, but no door. Ford's eyes widened as he saw a dilemma that Stan had not yet seen. His temper boiling steadily, Ford turned to Stan, who was admiring the homemade rocking chair, with his hands held so he wouldn't strangle the old conman, and the old scientist asked coldly, "Stanley?"

"Yeah."

"Where's the door-hole?"

Stan looked up and pointed at the wall. "Right there, I drew it in."

Ford could feel a vein popping out of his forehead. "You were supposed to cut it out with the power saw!"

"Geez, Poindexter, relax!" Stan defended with his hands up in surrender. "I was gonna, just like I did with all the windows, but Wendy came to me and said Soos was doing something stupid and to grab a camera, so I decided I'd cut the door-hole later."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes!"

Ford nodded towards the wall. "So go do it. Right now."

"Fine, I will," Stan growled. "Moses, when did you get so bossy?" Stan stopped when he reached the wall and realized he couldn't leave to get the power saw. He tested the wall and looked around the treehouse, ignoring Ford's death glare. "I see the problem."

"Oh, DO YOU?!" Ford yelled sarcastically.

"Okay, okay, so what do we do?!" Stan asked. "The little twerps are gonna be here in three hours and we gotta be at the bus stop when that happens!"

"I know, Stanley, I know." Ford held his forehead as he tried to think. "I… oh! I'll just unscrew this wall so you can get down and cut the door-hole." He picked up the power drill and turned it on. He was just about to unscrew the first screw, when it shut off.

"What happened?" Stan asked.

"I… I have no idea." Ford clicked the tool several times, but the drill would not turn on. He looked out the small window and all Stan heard was a loud, "You have got to be KIDDING me!"

"What, lemme see!" Stan shoved Ford out of the way and looked through the little window to see a deer munching on the cord that connected the drill all the way to an outside outlet of the shack. "Oh, COME ON! Hey! Get outta here! Shoo!" And the deer scampered off.

Ford dropped the useless drill. "Great, just great, you couldn't have cut one simple exit, Stanley?!"

"Hey, you're the idiot who didn't notice there wasn't a door-hole until it was too late!"

"You didn't notice it, either! And now we're gonna miss the niblings getting back!"

"No, we are not!" Ford said stubbornly. "We're going to find a way out of here and we WILL be there on time!"

"And how are we gonna do that?!"

Ford ran a six-fingered hand through his fluffy charcoal-gray hair and seriously evaluated the situation. "Alright, this… let's see… the walls are too thick to cut through with a swiss-army knife. The drill isn't going to work. If we could either get the power saw or have the power drill working again we could get out of here."

"Right, so how do we do either of those things?" Stan asked.

Ford leaned against the wall by the window and peered outside as he thought of a good answer. His eyes widened and he shoved his head out the window. "Mr. Gleeful! Gideon!"

The white-haired chubby child stopped walking towards the Mystery Shack and looked towards the voice. He walked towards the treehouse, all dressed up in his light-blue suit and said, "Well, Stanford! Good to see you again! My, my, what a treehouse!"

"Thank you, but unfortunately, we're stuck." Ford said. "Listen, could you hand us the power saw so Stanley and I can get out of here?"

"Heavens to Betsy, no!" Gideon gasped with ah and to his heart. "Carrying a sharp saw up a tree is too dangerous for wittle ole me!"

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fair enough, but will you at least, please, plug that extra cord to the power drill and then plug it into the shack?"

Gideon smiled and pointed at the old man. "That I can certainly do, Dr. Pines."

"Good, hurry it up." Stan growled from inside the treehouse, his arms crossed over his chest.

Gideon had just picked up the dark-green extension cord when a joyful jingle met his ears. "Oo! The ice cream truck!" The kid squealed as he squished his cheeks with his hands, dropping the cord.

"Gideon!" Stan roared and made Ford move from the window so he could scowl at the kid properly. "Now you listen to me, you little troll, you better plug up the screw driver or I swear I'll…"

"Stanley," Ford said warningly, reminding him that they were actually on somewhat good terms with the demon-child.

Gideon smiled smugly. "You know, I think I'll let you cool down a bit in that nice ole treehouse. I'll be back after some ice cream." And he started to walk away.

"GIDEON!" Stan yelled. "GIDEON!"

Ford shoved Stan out of the way so he could yell out the window. "GIDEON!"

Stan shoved Ford out of the way so he could yell out the window. "GIDEON!"

"GIDEON!"

"GIDEON!"

"GIDEON!"

Stan punched the wall angrily and then yelled and shook his hand to reveal himself of the prickling pain. Ford slumped to the floor and sighed. "Guess we just have to trust he'll come back."

Stan raised an eyebrow at him. "You realize he's not coming back right?"

"I know." Ford moaned.

And so the two old men just sat around and tried to think of a way out of the treehouse. What really irked them was that this was a simple trap; this wasn't like a heavily-guarded government facility or an alien prison, both of which the Pines twins had escaped from; this was a homemade treehouse for their niece and nephew with four windows and no door and no way out. Stan eventually sat in Mabel's new rocking chair, reading a book from Dipper's bookshelf, and Ford paced between the three sections of the small shelter in the oak tree.

Stan checked his watch. "We got two hours to get outta here."

Ford growled and held his hair tightly. Then his eyes grew wide as a simple solution came to mind. "Wait! My cellular phone!" He yelled victoriously and pulled it out of his pocket. "I'll call for help!"

"You just now thought of that?!" Stan yelled.

"Well, where is your cellular phone, Stanley?!" Ford snapped back.

"It died so I left at the shack to charge."

Ford rolled his eyes and began dialing a number. "I'll call Soos and have him come help us."

"Great, let the handyman do his thing!" Stan said and watched as Ford called Soos and put it on speaker. It rang and rang, but no answer. Eventually Ford called a second time.

(None of them were aware that Soos had stepped into the shower before the big party and was now singing Disco Girl to the top of his lungs. "Dipper was right, it is catchy, dude!")

When Soos didn't answer the phone again, Ford guessed, "Maybe his phone also died."

"No, it didn't go straight to voicemail." Stan snatched the phone and said, "You probably dialed the wrong number, lemme try."

Ford took his phone back. "I think I know our handyman's phone number." He growled.

"Just lemme…"

"Stanley, back off!"

"Quit it!"

The two old men fought over the smartphone and even punched and shoved their opponents to try to get the valuable piece of technology, but then it slipped like a bar of soap out of their hands and flew out the window. Ford and Stan stared and then ran and crammed their faces together to see the phone had landed on the grass.

"Nicely done, Stanley."

"You're the one who couldn't get ahold of Soos!" Stan then lit up and asked, "Wait, what about your magnet gun?!"

"I left it in my coat." Ford said as he rolled down his sweater sleeves, no longer burning up from working so hard. "I don't even have my ray gun with me."

"What?! You always have that thing on you! You even take it in the shower!"

"Okay, one: I don't take my weapons with me in the shower, I leave them with my glasses on my towel." Ford defended, sticking a finger up, then he held up two fingers. "Two: you're always on my case about being paranoid!"

"Yeah, I don't want you to be paranoid! But I also don't want you to be an idiot!"

"This is coming from the man who couldn't cut a single door-hole."

"Okay, ya know what…!"

The pointless screaming match went on until they were both hoarse and burned out, resorting in Stan and Ford to lying on the floor of the little house and stare up at the ceiling.

Dipper smiled with his cheek pressed up against his hand as he stared out the bus-window. Mabel was bouncing in her seat, her legs swinging, and her hands gripping the seat. As each new landmark looked familiar, she squealed a little bit more.

"This is so exciting, Dipper!" Mabel cheered. "We're almost home!"

Dipper chuckled and looked at the distant mountains that were starting to appear. "We are almost home." Waddles turned over in his sleep and Dipper rubbed his belly to give him something to do alongside wonder what his great-uncles were doing right now.

"Man, I'm starving." Stan complained, lying with his brother lying opposite so they were shoulder-to-shoulder, but their bodies pointing away from each other; Stan's stomach growled loudly to prove his point.

"I have not eaten since noon." Ford looked at his own watch. "Dipper and Mabel will be here in an hour."

"And Gideon still hasn't come back." Stan growled. "Little troll probably forgot."

Ford sighed and knocked on the wooden floor. "At least we know this treehouse is secure."

Stan snorted. "Yeah, you did a good job, Genius."

Ford smiled. "Thank you. You did help and provide necessary skills, and that was very appreciated."

"Yeah, yeah." Stan waved away and then let his hand collapse on his gut. "And, hey, while were here, what made you wanna build this in the first place?"

The eldest twin shrugged (as much as one can when lying down). "I wanted to do something nice for the kids."

"I think they would much rather see you than get all this." Stan teased.

Ford chuckled nervously. "You're probably right."

"Hey, a broken clock is right twice a day."

Ford sat up and asked, "Did you hear that?"

"Relax, it's not some monster, that's just my stomach again."

"No, Stanley," Ford stood up and looked out the window on the left wall, the section of the treehouse designed for Dipper, and gasped, "Mr. Shmebulock! Mr. Shmebulock! Over here!"

Stan got up and joined his brother. Sure enough, sitting on a tree branch and munching on an acorn was an old speechless gnome. He smiled at the sight of the old Pines men and cheered, "Shmebulock!"

"Yes, hello!" Ford held out his hand and the gnome, who was about the same size as Ford's six-fingered hand, sat and allowed the human to bring him into the treehouse. "Listen, we need your help. We're trapped here and Mabel and Dipper will be back any moment now. Can you…"

"Shmebulock?" The gnome gasped with smiling eyes.

"Yes, Mabel and Dipper are returning, so we need you… hey!" The gnome had hopped off Ford's hand and then climbed down the tree and started to scamper away. "Mr. Shmebulock! Mr. Shmebulock, please!"

"Get back here you little pest!" Stan demanded, but the gnome had gone off to greet the niblings when they returned. "If you try to make my niece your queen again I'll…"

"Stanley, let it go." Ford moaned and collapsed into the chair of Dipper's desk. "What do we do now?"

Stan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "What can we do?"

No one had an answer for either question.

Right on time, at six o'clock, the bus pulled up to the stop in Gravity Falls, Oregon. Dipper and Mabel grinned with their luggage in hand, pig at their feet, and waiting at the steps of the bus, and they were greeted by Soos, Wendy, Candy, Grenda, Gideon, and Pacifica. The twins ran off the bus and jumped into their friends' arms. Soos wrapped each twin up in a big bear-hug, cutting off the air-flow in their necks, until Mabel was pulled into a girls' hug by Candy and Grenda and Wendy traded hats back with Dipper; he had enjoyed Wendy's ushanka even in the warm California sun, but it was good to sport his pinetree cap again.

"We missed you guys SO much!" Mabel cheered.

"You talked to us, like, every day." Pacifica said as she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but now I can attack you with love!" And the brunette wrapped the blonde up in a tight hug before she could be stopped.

"Hey, where's Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford?" Dipper asked casually.

"Yeah, the party can't start without them!" Mabel said.

"Don't worry, dudes," Soos reassured. "They're probably already at the party."

"OH NO!" Gideon yelled, slapping his cheeks in shock, and he turned red as he began to confess a mistake he had made for the sake of ice-cream.

Stan was hitting his forehead against the back wall of the treehouse. Ford knew he sometimes did this to try to think clearly. He just sat by the drawn-door and watched, having an idea of when he should intervene his brothers possibly harmful way of coming up with a plan.

"Stanley, this treehouse won't be very appealing if you manage to get blood on the wall."

Stan stopped and looked down at his watch. It was twenty minutes after the kids were supposed to be back. "Alright, that's it!" He yelled, a new wave of adrenaline coursing through him as the idea of not seeing the kids drove him crazy. "That's it! We're finding a way outta here!"

"How?" Ford asked.

"You could try asking for help."

The men were frozen, but then fought over who could look out the window first until they resorted to sharing. Sure enough, Dipper and Mabel stood at the foot of the oak tree with their little group of friends behind them, all biting their lip and snickering.

"KIDS!"

"Wow, cool man-cave, guys!" Mabel called.

"Yeah, this gives the Manotaurs a run for their money." Dipper sneered.

"Just shut up and get us outta here so I can hug you two knuckleheads!" Stan yelled.

Mabel saluted and said, "Yes sir! C'mon, Soos you make sure the sax's plugged in, Dipper and I will go up there!"

"Hold it!" Wendy called out, then pulled out her phone and took a quick picture of the old men trapped in the treehouse. "Hehe, blackmail."

"You're fired."

"You've fired me fifteen times, Stan, and I'm still here." Wendy replied coolly.

The kids all laughed as Dipper and Mabel climbed up to the small deck, Wendy handed them the saw, Soos made sure it was plugged in, and then Dipper and Mabel called out a warning and started to cut an exit. Stan and ford backed up as the younger pair of twins carefully cut a door-shaped hole and soon a big piece of wood fell forward, freeing the older pair of twins.

Mabel blew on the saw, which was unplugged by Soos to make sure it was safe, and then she asked, "Now where's that hug we were promised?"

She ditched the saw and ran with her brother into Ford and Stan's arms as they got on their knees and were happily reunited for another summer.

[brakebillsdropout]

Hi! Can you please make post about what happened in s4ep1? I live in a country where the new season has no date of premiere yet, so I have no idea what happened.

oof lemme try! im pretty sure syfy does recaps on their website but idk how good they are so here’s my take on it (spoilers, obviously, and tw for suicide)

Storyline 1:

A woman named Kimber gets invited to Brakebills in a way mirroring Quentin. She flunks the test but Fogg lets her stay because he realizes that she is Julia in a glamour. She worries that she may not have any magic and asks why she’s there. He says that he made a mistake in the past forcing a woman out of Brakebills and he won’t make that mistake again. 

Storyline 2: 

Kady, in her witness protection glamour as Sam the Police Officer, is pissed that this one criminal keeps getting away. So she starts tracking him, which leads her to a store managed by a man who has hedgewitch tattoos. She tries to investigate star tattoos and graffiti, but the enchantment on her prevents her from getting too close to magic (it causes the computer to shut off etc). She follows the man again and he admits to having magic but is wary of her due to the strong protection magic on her. She doesn’t know what he means, takes his protection amulet and he immediately gets hit by a truck. She investigates further and finds a comic book detailing the lives of the new glamoured identities of the magicians. She goes after them. 

Margo, who has been living as Janet the Fashion Editor, has a dream where she is visited by Ember. He tells her that Fillory needs it’s High King. She is understandably confused. Later, her assistant gives her an eyepatch, because her disguised fairy eye has been causing vision problems. She has also had problems getting the Fillory and Further books. 

Kady finds Margo, still both glamoured and unaware of their true identities, and tells her about the comic book and the existence of magic. They set off in search of the others. They bring Penny (Hansel the Famous DJ) and Josh (Issac the Uber Driver) up to speed when Marina shows up. She wants to help them figure out what’s happening but her spell knocks them unconscious. Margo is again visited by Ember in her sleep and he sends her to Fillory. 

Storyline 3:

Alice is locked up in the library and is only visited to be given food and approved reading material. The man in the cell next door, who is basically Santa Claus, was working on a spell to find good children and reward them. He and some elves tried to steal a book he needed for the spell, which is why he is locked up. He says that he wants to help Alice because she is a good person. Alice slits her wrists in an attempt to leave the cell and look around, and while in the infirmary sneaks back a bug in her mouth.  

Storyline 4:

The Monster, while inside of Eliot, has been traveling with Quentin, glamoured as Brian. They go to get ice cream and the Monster kills the ice cream man because of a misunderstanding about jimmies/sprinkles. The Monster tells Quentin that he plans to kill all of the questers. 

[gary36]

GM X: Binary pt 1

I couldn't tell you the first thing about Alex.

"Switch seats with me."

"Why?" Kyrie shouted at me without taking her eyes off the road.

"Because-"

"I'm not a good enough driver for you!"

"Because your fucking right hand keeps trying to bite me!" I said indignantly while I pressed myself against the passenger door of the ice cream truck to put as much space as possible between myself and the massive lion head roaring and snapping at me in the middle seat.

"Well it's not my fault! I don't own him. He's not a pet."

"That's hardly the point, Kyrie!"

"Excuse me." Jamie said, tentatively poking her head from the backseat with both eyes on the lion head beneath her. "Mrs. Whetstone is the only adult here, maybe she should drive."

Kyrie rotated the steering wheel twice over, hit the gas, and leaned into a hard left turn. The ice cream truck came up on two wheels, for a moment I was sure we'd roll, everyone in back screamed, gravity pulled me towards the angry lion's open mouth, fortunately I was wearing my seatbelt. The tires squealed as we pulled out on the main road in the twilight. With a terrible shudder the truck slammed back on all fours.

"Am I not up to your standards?" Kyrie roared at the windshield.

"It's really just the lion thing." I said in a soothing voice.

"Mrs. Whetstone just has the most... experience." Jamie said diplomatically.

"Actually," Mrs. Whetstone chimed in as she regained her footing and rummaged around the freezer before producing an ice cream sandwich. "I ride my bike to work. I have a horrible phobia of driving. You're doing great hon!"

"Thanks Miss Shirley!" Kyrie said as she slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The lion went berserk, he thrashed and ripped huge chunks of the seats out with his fangs.

"Slow down!" I screamed.

"Fuck no!"

"Why?"

"There's snake people back there! My right arm is a lion! You're being a backseat driver!"

Kyrie stomped on the brake without warning. My insides lurched forward. Everyone in back screamed, so did the tires. The lion roared fiercely. The truck shuddered violently to a halt.

Suddenly all was quiet, the ice cream truck sat perfectly still in the middle of the empty road beneath a flickering streetlight. On either side of us tall green trees shifted in the wind. Kyrie breathed ragged and deep, her eyes fixed on the road. Her left hand held the wheel in a white knuckled grip. I saw sweat running down her face. The lion bore into me with his unwavering predatory stare.

At last Kyrie let out a long sigh. She reached over the steering column with her left hand and shifted the truck into park.

"Fine." Kyrie said popping the door open and gently sliding out "Have it your way."

I nodded and opened my own door. We started to swap seats.

"I can drive." Josh chimed in.

"Whatever." I obliged him, shifting course to the back.

"But I'm not sitting next to her." He pointed at Kyrie "She's got the disease."

"Would you shut the fuck up Josh?" I lost it "There's no disease."

The back erupted in squabbling.

"She can't ride back here." said a boy with corn-rows. "Her arm is a lion." I had learned his name was Virgil "We're too close together."

"Please don't let the wearlion ride back here." said Casey, an extremely short senior. "She's so angry."

"Technically," Darius, Math Club "lycanthropsy is a magical disease. Usually the transformation involves the best of both human and animal forms. This is more akin to shapeshifting, either through a spell or spell-like abili-"

"Can you please take me home?" Tina, freshman, color guard "I live just around the corner!"

"All of us want to see our parents." Roy, football player. "But where is everyone?"

"I don't want to go home." Margaret, perpetually smoking and wearing sunglasses, especially in class. "I want to hang with Lion Girl, she's cool."

"Wow." Sarah, perpetually smoking weed and wearing hemp, especially under the bleachers. "I can't believe you would act like this at a time like this. 'Lion Girl' is so cliche."

"Everybody calm the fuck down!" Joey, perpetually doing something sketchy in the bathroom.

"Nobody panic, it's going to be alright." said Jamie over the clamor.

Mrs. Whetstone, or Shirley, since Kyrie was on a first name basis, sat on a freezer beaming peacefully to herself with total indifference. Years of teaching had granted her a resistance to young people and their chaotic communication.

Josh was still ranting about seating arrangement "All I'm saying is-"

I shifted the truck into drive. Kyrie rolled down the passenger window and let her lion arm hang out.

We got rolling and an awkward silence settled on everyone.

I sighed and shook my head. "You said you're close by Tina?"

"Ya!" she piped with excitement "Just over here."

A couple of side streets later we were driving into a gorgeous sunrise. Tina lived in a modest house with her dad on Eris Avenue. We didn't pass anyone on the way, but Tina shrieked with joy when she saw her dad's car in the driveway.

The ice cream truck pulled gently to a stop in front of Tina's place. I turned and smiled at everyone. Sometimes it's nice to turn things over to adults.

Tina jumped out of the back of the truck and ran all the way to the front door. She knocked twice hard. Then she grabbed the door knob and let herself in with an ecstatic cry of "Dad!" Before disappearing inside.

Everyone else got out and gathered on the street. Tina's front door lay open. Miss Shirley walked to the door and called inside. "Tina! Honey! Can we use your phone?"

"Yes Ma'am!" Tina answered from far within her home. "One second I..." Her voice traveled further away and trailed off. "Let me just..."

Miss Shirley peaked her head inside "Tina! Everything OK?"

Tina came back to the door with a frown and tears in her eyes "I can't find my dad."

Miss Shirley placed a hand on Tina's shoulder and spoke softly "Hey now, everything is going to be alright. I'm sure your dad is around here somewhere. Did you check all the rooms?"

Tina nodded.

Miss Shirley held her chin in thought for a moment. "Where does he work?"

Tina sniffled "He's a cameraman. At the news station."

"Maybe he's still at work?"

"But his car..." Tina covered her face and looked down.

"Hey now, it's OK Tina. We'll find him."

"Okay..." Tina cried softly to herself.

I looked around at the others. They all shuffled their feet and looked down.

Darius cleared his throat "I live just down the street."

Shirley led Tina inside the house saying "Come on hon, let's call... someone."

"Hey, I gotta make a call!" Virgil said.

"Me Too!" said Sarah, aghast.

"Let me call my grandma!" Joey blurted out as he scuttled inside.

Soon everyone filed into Tina's house but me and Darius. A thunderous roar came from the ice cream truck. I looked back at Kyrie gazing sullenly into space, her lion reaching madly for me from the passenger window.

"Come on Darius." I said weakly. "Let's get you home."

We climbed in and started down the road. No one was outside. No one was driving. Once I saw a squirrel.

Darius lived three turns away from Tina. All the houses there had big yards, second floors, pools, guest houses.

"That's me!" Darius stopped me at a brown house with wood paneling down a private drive.

As I pulled up I hunched over the wheel and swiveled my head in all directions. There was no one, the sprinklers were on, the lights were on, but no one.

Darius jogged to the garage, produced a remote from his pocket, raised the door, and disappeared inside.

"Kyrie." I whispered.

"Yeah?" She replied without taking her eyes off the beast's glorious mane.

"Was it like this before you came to the school?"

"Like what?"

"It's so quiet."

"It's early."

"It's earie"

"Ya it's been kind of a weird day."

"Don't worry Kyrie, we'll get you... a doctor."

Kyrie rolled her eyes.

Darius walked back to the ice cream truck with his head down.

"What's up?" I said.

He shook his head. "Nobody's home. They left everything running, I'm sure they'll be back."

"Did you call?"

"The phone is out or something. It just beeps."

"Let's go back to Tina's." Kyrie said. She sounded exhausted.

"I'll wait here for my parents." Darius said.

"What?" I replied "Darius, we can't just leave you here by yourself."

He shrugged "I don't want to miss them when they get back. Besides, there's a security system. I'll be alright."

I refused to leave Darius alone but he wouldn't listen to reason. Eventually he went in his house and Kyrie reminded me that the others would be looking for us at Tina's. I turned the truck around and felt myself speeding. It wasn't like there were any cops around.

I looked to my right and saw the wind blowing through Kyrie's hair. She was holding the lion's face into the wind and stroking his mane with her left hand.

"I think he likes it." She said softly, as if to herself. "The fresh air calms him down."

When we got back to Tina's I headed directly inside. Kyrie stayed scratching the lion's head.

A quiet defeat had settled on all the students inside. They sat all about Tina's living room with hunched shoulders and low hanging heads. Miss Shirley scanned a nearby bookshelf silently.

I saw a phone in the room and picked it up.

"It's not gonna work." Virgil said.

I dialed my home anyways. It rang twice. I heard a click like someone answered but then just beeping. High pitch. Low pitch. Low pitch. Low pitch. High pitch. High. Low. Low. Low. High. High. High. Low. High. High. High. High.

[ao3feed-joshler]

Best Served Cold

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2DfBmHJ

by headfirstfrhalos

Josh drives an ice cream truck. Tyler is a serial killer. Both are, in their opinion, working for a good cause.

Words: 9102, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Fandoms: Twenty One Pilots

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Josh Dun, Tyler Joseph, Jordan Dun, Jenna Black, Original Characters

Relationships: Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph, Jenna Black & Tyler Joseph

Additional Tags: Ice Cream, Brutal Murder, Serial Killers, Pedophilia, Suicide Attempt, Cannibalism, Revenge, Decapitation, Corpse Desecration, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Dubious Morality, Morally Ambiguous Character, Siblings, Protective Older Brothers, (that's josh), Heavy Angst, Pining, Awkward Romance, Violent Thoughts, POV Alternating, Angst with a Happy Ending, sort of, Serial Killer Tyler Joseph, Ice Cream Truck Driver Josh Dun

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2DfBmHJ

[sequoiann]

one door down

pairing; joshua hong x reader genre; total fluff + neighbor!joshua + neighbors to lovers!au ? is tht a thing? if it’s not then i shall make it a thing bc yes ahaha word count; 5.4k words

synopsis; you moved in to your new place, and you and joshua first meet when he helps you out with the boxes bc you were taking forever to do it yourself. his room window was kinda directly opposite yours, so cue random paper airplanes flying into your room and you hearing him play the guitar in the mornings. and every other good shit you can think about when it comes to neighbor!josh (happy birthday shua!)

“Here we are, Miss,” the taxi driver spoke gruffly from his seat as the car slowed to a stop. It wasn’t in any sort of annoyed tone, it seemed that his voice was just deep as it is.

You glanced out of the taxi window and a pretty regular, 2-story house was in view. You quickly pulled out a few dollar bills from your wallet, passing it over to the driver first before you got lost in examining the exterior of your new residence.

Thanking the driver and getting out of the car, you hastily grabbed your single luggage from the bunk before slamming the cover back down. You looked up at the house that was somewhat towering over you, it’s V-shaped roof casting a shadow. The roofline didn’t peak in the center as was the fashion in the previous decade, but instead sloped a little to the left. It looked new — not too new, but newer than you had expected. It looked as if it had been rolled off a production line, but they had forgotten to apply the mandatory layer of color to it. The windows were huge and glassy, with a pretty, soft blue tint to it. You walked closer to it and could see the intricate patterns of wood on the walls of the house, although it was a clean white and grey.

You dug for the keys that your mother had entrusted you in your backpack. It was buried somewhere deep in the front pocket, and after a period of rummaging, you finally felt the jump ring, pulling it out along with all the other keys attached to it. You unlocked the main door with a tinge of excitement bubbling in your heart, pushing the door open to meet the place you’d be staying it for a big part of the rest of your life.

Entering the house, you closed the door behind you and lifted your bulky luggage — not wanting the wheels to stain the wood flooring — and shuffled to a corner of the living room, placing it down. Surfaces of white, glossy plastic iced over the kitchen that was situated to the left of the room, granite enforcing the walls in their straight, uninspired monotony. There was a wallpaper of some sort covering the walls of the other parts of the house, providing warmth in some way. The stairs leading up to the second floor was right at the back wall of the first floor, but wasn’t hidden. Every line was clean and straight, the color scheme being cream, white, and grey. With browns.

Your phone started ringing then, and you picked up immediately. It was your mother.

“Yes, Mom, I’ve arrived,” you told her, wrapping your fingers around the handle of your luggage again and walking towards the stairs with some difficulty from the weight.

“Oh, good! How’s the place? Have you explored?” she asked, sounding way more excited than you were.

You grunted softly as you climbed up the stairs, thuds erupting with every heavy step you took. “Kind of.”

You finally reached the second floor and saw 3 rooms in the short hallway. You entered the first one, before letting your luggage down. You huffed, now focusing on the phone call.

“Why’d you get such a big place?” you asked, trying to make it sound not so much of a complaint. You weren’t complaining. “It’s just me in this entire house, Mom. And it’s gonna be so empty.”

Your mother laughed. “Your Uncle Bob is the landlord, I could get some nice discounts from him,” she stated smugly. “Besides, if any of us visits, we could stay over or something. Or maybe your friends would want to. Who knows?”

You chuckled, relenting. “Okay then.”

“Oh, by the way,” your mother started again. “Go greet your neighbors, I heard there’s someone living next door. I’ve packed some of my homemade muffins in your luggage bag.” You could practically hear how proud she was on the phone. She must’ve been talking about the house on the left side of yours that you saw previously. It looked almost like yours, except it was whiter, its roof colored black. You caught a glimpse of warm, orangey lights inside.

“Mom, no!” you protested. You didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but that just came out as it did. You heard her hum sullenly on the other side of the line, making you rephrase your words. “I mean,” you muttered, quickly thinking of an excuse. “Your muffins are great, Mom, but it’s 11am in the morning, what if they’re still asleep?”

“Who sleeps till 11?” she frowned.

You rolled your eyes. “I know I do.”

“That’s just you.”

“Mom!” you exclaimed. “It’ll be weird to pop by so suddenly. They aren’t even expecting me. I’ll just live a quiet life here.”

“Y/N, they’d be glad! Just go, knock on the door, say hi, pass them the food, and you’re done!” your mother urged.

You sighed. “I’d like to believe I have social anxiety, Mom,” you mumbled softly, crossing your arms as you sat down on the floor beside your luggage, pulling it down so that it was lying down in front of you before unzipping it with one hand, using your feet to hold it down when it moved. It definitely wasn’t a ladylike sight, but you didn’t really care. Luckily, the luggage didn’t move much due to its weight, so unzipping and opening it with just one hand wasn’t too much of a chore.

“Where did you put it?” you asked your mother, scanning through the overstuffed luggage. You were grateful nothing came spilling out, thanks to the seatbelt-looking things that formed an X over everything, holding them down.

You could visualize your mother’s expression lighting up. “The corner, I think!”

Your hands immediately fly to all four corners of the luggage, and you saw the mason jar of cookies and muffins.

“Found it,” you told your mother, scrutinizing the glass for any cracks, and at the same time peering into it to check if the food were still… well, intact. They fortunately were.

“Great! Now get going, before the moving truck gets there. You’re gonna be busy once it does.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ideas were forming in your head, all seeming quite possibly done.

“I’ll be checking the next time I go over, don’t eat it yourself and don’t hide it either!”

“Yes, Mom, I got it,” you droned. Your cover’s blown.

The call ends there after you two say your goodbyes, and you sighed, looking at the mason jar in your hands. A cute, yellow ribbon was tied on top, and you could tell your mother had put in quite a lot of effort to make it look nice.

Not wanting to let her handiwork go to waste, you stood up, leaving your opened luggage on the floor and going back downstairs. Your hand casually goes to your pocket, making sure your keys were in there before leaving the house and heading over to your neighbor’s.

You couldn’t help but stare when you saw the lights coming from deep inside of the house; somewhat at the back of the living room, if you guessed right. The warm lights contrasted really well with the white exterior and interior, and the design of the house was really simple but futuristic and sleek. Its lines seemed even cleaner than yours, if that was possible.

Tugging on your denim jacket, you walked up to the doorstep, the dark door seeming more intimidating than a regular door should look like. You gulped, your eyes scanning the door as if the spot you picked to knock on would make a huge difference in the person answering it. You took a breath and recited the lines you had to say a few times in your head, before knocking on the wooden door, your knuckles making a sharp, not-too-loud thudding sound. There was silence as you stood there for a while. Your ears perked up to try to pick up any sounds of someone walking towards the door, but there was none.

You internally whooped — the owners were probably out. But if so, then why would the lights be on?

You brushed it off and was about to walk back home when you heard someone call from inside, “Coming!”

The voice was a little rough and obviously belonged to a man. You heard footsteps hastily making its way down the stairs, and you suddenly had the urge to run. Run? Why run?

Before you could even think any further, the door swings open, and a guy stands in front of you. He looked slightly haggard, wrinkles lining his forehead and the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t seem too old. Just the dad-age.

Your practiced lines of introducing yourself came out as a jumble of words, which led to you shutting up and simply handing the jar of food to him. He frowns slightly.

“May I help you?” he asked, and you quickly snapped out of it.

“Oh! Um, I’m so sorry,” you rambled. “I’ve just moved in next door, and my mother wanted me to give you those,” you told him, gesturing over to your house. He leans out a bit to look over to your place, his eyes widening slightly in realization.

“I see,” he said, his voice monotone, a subtle smile on his lips. “Welcome to the neighborhood then.”

You smile. “Thank you, sir.” You looked past his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the inside; it looked as good as you had presumed.

The man lifted the mason jar. “And thank you for these, sweetheart. Help me thank your mother too.”

You nodded, not removing the smile on your face and feeling yourself lighten up at the endearing term he used. “Will do.”

You briskly walked back into the warmth of your house after that, feeling relieved that it wasn’t a grumpy old shag that was living next door. Even thinking about it seemed horrible. You took off your jacket and hung it on the wooden coat rack standing beside the main door, locking the door before going back upstairs.

Unpacking whatever you had in your luggage took everything off your mind soon enough. You had put your music on shuffle, playing it just loud enough for you to hear it. You didn’t want to blast it too loud — it definitely wasn’t a good idea to disturb your neighbors on your first day here. The house was pretty well-furnished, and you had cabinets and closets already built in. Once you unbuckled the X-shaped belt in your luggage, whatever clothes you had packed inside started toppling out, which means you had to refold everything, except for the jackets and coats that you were going to hang up. You sighed and began folding and stacking them up before moving them into your closet.

Lunch was a quick bite of cup noodles which you had brought along, and the moving truck arrived right after you were done with your meal. You left the empty cup (which was a quarter filled with water and seasoning) on a corner of the countertop, hurriedly washing your hands before rushing out of the house.

The driver from the moving truck hopped down from his seat, raising a hand as a greeting when he saw you before starting to pull your boxes of stuff out of the back of the vehicle.

You jogged over, hugging a box of unexpectedly heavy stuff that he passed to you. You muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ before making your way back, kicking your main door open and lowering your stance before dropping the box on the ground beside the coat rack. It was only the first box and your hands already felt like they were burning. You had like, eleven boxes left. 

Giving yourself a mental note of encouragement, you headed back out to see the driver unloading the boxes and stacking them up on the sidewalk. You internally wanted to beg him to help you bring some to your doorstep, but you didn’t dare to. Therefore, you had to bring every of the remaining eleven, weighty, burdensome boxes into your house by yourself. You felt tired just thinking about it.

“Sorry I can’t help now,” the driver suddenly spoke apologetically just as you were about to walk back with the second box in your arms. “I’ve got another house to get to after yours.”

Oh.

You nodded in understanding before he climbed back onto his truck and drove off. Sighing in defeat, you stacked the box you were holding on top of another box, attempting to carry both at once to shorten the time needed to get the job done. The second box was blocking your line of sight entirely, so you relied on looking on the ground to find your way to your door.

The box on top suddenly wobbled slightly due to your shaking hands, and you panicked, causing it to waver even more.

“Shoot!” you exclaimed aloud as it lost its balance and fell off to the side.

However, it was caught by someone else who was apparently beside you right when the box fell.

“Woah there,” the man muttered, the box falling perfectly into his arms. You felt yourself breathe again after he caught it. You looked up at him. The man was donning a pair of sweatpants with a dark blue checkered flannel over a white tee, and had hair of a light caramel color, the straps of a black backpack slung over both of his shoulders. His eyes weren’t extraordinarily large, but the brown orbs seemed so gentle that you wanted to stare at them forever.

“T-thanks,” you stammered, unsure of what to do.

“You’re the new neighbor?” he asked, and you nodded, slightly puzzled.

“Yeah,” you said, glancing over at your house. “I just moved in today. I mean, I’m moving in. Kinda. I’m trying to.” You let out a tired sigh as your eyes traveled to the pile of boxes.

Joshua chuckled lightly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Joshua, I live right next door.” He nodded towards the sophisticated white house you had visited earlier, and you blinked.

“You are?” you quipped. “I went over just now, and someone else opened the door… A man.”

Joshua nodded. “Must’ve been my dad. He doesn’t stay with me, but he comes over sometimes.”

Your lips formed an ‘o’. “I’m Y/N. Hi.”

Joshua stifled his laughter at your awkwardness. “Hi,” he responded. “You seem like you need help with the boxes.”

“Oh, right, the boxes,” you said, remembering your task as you looked at the scattered boxes on the sidewalk. “I mean, I don’t want to bother you, but…”

Joshua smiles, his eyes forming little crescents as he walked towards your house with the box he had in his arms without saying anything. You walked alongside him, entering your house first and placing the box down beside the first one.

“Just leave them here for now,” you told him, and Joshua nods, placing his box on top of another.

“Give me a sec,” he told you suddenly. “I’ll be back in a few.”

You were confused, but didn’t question him as he ran back to his house. You walked back out and picked up another box, and Joshua came running back out a few seconds later. You realized his backpack was gone now.

“That was fast,” you commented as Joshua carried 2 boxes at once. He merely smiled.

So it went on like that, the both of you going back and forth and bringing the boxes in. You two talked quite a bit for a first meeting, from telling each other your ages to discussing your hobbies. He was just a year older than you, you found out.

“That’s all of the boxes, right?” Joshua asked as he placed the last box down in your house, and you nodded.

“Yep,” you confirmed as you glanced outside one last time to make sure nothing was left on the sidewalk. You looked back at Joshua, smiling gratefully. “Thanks a lot. I would’ve taken forever if not for you.”

Joshua chuckled. “No problem,” he said, adding, “You probably would’ve broken some stuff too.”

You laughed, humming in acknowledgment. 

“Mhmm. You should go back before your dad starts questioning why you’re here for so long,” you said, and Joshua laughs.

“Sure,” he said, stepping out of your house. “I’ll see you around, right?”

The corners of your lips couldn’t help but turn up, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink which wasn’t very noticeable. “For sure.”

You brought up some of the boxes into your room, those that contained the stuff that belonged in your private space.

When you walked past your room window, the outside caught your eye. You realized that there was a window from the house next door facing yours, and it was so close it seemed like you could just jump over.

What was even more surprising was that in the room, on the wide bed that was situated in the center of it, was Joshua, still in the same clothes you saw him in, his legs crossed on the bed. A guitar was on his lap, one of his arm resting over it as the other hand pressed down on the strings. He started strumming lazily as if he wasn’t really sure of what he was playing, but the melody still made out something.

He suddenly stopped strumming before looking up, his eyes meeting yours. You felt your heart stop.

“S-sorry!” you shouted across although he would probably be able to hear you even if you spoke in your normal volume. You felt heat crawl up your neck. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

You were preparing yourself for him to be angry or show any signs of negative feelings, but none came. Instead, surprise washed over his features, before a smile appeared as he placed his guitar down on the soft mattress, walking over to the window.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, obviously surprised. “That’s your room?”

“Kinda…?” you droned, looking around. “There are 3 rooms in this house and I’m the only one living here, so…”

“Oh,” he muttered in realization. “Cool! We can talk like this.”

You laughed. It definitely was cool.

Like a Romeo and Juliet thing.

Your friendship with Joshua blossomed a lot over the next few months, and you honestly owed your thanks to the fact that you two were literally living side-by-side. One push of the windows and you two could talk about anything and everything like there was no tomorrow. You two could chatter about the smallest of matters to having deep conversations late into the night, when you would sit down on the elevated marble platform that was built right at your window, your back leaning onto the wall and your legs stretched out. You’d open the windows entirely regardless of the fact that you were at the risk of just falling over, but you knew it wouldn’t happen as long as you didn’t fool around. Joshua would pull a chair over to his window, elbow propped on the silver frame, his chin rested on his fist as he listened to you speak. 

You never noticed it yourself but Joshua looks at you like you placed the sun, moon and all the stars in the sky.

Paper airplane conversations became a thing, too. You were the one who started it, actually, and you didn’t really expect him to play along. Your desk was right beside the window, so in the middle of doing some stuff, you grabbed some used papers that you didn’t need, writing a short ‘yo’ on it with a fat, black marker before folding the said paper into an airplane. You then threw it towards Joshua’s window, the airplane easily gliding gracefully through the air and into his room.

He was so confused at first at the arrival of the inanimate object, but he saw you at your window, smiling cheekily. He laughed softly, shaking his head and picking up the airplane. You gestured for him to unfold it and he did, before chuckling to himself again. Joshua took a sheet of paper from his desk, scribbling something on it and flying it over to you. You unfolded that and it read ‘you’re such a child’.

“Excuse me?” you spoke, and Joshua laughed.

“You’re excused,” he joked.

That led to the both of you constantly flying paper planes into each other’s room at random times of the day, whether the other party was in or not. There was once when Joshua wasn’t home, you folded tons and tons of paper planes, flying them all into his room and covering his entire bed and floor. You couldn’t see Joshua’s expression when he entered the room due to the limited view of his room that you could see from yours, but you could visualize how surprised he was from his exclamation of “oh God, oh wow!”. You nearly fainted laughing at the mix of shock, surprise, and mock anger in Joshua’s expression when he saw you at your window, giggling to yourself.

He got his revenge on you soon enough, though. He did the exact same, except that he revealed that he wrote something in one of them. You couldn’t stand the suspense, so you spent an hour unfolding every plane, and in the end, it was just a ‘hola muchacho’ that was written in one of them.

You literally marched to Joshua’s doorstep and tackled him to the ground.

But there was this really sweet side to him too, which sometimes made you question how someone could be this balanced in nature.

You would wake up every day to Joshua playing his brown, ordinary guitar at about 10am in the morning, its soft, acoustic tunes lulling you awake, and sometimes even helping you to fall asleep at night when you can’t. You’ve never slept so well before, you’d dare say. His mellow, soothing voice that rarely accompanied his guitar-playing was indisputably music to your ears. You loved how he stayed so lowkey about it. Once you woke up, sitting up on your bed with your messy, disheveled hair and half-open eyes, you’d, more often than not, hear Joshua chuckle at your unkempt appearance, then greet you with a gentle “Good morning, sleepyhead”.

But of course, there were times when you’d just drop back onto your bed and close your eyes, and that would be when Joshua would start strumming his guitar noisily, one of the only times when you’d say that the guitar playing sounded horrible.

“C’mon, wake up! We’re supposed to go out today!” you’d hear him say, resulting in a tired groan for you because you’re just that lazy.

“Can we postpone it?” you asked hoarsely, your morning voice still apparent.

“Nope.”

“Hmm.” You were already drifting back to dreamland.

When Joshua becomes helpless, he’d make the effort to go downstairs, walk over to your house, unlock your door since he has the spare key, come upstairs into your room, and then sit by your bed, annoying you in the most gentle way possible (it doesn’t even seem possible but Joshua does it) until you get up.

But there was this once when you overslept into the afternoon. You got confused when you woke up and the clock on your desk showed 12:13pm, and after coming to your senses you stood up, going to your window and looking over at Joshua’s. To your surprise, his windows were closed and his curtains were drawn.

“Hey, Joshua!” you whisper-shouted, sleep still lining your voice. No replies.

You started getting worried. His window hadn’t been open since yesterday night, and you had merely thought that he was staying out with his friends till late, but he wasn’t one to sleep in until the afternoon.

The uneasy feeling in you was eating you up. You quickly washed up and changed out of your pajamas, before going downstairs and hurriedly walking over to his house. You noticed newspapers from the past 2 days peeking out from his mailbox and grabbed those. After getting no response from knocking on his door a couple of times, you unlocked it with the key you had, before placing the newspapers on his countertop and rushing upstairs, your heart beating slightly faster than it should.

You pushed down the handle of his room door, carefully pushing the door open. His room was dim, almost dark, minimal sunlight peeking in through the tiny gaps of the maroon-colored curtains. Joshua was lying on the bed, on his side, his blankets pulled up to his waist. You couldn’t help but stare. His features were much softer when he was asleep, the lines that usually creased the corner of his eyes and eyebrows replaced by a youthful, dove-like appearance. His chest slowly rose and fell in sync with his shallow breaths, serenity plastering itself across his face.

You closed the door behind you and soundlessly walked over to him, gently placing your palm on his forehead. Nope, he wasn’t having a fever. Your eyes caught sight of a few prescribed pills on his nightstand, and you realized that he was having a cold.

Joshua suddenly stirred in his sleep, his eyes fluttering open. There was blankness in his eyes for a moment as he slowly took in his surroundings and the fact that you were in his room. He hummed softly, his voice sounding scratchy, and he slowly sits up.

“Y/N?” he slurred. His hair was standing up in all directions, making you chuckle and attempt to flatten them. “Why’re you here?”

“Because you have some explaining to do,” you said in mock annoyance, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

Joshua smiled, although he still didn’t seem fully awake. “It’s just a cold.”

He had zero idea that you had overslept because he didn’t play his guitar. 

“That’s still being sick.”

Joshua hummed again, nodding in resignation. “Yes, yes, you grandma.”

You brazenly cupped Joshua’s face with your hands, scrutinizing him. “You look dreadful.”

“Do I?” he murmured, looking around for a mirror.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter because you’re too good looking when you aren’t sick,” you pointed out, snickering.

Joshua chuckled, his eyes forming the mini crescents that you loved. “Why, thank you.”

You chuckled too.

“Have you taken your meds?” you asked, and Joshua nods, a little unsurely.

“Yeah, just. I think.”

“Good. Now go back to sleep,” you said, your hands intuitively and gently pressing down Joshua’s messy hair. “This is the only time I won’t be disturbing you,” you told him impudently.

Joshua smiled, lying back down, but his hand was holding onto your wrist. “Are you going back?”

You shrugged. “I’ll probably keep you awake if I stay,” you said, chuckling. “You know how noisy I can be.”

Joshua shook his head. “That’s fine. You keep me awake all the time anyway.”

You laughed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think about you a lot.”

Your eyes widened in surprise at the unanticipated answer that you received as you looked away from him, heat blossoming in your cheeks. “I think your medicine has some weird side-effects.”

Joshua chuckled. “No, it doesn’t. I’m telling you the truth.”

You were so embarrassed you wanted to bury your face in something, anything.

“I like you, Y/N. I really do. I’ve liked you ever since you started flying your little airplanes into my room. I love your laughter, how your head kinda hangs back when you laugh really hard. You’re just so…” Joshua trailed off, and his gaze softened, his eyes practically twinkling, his thumb rubbing small circles into your skin. “So beautiful.”

You tried to bite in the wide smile that was forming on your lips, burying your face in your hands, your back facing him. “Joshua, you know I can’t handle these kinds of things,” you mumbled. His laughter rings in your ears. 

Your heart was palpitating so fast against your chest, you could literally feel the thumps on your ribcage. You liked him too, you liked him so much you would space out and think about him at random times, and then start smiling to yourself. You loved how he was so playful but so kind at heart. Even your mother liked his personality --- she herself had been trying to push you to him everytime she comes over.

“That’s fine. I’ll make it easier,” he said. “Do you like me back? You just have to say yes or no.”

“You ass,” you said, your cheeks sore from smiling. “I can’t not like you even if I wanted to.”

Joshua beamed in content, before pulling you lightly towards him. You ended up lying right beside him, his face intimately close to yours. Even being this near to him, you couldn’t seem to find any flaw in his features. His eyes practically held the galaxy in them, his lips pinkish and slightly chapped, his skin having the tiniest of bumps on the corners of his nose. Even that seemed cute. Joshua chuckles softly after noticing how your eyes weren’t looking at his.

“You’re adorable.”

He lightly presses his lips to yours, the lips you’ve been dreaming about. It was as soft as you have expected it to be. A rosy hue played on both of your cheeks after he pulled away.

“You’re sick, Joshua,” your reminded — but not that you really cared about that anyway.

“Oh. Right. My bad,” he muttered, his thumb caressing your lips gently. “I think I’m better already anyway.”

The both of you started going over to each other’s houses more often than you should, so much so that it was almost possible to just sell the house you had and live with Joshua.

Joshua started cooking quite a lot for you, even though he wasn’t the best chef. You always laughed to yourself when you saw him in the kitchen with an apron, commenting on how motherly he looked. He would proceed to strike a few poses sometimes, and when you whip your phone out of your pocket, he’d immediately return to the stove and act aloof. He mentioned about spotting the empty cup of noodles the first time he came into your house (aka when he helped you with the boxes), and nagged about how unhealthy it was for your body. He was so caring; he’d always check on you over the smallest matters, like if you got to work safely when he can’t send you himself, and even making sure you don’t give in to your cravings and feed yourself ice-cold drinks when you’re on your period because he knew you’d have horrible cramps if you do.

“Just a sip, Joshua!” you argued, reaching for the can of cola as he tiptoed, raising it up and away from you, shaking his head persistently. 

“You’re gonna be rolling in bed and sobbing at night, so no,” Joshua said, putting the can to his mouth and drinking it himself. You pouted, and he couldn’t help but titter, abruptly placing his lips on top of yours for a moment. You could taste the negligible amount of the drink from his lips, the slight fizziness bubbling on your tongue.

“There,” he teased after pulling away. “That’s a sip for you.” 

You tried cooking breakfast for him once too, and he actually woke up because of the smell that wafted through the air in the house. You didn’t even hear him coming downstairs, so you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt his hands snake around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as you felt his breath on your neck.

“You’re not supposed to be up so early!” you exclaimed, and he chuckled.

“Sorry,” he apologized, placing a quick peck on your cheek before peeling himself away from you.

“Try not to burn anything, babe,” he joked.

“It’s just eggs, Shua,” you told him pointedly, pretending to be offended. He laughed.

“I know. But thanks. Love you.”

You snickered. “Well that was random, but love you too.”

✄— more fics

[magtitude]

61 -- 67 Chris headcanons from my old blog/s under the cut. watch out tho bc it’s a long post. additional cw for implied alcoholism, mention of drugs, implied suicide ideation, mentioned suicide, mention of stalking, mention of abuse.

61. Happiness headcanon.

For the most part, Chris doesn’t think he feels the typical picture of happiness, if ever, or rarely – there’s no particular “!!!” moment that he can recall at any one time, there’s no particular thing that he thinks will make him happy for the rest of his life, there’s no particular point in time that he can point and say “I was happy”.

Until he thinks about it some more, and realises he’s wrong. Because there are moments, and more-than-moments, and even distractions are more than just that – learning code, trialling apps, fixing what needs fixing. And his friends – and, at some point, significant other/s – are also a source of happiness: people he feels comfortable around, can joke around, feel true around, and it’s these key things ( alongside generally just. not hating each other out-right. ) that provide whatever happiness he finds.

It’s important that the people he’s happy with are people he loves, whether they’re family ( that he can stand ), friends, or significant others. An obvious requirement, probably. And it can go either way: loved ones make him happy, he’s happy around loved ones.

If not happy, then he is most often content, or uncomfortable. Living in the moment and focusing on the good and present and future, or having too much time to think to himself, particularly about the past and how it might be affecting current and future actions, behaviours, and thoughts.

Other people’s happiness is also important – again, his family, friends, and significant other/s. If he makes someone feel happy, he is happy, and useful – proving to himself that he is capable of doing something, and that his protective streak can prove fruitful and unwasted ( coming to their defence, etc. ).

62. Things Chris does instead of sleeping:

listen to music really loud on his headphones

climbs out of his attic window and slides down to have a walk around

drinks

smokes

talks to friends, either face-to-face or text or whatever

cries

looks up Entire Histories of music bands, if there’s any to be found

watches short horrors on youtube

reads creepy shit on creepypasta and reddit

and conspiracy theories

regrets being born

daydreams elaborately, i.e. ‘what if Y happened instead of X’ and builds entire daydream worlds out of them

eats

cries, version 2

homework, sometimes

63. “Were there any naming traditions in your muse's family? Reoccurring names found generation to generation?”

There hasn’t been any actual traditions in family names, or reoccurring names. Not until Chris was born, anyway; his middle name, Davis, is the same as his dead uncle’s. It would’ve been Christopher Ryan Farnham ( named after his biological dad ), but Angela was still in deep mourning, and Ryan had relented.

Then there’s Ruth; Ruth Angelica Krakowski. Her middle name is a “baby” version of Angela, her & Chris’ mum.

It might be that Angela is saying, with these names: “My kids. Just in case anyone needs reminding.”

64. “Is your muse’s family big or little? Close-knit or distant?”

It’s kinda weird in that it’s fluid and messy because of a number of things: maternal grandparents are dead; paternal grandparents might still be alive; bio dad’s an asshole living in another state/country; mum’s remarried and has a daughter with new husband; maternal aunt’s frosty; uncle’s dead; paternal aunt is minding her business.

So, it’s not really that close-knit, nor big.

He is very attached to his little sister, as she’s pretty much the only one in his immediate family that he doesn’t think as ridiculous. ( She’s six, so she’s allowed to be childish; it’s different from adults. )

He is kinda, kinda-not close with his mum and aunt; he loves them, but they argue every single time they meet up, and they act so petulantly, so it’s difficult to not tire of them.

He’s close-ish with his stepdad. Tom’s a good person, even though he’s away a lot ( truck driver ). Had the idea to teach Chris how to shoot, along with his mum.

TL;DR: Kinda big, but spread out ( and some dead ). Close-ish.

65. “How close were they to their father?”

He used to be quite close with Ryan, even though both parents fought a lot. Not quite as close as he was with Angela, but he did love his dad a lot. And Ryan did, when he could ( and/or wanted to ), spoiled Chris a little – ice-cream, taking Chris out of school for “doctor’s appointments” for a day.

These days, he hates him. This is mostly in part to Ryan being an asshole and stalking them later, and partly due to Angela telling him he would’ve been abusive because of the ( accidental ) slap.

66. “Was anyone idolized in your muse’s family? Did your muse idolize anyone?”

Chris doesn’t really idolize anyone in his family; they’re all human, and he recognises them as such. Even though they’re “slightly” more annoying than most people.

Not so much idolized so much as revered as a “martyr” of some sort — William, the dead uncle. Diane and Angela remember that he suffered the worst in their childhood, as he was the designated millstone to their parents ( carriage before horses, so to speak ). And he was protective and loving and the best brother and his death affected the both of them; still does.

67. Chris has a weird issue about feeling guilty and feeling hurt, and allowing himself to feel hurt, post-mountain. He is upset and angry with Josh, of course, but he does think about what he could’ve done in the year between pranks, about how he could’ve helped Josh, wondering why he didn’t notice Josh getting worse, or why he didn’t put in as much effort as was needed ( and guilt telling him he was bored of Josh, when that’s not true ). Some friend, right?

And it’s this guilt that gets in the way, after, of Chris letting himself be angry at Josh, and admit that he’s been hurt, and traumatized – he’d thought he’d killed his best friend, he’d thought Sam was in danger, and he’d thought he would have to kill either himself or Ashley in the second saw trap.

On top of the guilt from not helping, there’s also the immediate scene after the reveal, where Chris and Mike are dragging Josh to the shed, and the subsequent disbelief and aggravation, which ends up with Chris smacking Josh in the face with a wooden plank.

So, no, Chris isn’t very good, or is unwilling to let himself admit or feel hurt as often as he could, if at all – he’s hurt Josh more times than Josh has hurt him.

[itsworn]

The 2017 York Nostalgia Weekend Honors the Drag Racing Stars and Cars of the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s

For fans of East Coast racing history, the second weekend of July has been the best time to come to the hills of central Pennsylvania, as the combined York Nostalgia show and accompanying York US30 Nostalgia Nationals takes place, honoring the heritage of the stars and cars from the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. The pair of shows has been a dedicated celebration of speed for 12 years now. Indeed, this year featured a TV crew from France as well as local news organizations, with nonstop activity from the opening on Friday through the last pass down the 1,320 on Sunday evening.

The show portion is held at the Eastern Museum of Motor Racing in York Springs, located on the Latimer Valley Fairgrounds 20 miles north of Gettysburg. Promoted by longtime NHRA Division Director Darwin Doll; his wife, Pat; and a crew of volunteers, York Nostalgia was created to honor the racing heritage of the now-defunct track/airport near the city of York. York US30 Dragway operated from 1959-1979 and was the location of several major races. With a large number of automotive enthusiasts based in the surrounding states, the show moved to the museum location two years ago and is again growing.

Among the special activities are the Legion of Honor ceremonies on Friday, where gasser pilot Gene Altizer, longtime NHRA racer Al Brown, and photographer (and Deluxe contributor) Bob McClurg were among the 2017 inductees. This was also titled Dave Strickler Day, with a special afternoon discussion among his noted associates and family. George Curetan’s newly completed Tokyo Rose sedan delivery was there, as was George and other racers.

Saturday saw a large turnout for the annual car show, which Doll calls “Cruising Into Summer.” More than 100 cars came from around the region to participate. Meanwhile, there were other cars invited to display all around the museum grounds, a swap meet, ongoing seminar programs, gatherings for group photos, and more. The Best of Show award this year went to a gorgeous ’59 Chevrolet Apache pickup owned by Carl Lynes, whose appearance summed up the event quite well. The grand finale was a Cackling Thunder fire-up session before people packed up for the next day.

By then, action was already under way 90 miles north, where Bob and Donna Marie McCardle hosted racers, fans, and even campers at the Beaver Springs Dragway. The wide, grassy aprons; quaint tower; and personal hospitality make this perhaps the ultimate nostalgia racing facility. Though they run a selection of eliminators on Saturday, the big day is Sunday, the annual York US30 Nostalgia Nationals. This year had eight classes of racing plus a select group of exhibition cars. No body style later than 1972 is allowed to run, no whining permitted, and leave your delay box at home. It is old school all the way, including a qualifying session that is flag-started. The track had its own Legends of Drag Racing program, then more than 200 cars made the first round call, including more than three dozen Nostalgia Super Stockers and several grouped exhibition racers like the Ohio Gassers and Pure Vintage Drags.

What always makes the weekend special is the people: friends seen year after year, racers who tow in from far away just to enjoy the scene, and a solidarity with the past. Why is this a great event? Think back on the heroes of racing, the colorful cars they ran, and the less-stressful era they existed in. The clock turns back for one weekend each year for those memories and new ones, and you can look forward to more of them.

First Time: The era of Junior Stock roared to life as Junior Stock racers George Curetan and Wayne Jesel raced each other for the first time in history. Neither could recall a time they had met in eliminations back in the day, and they always ran cars in different classes. Curetan had not lost his touch and was off the line first in the faster car to take it. Jesel later raced the Daddy Warbucks Falcon and won with a 7-second handicap.

Junior Stock Heroes: The men joked before the impromptu race at Beaver Springs on Sunday morning. Curetan (left) won the 1967 NHRA World Championship at Tulsa, and his tribute Tokyo Rose sedan delivery came in courtesy Mike and Connie Szczepanski of Winona, Minnesota. Jesel’s tribute was completed about three years ago, but this was his first time driving it on the track in a race environment. These kinds of reunions have helped establish the weekend’s legacy for fans.

Best of Show: Carl Lynes’ beautifully restored ’59 Chevy Apache pickup was the victor in the Saturday Cruising Into Summer car show, as the wonderfully refinished truck won Best of Show honors. While some might want to make it a little bigger and badder, it would be a perfect evening driver to the ice cream store just as it is.

Dave’s Day: Here is the Larry Brinkley-owned ’62 409 Impala with Ammon R. Smith and Jenkins Competition lettering. Its driver, the late Dave Strickler, was honored with a Dave Strickler Day this year, which included friends recounting his career with much of his family present. A number of them talked about the FX days at York, when Strickler was willing to spot cars a half-track length and still row through the gears to beat them.

Big John Tribute: Rocky Pirrone’s Big John Mazmanian race-ready Willys tribute was placed in the Eastern Museum of Motor Racing drag racing hall for display. The EMMR uses the wall behind it for sponsorship bricks, which had been widely supported by fans of all types of motorsports. There were many other notable cars on display both here and down in the show field area.

Flamed Ford: Dan Mentzell Jr.’s Tudor wasn’t the fastest car in its class, but Dan enjoyed a great weekend of racing it. The track runs quarter-mile for most classes during this event, and several quicker cars had to play catch-up with him during qualifying and racing. They had nothing on him for style points, however. The ’30 Model A has a 350ci Chevy engine and TH350 transmission with 3.25 gears in a 9-inch Ford rearend.

Winning Bucket: Meanwhile, the 2017 winner in Comp was this hot little yellow T-bucket called the Hilltown Shaker and raced by Josh Nevells, who is a regular at the event. He ran consistent times with his small-block Chevrolet combo, with just enough wheel-lift to make it interesting.

Surprise: You never know what will turn up on Sunday, which included exhibition cars and eight race classes. This Cheetah was a surprise, as the originals are rare and pricey, and few people even remember them today. Modified Production is a simple breakdown: A/MP for pre-’66 cars, B/MP for ’66-’72, and run your dial-in. A faster Comp class, two NETO groups, the East Coast gassers, Nostalgia Super Stock, and Junior Stock round it out.

Honored: Among the inductees to the Legion of Honor in 2017 was the late Al Brown, who attended and raced at the NHRA Nationals for more than 40 years. His son Tom, now a chaplain for Racers for Christ, gave a moving eulogy on the family of racers. The Legion adds new members each year, and those accolades are held in perpetual honor at the EMMR facility.

Chevy Deuce: One of the nicest period-style rods was the ’32 Chevy coupe of Podunk, Pennsylvania’s Tony Barone. Featuring a great small-block engine with the correct vintage parts and a circa-’60 scalloped paint job, the car took the top place in the Special Interest category on Saturday during the cruise-in.

Ramp Up: No award was given for the largest displayed vehicle in the show on Saturday, but Earl Metzler’s ’54 1-1/2-ton truck with its primered ’41 Willy coupe on the back ramp would have been a shoe-in. The Cruising Into Summer event featured a lot of variety this year, with an even divide between rods and muscle.

In Training: Longtime racer Mickey Hale and his football-type Austin run on the Ohio Gasser match-race circuit. Showing there is still a place for younger people in racing, his crew here included a back-up girl in training. These cars put on an amazing show with long burnouts and sometimes-violent wheelstands, while keeping the distance to 1/8-mile to maintain parts longevity.

Willys Wheelie: Once again, Mike Etchberger and his Willys gasser were stars of the wheelstanding effort, though this one would end up maxing out the suspension travel and making for a short day during round one. However, every camera in the place was focused on him each time the black primered coupe came into the water box. Go big or go home; this one goes big…

Legends: Comp racer Larry Lombardo (left), best known for driving for Bill Jenkins later in Pro Stock, recalled that his first-ever paying match race was for $20 offered by Bob McCardle the year the track opened. He took the opportunity during BSD’s Legends of Drag Racing ceremony to give the money back to Bob in appreciation, and to the cheers of the crowd.

Still Active: For a track that closed almost 30 years ago, memories and commitment remain strong. These are the former York US30 employees gathered for a photo. As can be seen from their yellow shirts, several remain active helping with the annual reunion. Darwin and Pat Doll are on the left.

Big Tent: Without the large buildings (and overhead) from the York Fairgrounds, this large tent was erected for the invited cars. It holds approximately 20 vehicles. Other cars were displayed in pavilions nearby, with a select few in the museum itself on an adjacent ridgeline.

Fired Up: For a grand finale as the show closed late Saturday afternoon, several nitro cars were fired up. A crowd gathered as Bob Bilbow warmed up the Lynwood Engineering dragster, complete with weed-burner headers and a lopey, period-type camshaft. The York events tend to gather East Coast cars, and Lynwood built cars for a number of big names in those early years of the sport “back east.”

Treasure: We do not have a clue what this poster from the late Teens/early Twenties might be worth. Barney Oldfield and his legendary Golden Submarine circle track car traveled by rail to locations nationwide for match races on fairgrounds dirt tracks like the one now restored at Latimer Valley. The EMMR museum is filled with treasures like this, and well worth a careful walk through to see it all.

Ohio George: George Montgomery made the trek up to the dragstrip on Sunday and was seated on the starting line for a quick interview. Noteworthy for his many accomplishments, the Dayton, Ohio, racer has had a well-rounded career, with drag racing titles and later management of the entire engine business for the former Indy Lights open wheel series.

Flatheads on Fuel: The Pure Vintage Racing group runs a self-contained bracket that consists of vintage, all-steel Ford-bodied or -powered cars. Running period-original speed equipment and older high-wheel Indy car tires, these cars harken back to the very earliest days of the hobby. Make the best of your paint skills, buy the pieces you need to look good and go faster, and bring it. An eighth-mile course keeps it safe, even for those flatheads on fuel. The cars run drags, salt, beach front, and more. Seven were on hand this year.

Flag Man: A tradition of the event is the flag starting of round two of Nostalgia Super Stock, handled by “Spry George” Nye, the former flag starter at York before the advent of the Christmas tree, and later its best-known announcer. Today he conducts guided bus tours at the Hershey facility near Harrisburg. On Sunday, he was playing “tuck in tight” as a combined 800-plus horsepower passed on either side.

All-409 Final: When the smoke had cleared, for the first time in the 12-year history of the race, a pair of 409 Chevys had hammered all the Fords and Mopars into oblivion before the final. Bob Conway won the race in his New Jersey-based 1963 model with runs in the 11-second zone, besting a field of almost four dozen cars that made the round one NSS call. McCardle also ran special 409, FE Ford and Hemi-only programs on Saturday for racers who wanted two days of action, as well several other classes that ran again on Sunday.

See You Next Year: Waving them off in the tradition of the region’s sprint car heritage, the mascot of the Eastern Museum of Motor Racing beckons fans to come and see the show during summer weekends. Located off of Route 15 approximately 20 miles north of Gettysburg, the museum is scheduled to play host to York Nostalgia again in 2018. For more info, log on to yorknostalgia.com for the York Reunion and beaversprings.com for the BSD Nostalgia Nationals.

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