#lots of fanfiction
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finally watched venom the last dance today and i only have one thing to sayâŠâŠ.WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS THAT.
#what the fuck#venom#venom the last dance#symbrock#they were meant to be happy#and get married and have 7 kids#iâm going to go read the comics for some comfort#and fanfic#lots of fanfiction#gay
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Me reading All for the Game fluff
#Iâve retreated into myself after the poppy wars#I need my babies to make me feel better#and fanfiction#lots of fanfiction#and I canât find any poppy wars fluff#any recs?#andrew minyard#kevin day#neil josten#the foxhole court#aaron minyard#the raven king#allison reynolds#renee walker#all the kings men#matt boyd#the foxes#the poppy war#the dragon republic#the burning god#fang runin#yin nezha#chen kitay
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PSA for fanfic writers
#writeblr#fanfic#writing#fanfiction#my art#I say this a lot on the unhinged discord#so I made a little graphic to post instead#1k#10k#20k
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You know what?
I love you, fics that take months to update. I click on the newest chapter and have no memory of this place and get to go back some chapters and rediscover how much i love everything about this story.
I love you, fics that take years to update. I think of you fondly, and know your names, go search for you and see an update from this year and scream, diving in uncaring of any missed details (i will finish the update and read you in reverse because this is a treat you have bestowed)
I love you, fics that probably will never update again. Thank you for being a roman empire for my mind, thank you for teaching me about the ephemeral fandom experience, for inspiring a thousand million what if-s, for being a comfort read and a nostalgia read and a reread.
I love you fic writers, who jump into projects and stories with enthusiasm. I love you when you succeed in pumping out those chapters and that love doesn't go away when you stop.
I love you fic writers who post and then get in your own head and never feel confident enough to update, whether it's at all or whether it's just that one story.
I love you fic writers, who have a fandom or media hurt you to the point of abandoning or having a hard time with their WIPs.
I love you fic writers, who lose interest or have life changes or illness or bad memory. Thank you for being part of the fandom, a core part of the fandom. Thank you for the time spent in the fandom.
I love you, fic writers who try out something new and then stop. You're so valid.
I love you, WIP fics that may or may not ever get finished. Thank you for brightening my day in the way only you could have.
#fandom#fanfics#fanfiction#fanfic writers#wips#abandoned stories#a lot of people feel so much shame for this#but that's not for this post#we are celebrating the lifeblood of the fandom here#the pages and pages of fic#celebrating the passion projects of writers who do this for free#and if I see anyone in the tags saying âwell actuallyâ or âwith the exception ofâ bullshit#vacation or not#i'm gonna not be happy
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PSA for those writing coffee shop AUs, bakery AUs, etc.
I have worked in the food service industry for 20 years and I just wanted to make an informational list of common mistakes or misconceptions I see in writing about said industry. Not trying to be a jerk, just thought I would try to make a helpful list! I will add more if I think of any and please feel free to ask any questions you may have!
- it's cookie dough, not cookie batter. Doughs are for thicker stuff, typically something you can pick up in your hand (cookies, bread). Batters are more liquid and pourable (cakes, brownies, muffins)
- one person cannot make all the products from scratch and bake everything themselves unless they are a very slow business. Most of the time someone has a specific thing they do weather it's focused on specific products or split up like one person does the batters/doughs, one person preps and bakes, one person decorates. Sometimes one person does multiple things but generally not every single thing every day by themselves
- Front of House = people interacting with customers like barista, waiter, person at the register. Back of House = people making the food (line cook, baker, etc), dish washer (the worst job in the world, I salute all dishwashers everywhere)
- if they're doing stuff like bagels, doughnuts, breakfast pastries, cinnamon rolls, bread, etc they are there EARLY. Depending on the product some people start working at 2 in the morning. I saw a published book that had someone making dozens and dozens of cinnamon rolls from scratch in like one hour. Not possible even though I wish it was
- frosting, icing, and glaze are all different things. Frosting is the thicker stuff you see on cakes and cupcakes. Icing is typically for cookies, especially the decorated cut out sugar cookies. Glaze is thin, like what you get on doughnuts
- 99% of people who work in the food service industry will immediately go home and shower. I've seen lots stories where the character gets done at work and goes out. You are covered in various substances with powdered sugar in places you didn't know it could get, a shower before Literally Anything is a must
#writers#writing#writerscommunity#writers on tumblr#fanfic#fanfiction#coffee shop au#bakery au#ao3#archive of our own#writing tips#some fandoms i see these aus a lot#aftg#all for the game#trc#the raven cycle#tlt#the locked tomb#check please
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Fanfic writers after watching the honda odyssey scene in Deadpool & Wolverine
#i was so happy i knew i will get lots and lots of spicy stuff to read#deadpool & wolverine#deadpool and wolverine#wade x logan#there are so many fanfictions already#Deadpool#wolverine#wade wilson#logan howlett#there are so many fics already#i love you guys so much for this#poolverine#Deadpool 3
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You guys are commenting on the fics you read right? Youâre at least leaving kudos on the Astarion smut and the pairs that have less than 20 fics for them too? Youâre bookmarking stories you really like that are still being updated and ones that havenât been touched in over a year right?
You know that even the smallest interactions are like cocaine to fic writers right? You understand how important a string of emoji hearts left behind on a chapter at three am is right?? Right????
Youâre treating AO3 like a community and not a content factoryâŠ.right?
#this isnt bg3 specific btw im seeing a lot of fandoms rotting cause of this#ao3#archive of our own#bg3 fanfiction#bg3#PLEASE YOU GUYS INTERACT WITH THE THINGS YOU READ#youâre not being weird or annoying!!! it doesnât matter how old the fic is!!!#you can just say âI love thisâ or âitâs three am and I havenât slept yet cause I was reading thisâ#you can copy and paste a paragraph you like and add â!!!!!!â after it#theories in the comments! mention when you think youâve found foreshadowing!!!#if thereâs a part where you have to physically put your phone down and smile off into the distantce? TELL THE AUTHOR#you can leave comments every chapter too!!! ITS NOT ANNOYING
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want your favorite author to update but donât want to be too pushy in their comment section?
hereâs 5 things you can do to encourage them:
Reblog their fic link on tumblr (bonus if itâs with tags)
Bookmark the fic with a note about what youâre excited about/love in the fic
Recommend the fic to your friends or local discord channel
Draw art or create other media for the fic (as indicated by the authorâs comfort level)
Leave them a comment when re-reading about the parts of the chapter/story that stood out to you the second time
#this isnât about me#this is just what I think a lot of authors would appreciate#more than the âupdate soon!!!â comments#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#ao3#archive of our own#writing things#writing#reading things#reading#tips and tricks
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I think it's mean how some people talk about fics on AO3.
'Oh you gotta wade through literal trash to find the good stuff'.
Were you not a beginner once? Did you not write crack fic or self indulgent things for your own entertainment?
Maybe don't speak that way about your fellow fic writers? Just because some fics aren't as polished as others, or involve fetishes and tropes you don't enjoy, or are not the style you want your fics to be doesn't mean they're trash.
It's a horrible thing to say and beginners are going to be discouraged from writing knowing that their fics might be considered trash because they're just starting out.
#on fanfiction#archive of our own#ao3#fanfiction#this is inspired by a lot of the posts i see floating around that talk about fics like that#*i* dont read everything either#but you can say this is not for me without insulting the fics#(also mutuals this is not directed at any of you im not vaguing anyone on my dash)#these posts have existed for years
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He's doing hand talk :'D Cute and Sad.
#transformers one#b 127#bumblebee#digital art#megatron#optimus prime#elita one#Hand talk#because this ain't asl#Idk asl#I know french asl#the basics#barely nothing at all#and apparently fsl and asl are super similar but still#Anyway#I MADE IT UP#the signs in this#cuz it was FUN#having Bee decide what gestures fit his friends#there aren't enough fics about bee using hand talk#art#it's sad but cute#Imma draw a lot for this fic#A Bee's Last Sound#I'm tagging it because theres gonna be a LOT#maccadam#transformers one fanfiction#mute bumblebee
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During Dannyâs 30 minute lunch break he spends his time reading comics from Ghostwriterâs collection in the Watchtower employee breakroom. It took a while to convince Ghostwriter to even start adding comics to his library, but after a passionate rant about the history of comics the influencing media of the medium, a new library wing was added to GWâs haunt that was rapidly filling with comics from all across the realms. In payment for helping him realize the literary importance of comic books, Ghostwriter lets Danny check out as many comics as he wishes. On average Danny manages to read 2-3 comics per break and leaves them in the breakroom during his shift. (the security at the Watchtower is over the top and no one dares steal from other employees as itâd give grounds for instant termination. Stealing a comic book from a coworker isnât worth losing a very high paying job). The alarm on Dannyâs phone goes off. His lunch break has ended. Danny huffs in mild annoyance, he was just about to finish his third comic of the day. Oh well. Danny places a bookmark gently on his current page and heads out of the breakroom. â Red Robin was asked by a maintenance worker near the conference room he just left for a Justice League briefing to grab a multitool he forgot in the employee breakroom. Tim didnât mind as it was only a small detour on his way out. The breakroom was the same as he remembered it to be. White room with a small kitchen area and cabinets against one wall, lockers against the other, and a Justice League mural on the back wall. Grabbing the multitool which was right where the maintenance guy said it would be, he turned around to head out. He was planning to walk right back to the Watchtower worker and leave but something caught his eye. A small pile of comics lightly stacked on a table. A pile of comics titled Red Robin.
#dpxdc#danny phantom#dp x dc#bones prompts#Danny has no idea that the Red Robin comic he has is of THIS universes Red Robin. a lot of comics are like fanfiction of a character#it genuinely was a mistake and he realizes that he now knows the identities of all of the batfamily and a decent chunk of the teen titans.
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âlipstickâ - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 280 words
Â
âYou lying, cheating bastard!â Regulus yells from down the hall.
âWhat did you do?â Remus asks.
âProbably nothing.â James shrugs as Regulus storms into the kitchen.
âProbably nothing!?â Regulus yells. âCare to explain what this is?â He throws a shirt at James.
âThe shirt I wore last night.â James says casually. Â
âRight. And why are there lipstick marks and mascara streaks on the collar?â Still yelling as he rips the shirt back out of Jamesâ hands.
James points behind Regulus to a hungover Sirius whoâs passed out at the kitchen table with smeared lipstick and mascara on his face.
âRight. That makes sense. Thank you.â He says sternly and stomps back out of the kitchen muttering something about âoil basedâ and âa bitch to clean.â
âWhat was that?â Remus asks with wide eyes.
âHealthy communication.â James says with another shrug.
âThat was healthy?â
âOh yeah, normally he shuts down, wonât talk to me for days and often locks me out of the bedroom without telling me whatâs wrong.â James starts telling him as Regulus walks back into the kitchen looking for something under the sink. âPlus, he knows Iâd never actually cheat, probably just needed a bit of reassurance and this way he can ask without feeling too vulnerable.â He finishes as Regulus stands up.
âAnd you like it when Iâm a little mean to you.â He tells James and kisses him on the cheek.
âAnd that.â James says as Regulus gives Remus a pointed âso thereâ look and saunters out of the kitchen again.
âGod, heâs dramatic.â Remus mumbles.
âMooooonnnnyyyy!! My head huuuurrrts!!!â Sirius whines from the table and James raises an eyebrow at Remus. Â
âWhat? I didnât say mine wasnât dramatic.â
#probably still not the healthiest form of communication#but theyâre working on it#baby steps#reg has a lot of feelings#james loves regulus#regulus loves james#jegulus#james x regulus#regulus x james#jegulus fanfiction#jegulus microfic#jegulus fanfic#marauders#marauders fanfiction#james potter#regulus black#marauders fic#harry potter marauders#harry potter#dead gay wizards from the 70s#dead gay wizards#jeggyverse microfic
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Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kidâs plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same olâ. Alright, so âdisturbedâ may be a tad too light of a word, but whatâs an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured heâd just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.
Too bad he didnât account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemeteryâs website when heâs feeling particularly lonely.
Plot Removed.
Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Toddâs plot number. Removed? What do they mean âremovedâ? They canât just remove a plot? Thatâs a person down there! Thatâs Robin down there! You canât Remove Robin!
Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.
Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely itâs a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.
Just a phone call.
In 5 hours.
âŠ
Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.
Well it wonât be the first time heâs snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It canât even really be considered sneaking out if thereâs no one home to catch you.
Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.
Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.
Itâs 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading âHere Lies Jason Toddâ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.
This- This doesnât make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-
Assess the situation.
A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.
Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.
Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.
No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.
Dragging claw marks.
Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.
A trail of dirt.
Something⊠Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.
Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. Heâs going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isnât the worldâs first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.
Heâs been walking for 23 minutes and thereâs good news and undecided news. Good news: heâs closing in on the target and the trail isnât taking him out of the way so his trip home wonât be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.
As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Timâs collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.
In Batman and Robin news? Timâs unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldnât have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-
No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.
Hope only brings heartbreak.
What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.
Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.
Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.
Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.
âJ-Jason?â It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.
Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.
âJason. Jason, stop I want to help you.â Still nothing.
âPlease, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!â
Why isnât this working?! Why canât he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-
âRobin!â
Robin jerks to a stop.
Tim reached out his hand.
âRobin. Robin please, Iâm sorry youâre going through this, itâs really scary, Iâm really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.â
Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course itâs not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?
Hope only brings heartbreak.
His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.
His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.
âDonât⊠scared⊠Bat⊠help⊠Dad⊠help.â
A relieved sob tears out from Timâs chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jasonâs cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.
âOkay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.â
Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.
#Hello Mr. Batwayne forgive me for waking you but I brought your Jaybin home#Tim: Iâm not jumping to conclusions!#also Tim: Holy fuck itâs the zombie apocalypse weâre all going to die#I know it seems like Tim might have some bat detective training but really he just watches a lot of cop shows and asks âwwbd?â all the time.#writing this is the first thing I did as soon as I turned 27.#this was my birthday present to myself ig#not a ship pls n thx#batfam fanfic#batman#dc robin#dcu#batman and robin#jason todd#tim drake#red hood#ficlet#batfam#jason todd and tim drake#robin#red robin#shut up grandpa#fanfiction#ââJASON! JASON STOP! LOOK AT ME! look at me. please. this isnât youââ ass dialogue đ
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Jason Todd is used to violence. Heâs a little less used to love.
The first time you give Jason a hickey, itâs bittersweet. For a man so used to violence and all its aftermaths, that small mark on the vulnerable reach of his throat leaves him shell shocked. He presses down at that fresh bruise and is astounded at the lack of violence. That the violently marred planes of his body can bear the evidence of affection just as well. It surprises him a little, how two such opposed things can end up looking so similar. Heâll take a thousand little bruises from you if theyâre made of love.
Every morning after you, he stands in front of his bathroom mirror and catalogues the damages. Symmetrical purple blooms on each collarbone, a fading one overlapping an old bullet wound on his chest, more scattered along his pulse points. He presses careful fingers down on each one and wonders at how close your sharp teeth came to the fragile parts of him. Decides how he wouldnât mind an imprint of your jaws if you chose to give it to him. Thinks abstractly about how heâd look decorated in ruby droplets and your grin.
Jason Todd is used to violence. Heâs a little less used to love. Sometimes for him, the boundaries get a little blurry.
#i might revisit some of these themes bc i have a lot of thoughts on how violence & love are tangled up for jason#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagine#jason todd headcanon#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd fic#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood x y/n#snack fic#sunnie writes đ»
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More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos
(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)
People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.
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+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.
The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ
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Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-
The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.
The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.
He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didnât help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.
Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.
Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.
The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairsâ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.
Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.
It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.
He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.
Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.
His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.
She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.
A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.
Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.
He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.
A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.
However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His catâs muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.
With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.
âI have a car,â he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.
He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.
He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.
Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.
So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.
âYou'll be safe in here,â the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.
The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.
The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.
Stanleyâs steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.
When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.
Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.
#i only have the Paris and Korean subways as frame reference so i have no idea what american subways look like#just imagine the paris subway system- i heavily used it as a reference to draw and write these since it's#the only subway that I know AND looks 1980-ish enough to pass#gravity falls#gravity falls fanart#gravity falls fanfiction#gravity falls au#<-ig???#there are mirrors in subways right- I've seen a lot of curved wall length mirrors at subway stations#stanley pines#stan pines#grunkle stan#stanley's sketchbook#tw liminal space#tw horror#<- I mean eh- my horror writing skills is sub par at best#cats#tw scopophobia#tw staring#on the other hand- stanley being friends with street cats!! so cute <33#you can visibly SEE in the fic where I completely lost my grip on the story from 'sweet story about cats' to 'oh my god what the fuck'#my art
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Dannymay 2023
15. Full Hazmat AU & 23. Rogue Gallery
#danny phantom#dannymay2023#full hazmat au#rogue gallery#(the thing I love about full hazmat au is that unless Danny shows his face)#(it would be totally reasonable to assume that he is an adult)#(especially if you don't want to believe a child beat you)#comic#(just gonna add this here since it seems to be coming up a lot)#(This is not a fan art of any specific fic!)#(When I do fanart of fanfiction I always link the fic and tag the person who wrote it)#(I know this is not that original idea and people have already linked multiple good fics in reblogs)#(And I'm sure there are probably even more with similar concept)
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