#my back hurts at frightening levels but it's Stan

[frankensteinposm0]

Happy birthday to my boy Stan and to Trey Parker!! ♡ I put a lot of effort into this so hope you like it ^^

ig version

[blindmagdalena]

Was re-watching Diabolical and have been genuinely wondering for a while about this………

Do you think Homelander could have been redeemed within those first 1-4 of his years of his initial roll out? It was obvious that he had no moral compass but he wasn't intentionally malicious back then. He seemed just kind of like a paper cup blowing from here to there as long as the promise of adoration existed.

I can't help but wonder if he had been surrounded by actually decent people rather than Vought psychopaths and manipulators if he still had a chance, even at that age.

a lot of things could have been different for Homelander when he was that young. it's a little fuzzy how old he was in Diabolical 8, but the general consensus seems to be 18-20.

we know he already had a kill count in the lab. he killed several of his teachers/nannies by the time he was 13, maybe more after that. he experienced a deluge of being made to crave the love of humans while also coming to view them as disposable.

as toys, if you will.

vague potential spoilers for s4 and longwinded rambling under the cut.

in my (wholly uneducated) opinion, this is where the foundational fracture of baby John's psyche begins. he had three "core" members of his team who formed a dysfunctional parental unit. Barbara, Vogelbaum and Stan Edgar. i believe that as a child, John had genuine and strong love for both Barbara and Vogelbaum, whereas i think it's always been a fearful respect of Stan Edgar.

then there were the regulars who existed in periphery, but mainly as antagonists. such as Marty and Frank. think of them as like... creepy uncles.

the rest of the scientists and caretakers were nothing but nameless, faceless props. the first time he killed someone, they were swiftly replaced. same with the first, second, third... who knows how many he went through. who knows how many "accidents" Vogelbaum swept under the rug in his pursuit of the Perfect Hero.

that little smile we see at the end of the clip? that's all Homelander.

Homelander fundamentally does not care about people, but has a deep-seated desire for their approval, and does grow strong attachments on an individual level. this is the "split" that exists in him. this is the 16 year old that left the lab.

he was always going to latch onto someone and have little regard for anyone who wasn't them. no matter how well-meaning and kind that person was, Homelander would have been an extremely difficult (and frightening!) child to manage.

you think he's immature and temperamental now? try him from the ages of 16-25. yikes!

he may not have hurt anyone on purpose initially in that rescue gone wrong, but he had absolutely no problem covering his bases once shit went sideways. he was only afraid of retribution from Vought/His Favored People. he wasn't upset that he hurt people. he was upset he might not get away with it.

it would make for a really interesting fic to explore what would have happened if the hero "Homelander" had been scrapped entirely for whatever reason. if he'd been if he had fallen into the hands of someone who actually meant well, who would parent him.

someone who would love enough about him to teach him the fundamentals of caring about other people not just on an individual level, but on a conceptual one. whether or not he still could.

ultimately, Homelander isn't a real person. it's entirely up to the author whether or not he could or could not be "redeemed." he'll always carry the trauma of what was done to him, but at the very least, maybe he could come to understand some degree of empathy or compassion outside of himself.

either way i'd read the hell out of it!

[ihatesocialmedia45]

Chapter 9: Hey Jude

Summary:

Go Go Seven Therapy Session!!

Notes:

it's not filler!! It's a character study!! Shut up!!

The Seven sat in a circle on the floor facing each other, the therapist of the session sitting in a chair behind them, notepad in hand. She looked around, ensuring that they were all present. Deep was picking at a scab on the back of his hand, while A-Train was staring longingly out the window, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of a blimp that flew by, his face plastered on the side. Maeve sat with her knees up, looking sourly at Sage, while Sage stared coolly back, eyes betraying nothing. Noir sat silently, a notepad of his own in his hand. Starlight sat, prim and proper, legs folded neatly and her hands in her lap, the picture of compliance. Firecracker placed a hand on Deep's arm, tutting at him to stop picking. Homelander (and the woman, A-Train noted with an eyeroll) sat at eye-level with the therapist, Homelander floating above the the rest with her settled in his lap. She'd cooed when he'd done it, as if she was impressed, A-Train thought in disgust. So they were letting groupies into the Tower now... this place had gone downhill, in a major way.

The therapist peered down at the group from beneath her bifocals and cleared her throat. "Alright, everyone. Thank you for all making the effort to attend this session. I understand that it isn't easy to take this first step, but you're all here - and I'm grateful for the time you're giving me. It's not just that I'm giving you my time, to listen - but that you're giving me yours, to be heard." The Seven shifted, uncomfortable with the sentiment. Deep looked around, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. "No problem, Ma'am. I woke up, totally prepared to bail on this, but then I thought," he snarked, putting on an expression of mock thoughtfulness, clenching a fist, "Stan is forcing me to be here. I can't miss it."

Instantly, the group erupted into mocking laughter, even Homelander, Deep noted with pride, the quiet sound of their derision filling up the room. The therapist nodded, nonplussed, though her eyes now carried a faint sharpness that wasn't there before. "Thank you, Kevin. I notice that you often keep to yourself, unless there's an opportunity to play the comedian. Do you think that this act of defiance endears you to the group, or serves to boost your self-esteem in some way? Your friends laugh now... but does that ever stop them from making light of your bond with your octopus friend?"

Instantly, the room hushed. Deep sputtered, face growing red. "That's - that - I..." The therapist looked him over, eyebrow raised faintly, before writing something in her notepad and looking the group over once more. "I'd like for us all to treat this session with the seriousness it deserves - the seriousness you all deserve. I get paid either way. Whether or not you show up genuinely doesn't impact me... it only hurts you." That being said, the group looked around, vaguely unsettled at the therapist's stand, almost chagrined. The therapist sat up straighter. "With that being said, I'd like for us all to go around the circle, introducing ourselves. My name... is Dr. Therese Rangel. I'm a double board certified clinical psychologist, and my scope of work includes those who struggle with complex trauma, psychological disorders, drug dependency, and especially the unique struggles of the Super Abled grappling with fame. In short, I was specifically chosen to work this case due to this skillset - and I'd like to let you all know that there is nothing you can tell me that will shock me, or disgust me, or frighten me. I've worked with Supes for a very, very long time." She gestured to the rest of the group, giving them the floor.

Starlight looked around, sensing the direction this meeting would go. They'd tried insolence - but Rangel had shut that down right away. It was clear what they were planning next - waiting her out until the 45 minutes were over, then leaving victorious. But as she caught the conspiratorial looks in her teammates' eyes, she couldn't help the wave of frustration that overtook her. The Seven was a mess; they were nothing like the heroes she'd fantasized about fighting alongside in Des Moines... it had been three months since she made that fateful walk into the Tower - and they'd instantly disappointed. On her first day, she recalled bitterly, Deep had snuck an anglerfish in her tub, A-Train had snagged her order from the café three times before she could grab it, and Firecracker had snuck up behind her, snapping and scaring her with the loud pop of fire in her ears. Sage had talked down to her for thirty minutes about her itinerary, cutting her off when she'd tried to explain that she knew what it was, and when she'd finally broken down in the bathroom, Maeve had offered her a wadded up ball of tissue, before telling her that this soft attitude would only have her back on the first plane to Iowa before she could say press junket. And Homelander... the thought made her lower her head. Homelander had ignored her all week, until she'd managed to complete her first real save, to which he gave her a curt, "Good work, newbie," smirking when she lit up at the first positive attention she'd received since arriving. She took a deep breath, ignoring A-Train's eye roll.

"My name... is Annie January. I'm from Des Moines, Iowa, and I joined the Seven three months ago... because I wanted... I wanted..." she stopped then, feeling the judgmental looks of her teammates. Dr. Rangel waved her on gently. "You wanted..." Starlight felt herself shrink under the Seven's scrutiny, but she nodded and pressed on.

"I wanted... to help people," she said, voice stronger now. From the corner of her eye, she watched Maeve stiffen. "I wanted... to do something about the state of the city, the world. Before The Seven... all I could do was stop drunk drivers in Des Moines, and practice my lines for those stupid pageants... but I couldn't even stop a cop from beating up on a homeless person, or save a girl who I knew was being trafficked. I felt this... disgust, for myself, for other Supes, for just watching, and doing nothing. And so, when I got the chance... I was actually grateful to be here. To be able to make a difference. But now..." she sighed, eyes downcast. Maeve broke into a slow round of applause, eyes venomous. 

"Everyone, give Annie a hand! Even in therapy, she finds a way to make her intro about how shitty we all are..." the rest of the Seven joined in, A-Train clapping Deep on the back and snickering as Starlight's face fell. Dr. Rangel leaned in, eyes hawkish under her impassive gaze.

"And why does that upset you, Maeve? That Annie came to The Seven with the goal of changing things for the better? I didn't hear her say that she thought less of any of you - just that her goal was to help."

Maeve froze slightly, eyes trained on Dr. Rangel. "She didn't need to say she looked down on us - we can all feel it, all the time. Going on saves with her is miserable. She won't just go by the script; she has to pull some wild card move, like when she held up traffic for an hour giving some boy CPR, or making us stay late at the opening of that animal shelter until twenty dogs had been adopted." Maeve turned to face Starlight with a withering look. "That was a kill shelter, by the way. You held us up for two hours, and 100 dogs got put down, anyway."

A-Train spoke up now, eyes somber. "Yeah... and she's always trying to preach at us when we do follow the script, like she knows something we don't. I've been in the Seven for five years - the shit that makes her cry herself to sleep? Isn't even a blip on the radar. And the thing that really pisses me off is, if you really wanted to be hero, you wouldn't have come to work here. You'd be in Congress, making the laws we have to follow. She's just as fame-hungry as the rest of us, but she won't admit it. No, not even that - she tries to shame us for it."

The Seven nodded their agreement, murmuring their distaste for Annie, until Dr. Rangel held up a hand. "Thank you, A-Train. I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge what was just said: that if Annie genuinely wanted to make a change, she'd take up a seat in Congress. And certainly, the thought has its merits. Lawmakers have the ultimate power in the land, to shape our standards for what is right in the eyes of the law, and to correct those who step outside of its bounds." Annie hung her head; so even Dr. Rangel was against her, now. She thought about flying back home before the next meeting, and avoiding her. 

"But... I'd like to introduce this point to the group. Annie could have worked her way into Congress - but she chose to train, and temper herself, into someone who could fight alongside those she deemed real heroes. I'd like to ask.. is your discontent with her truly out of anger for her sanctimonious attitude... or are you punishing her for believing in you?"

The group fell into a moody silence now, all avoiding each others' gazes. Dr. Rangel wrote in her notepad, the scratch of the pen soft in the tense room. The Seven shared bitter looks, some aimed at Annie, others aimed at each other. Finally, Deep raised his hand, avoiding their gazes, and looking at Rangel. He cleared his throat.

"My name... is Kevin Moskowitz. I'm from Long Beach, California, I've been in the Seven for five years...and... I talk to fish," he finished quietly, ducking his head. Dr. Rangel wrote for a second, then clicked her pen. "What kind of fish?" she asked him. The group snorted - but she held up her hand, gesturing for Deep to continue.

"Well... all of them. Angelfish, sugar fish, flounders, guppies.. sharks. Sharks are my favorite," Deep said bashfully. Firecracker gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his hand. "I'm actually really good friends with the ranchu goldfish at the front downstairs, even though they're a little stuck up." Rangel gave him a soft smile, and Deep answered with a shy one of his own. Then, she looked towards the rest of the group.

"You all find it very easy to bully Kevin, because his powers differ from yours. He doesn't have super-speed, he isn't the smartest person in the world..." Sage snorted. Dr. Rangel let the sound carry, and watched as the Seven turned their gaze on her, until she cleared her throat and looked away, uncomfortable at being put on the spot.

"But, I see something deeper, if you'll mind the pun, in your collective disdain for him, something that I believe is symptomatic of an underlying issue. Could it be possible that you all treat Kevin with the same derision as you do Annie... because his powers suggest a certain empathy for living creatures? Kevin talks to these fish, forms bonds with them - something you all seem to struggle with, even with humans. Could it be... that you turn him into the butt of your jokes, because you resent his ability to care for life forms you deem to be beneath you?"

Suddenly, the group heard the scratching of another pen - Noir's. Everyone watched in quiet surprise as he wrote painstakingly, the movements of his pen slow and deliberate. The room seemed to hold its breath as he made his debut to the therapy session, and Deep's face flushed as he held up his pad. He'd drawn a school of fish, seven of them, childish smiles on their faces, and underneath, he'd written a short message:

Deep makes me feel heard. 

Starlight let out a small murmur, touched. Dr. Rangel nodded.

"I'm glad to hear that, Noir. I noticed that, though you are present in the events the Seven hosts, or are called to... you don't often have the opportunity to express yourself, or get your opinions across," she started. Sage gave her a dismissive look. "He can't talk," she said, deadpan. This time, though, nobody laughed. Deep bristled.

"That's not his fault," he interjected hotly. Starlight nodded, narrowing her eyes. Dr. Rangel turned to Sage now; Sage felt her stomach drop. She was too smart for therapy, she'd argued with Stan when he'd insisted that she join the rest of the Seven. It wouldn't work. And maybe that was the case... but Rangel wasn't going to let her sit on the sidelines, making her snarky little comments. No, she thought, annoyed, that was her job, wasn't it?

"I noticed that you've been quiet as well, Sage. I understand that you are the smartest human in the world - and so it would make sense that, to you, therapy would be as useless as... Deep, buying a snorkel, or A-Train taking a bus. You can solve your own issues by virtue of your own mind - and so why bother attending? But I have to say... this session offers you an opportunity to have something you might not otherwise get in normal circumstances."

"And what is that?" Sage asked dryly. Dr. Rangel smiled.

"The undivided attention of your teammates. I notice that you often feel the need to assert your position as smartest in the room... but this isn't new information to anyone in the Seven. Is this repetition a means of solidifying this idea in their heads... or yours?"

The room watched Sage grapple with this veiled barb, her face working as she tried to come up with a retort that would undercut the way Rangel had pierced her. Who the hell did she think she was? Sage narrowed her eyes, turning her attention onto the therapist.

"I think... that you are playing a dangerous game, trying to crack open the minds of people who could turn you into ground beef. Nobody cares that you're double board certified. Nobody cares about how many Supes you've worked with. We all know this is a just a mind game from Stan, trying to mold us into the perfect heroes, even though he's the reason most of us are the way we are." She couldn't help the outburst; the way this doctor was picking at her insides... it was like her brain was on red alert, instantly shutting down. This therapy session was for them - for Homelander, really, who was playing with the woman's hair, whispering in her ear and watching her giggle - not her.

The therapist nodded. "Again... there's the need to undermine my practice, my time working with other heroes. And I hope you'll forgive the observation... but you'd said that these heroes here could end my life violently, if they so choose. I won't disagree with you - but I will point out... you can't 'turn me into ground beef', as you'd said. There's a focus here, on the behaviors and supposed knowledge of the rest of the Seven, which implicitly ties you to them... while neglecting to examine yourself under that same critical lens. I wonder... could it be that you're intellectualizing this session in an attempt to subtly align yourself with your teammates, without actually having to state this goal directly?"

Sage stewed, watching as the Seven witnessed Rangel dig into her, blood boiling. She crossed her arms and held her peace, though she planned to go directly to Stan after this meeting and demand a new therapist. There was a hum of static energy in the room, everyone's eyes on her - and she broke the silence with a petulant, "Fuck you," under her breath, to which Homelander responded with a hearty laugh, breaking the tension. Dr. Rangel shifted her gaze to him. Homelander fixed her with a dark glare. 

"No," he said, a note of finality in his voice. Dr. Rangel raised her brows and opened her mouth, as though to press him anyway - but Maeve, seeing the tightening of his jaw, shot her hand into the air, stopping the train wreck before it could happen.

"My name is Maggie Shaw!" she exclaimed, slowly lowering her hand. The Seven turned to face her.

"I'm... Maggie Shaw...I'm from Modesto, California. I joined the Seven five years ago, like everyone else. Skill set... super strength, durability,  hearing, tolerance - and shut up," she interjected, glaring at Homelander's teasing look. "That's low-hanging fruit." She steadied herself, before continuing.

"My name is Maggie Shaw, and I..." 

But the words wouldn't come; Maeve wrestled with her brain, trying to find something that would cut to the heart of them, but avoid exposing herself - something that would affect them the way Noir had, with that stupid drawing... she felt a pang of envy for the mute Supe then; he could be as open and mushy as he wanted, and nobody ever gave him shit. Maybe it was because he just didn't care what they thought. Maybe it was his silent aura of menace. Maeve grimaced, sighed, and lifted her head, staring Dr. Rangel in the eye.

"I think therapy is a waste of the taxpayer's money."

Homelander laughed again. "Hear, hear!" he saluted her.

Dr. Rangel let his teasing go on uninterrupted, Maeve noted gratefully. As much as the therapist annoyed her, she really would hate to clean her off the ceiling after she'd pushed Homelander one time too many. Dr. Rangel paused, and wrote for a long while, letting Maggie's words reverberate. Maeve shifted, uncomfortable, the sound crawling under her skin. Finally, Rangel stopped writing and looked up, a smile on her face.

"And what would you have the taxpayers' money be delegated to?"

Ooh, get her ass, A-Train thought, leaning in. But before Maeve could answer, a buzzer rang out above them, the red light hung over the door blaring brightly. Dr. Rangel stood, and gave the Seven a polite bow.  "Well... that's our time, I suppose," she said, gathering her bag. "Our next session will be next week, at the same time, same location. I'd like to thank you all, for attending, and I hope to see you again."

Slowly, the Seven rose to their feet and filed out the door. Starlight lingered behind, watching them go; A-Train was there - and then he wasn't. Noir slipped through a vent in the ceiling, just as quickly. Deep slunk toward the door, the hint of a smile on his face as he talked to Firecracker; Maeve walked stiffly, shoulder-checking Sage, who absorbed the blow with her chin high, and Homelander ghosted out of the room, still cross-legged, the woman hanging onto him by the neck, letting out a peal of laughter.

Starlight looked into Dr. Rangel's face; her eyes were piercing, but not unkind. The silver spectacles that hung from her delicate chain glinted, even in the fluorescent lighting, and Starlight saw a vision of Stan then, that same silver bite in his glasses. 

"I just want to thank you, for this," she started tentatively. "It was nice to, even for a moment, talk about why I joined... and to not be mocked across the board for once." Dr. Rangel smiled at her, this time a current of warmth gracing her features.

"I think it was very brave of you to say, Annie. I watched the opening of that shelter you'd hosted on the news. It was refreshing."

Starlight felt the urge to throw her arms around the woman, the hot prick of tears sudden in her eyes. She sniffled, embarrassed. 

"Thank you. I... I really did mean to save every animal in that shelter." She sighed, feeling a bit lighter. "Thank you," she said again, making her way to the door.

[mandoalorian]

Would you be able to do headcanons for each of the boys if their partner was abused by an ex and had a hard time trusting others bc of it? I understand if it's something you're not really comfortable with writing about tho

Pedro boys if you were abused by an ex

This has been sitting in my inbox for months and I’ve been pacing back and forth around it. As someone who’s been on the receiving end of this, I didn’t want to accidentally trigger myself— but, I think I done pretty well. Obviously this is very sensitive so please heed the warnings before you read.

REBLOGS APPRECIATED

Warnings: mention of abuse, trauma

Headcanons under cut:

Maxwell Lord

Straight up; he gets it. It’s a sad truth, but he’s been through it all before, with his father. Yes, you were hurt by an ex and he was hurt by his dad but the abuse left you both feeling completely trapped and isolated. He has a deep understanding of how this type of thing can affect you and he will be more than compassionate. You want to take things slow? He understands completely, and he will always be there for you. Finally he feels like this is one thing he might actually be able to help you with, on a personal level.

Din Djarin

His first reaction upon learning that there is someone out there who has hurt you, is to find them, and fight them. He bolts away to grab his pulse rifle and some detonators, and he demands to know which planet your ex is residing on. His reaction is intense, and honestly? It’s frightening. Din sees red— which is unusual, because he’s normally pretty patient and calm. You know deep down he means well, and his reaction is simply just because he cares about you so much, but you beg him not to confront your ex. When he sees the fear in your eyes, he apologises immediately for his reaction and he hopes he hasn’t overstepped.

Ezra

Similarly to Din, Ezra sees red. He’s fuming. And for once, he’s surprisingly quiet. “Wait here, little bird,” he tells you, his voice quiet as he tries to soothe you. But he’s soft lips are quivering with rage and you watch him intently as he gathers his things. You ask him what he’s doing, and it’s clear he’s packing his belongings. He doesn’t answer at first, but then he tells you not to worry. “I’ll be back. It just seems that suddenly I’m needing to pay someone a visit.” And you know better than to protest with Ezra. He returns a few hours later, a lot more chipper and relax. “They won’t be bothering you anymore, stardust, I can assure you of that.”

Javier Peña

It’s a lot for him to process, sure. He’s mad though. He doesn’t really show it, because Javi often bottles up his emotions, but you notice that there’s an unmistakeable glint in his dark eyes. He’s already plotting some kind of revenge, and he’ll probably ask Steve to help him. So, Javier pays your ex a visit. The second he sees eye to eye with the person who hurt you, he just can’t keep it to himself anymore and a fight will break out. And Javier will win. When he gets home, you run into his chest and express how worried you were about him. And then he’s soft— the softest you’ve ever seen him. He folds into your arms and cradles you tight. “If anyone ever hurts you, cariño, you tell me. Okay? No one hurts my baby.”

Frankie Morales

The anger doesn’t settle in until later, because, unlike his friends, Frankie can usually stay pretty level-headed. The first thing he says though? He apologises. “Frankie, you have no reason to be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong.” you try to reassure him. But he feels guilty. If only he had come into your life sooner, and maybe then, you wouldn’t have had to endure so much pain. He pulls you into his lap and smooths out your hair. He tells you he loves you and thanks you for finding the bravery to open up about something so difficult. He doesn’t let the anger overwhelm him and he doesn’t act on a whim. Instead, he asks if there’s anything you want him to do. If you want Frankie to beat the shit out of your ex? He will. If you want Frankie to just stay here, with you, and show you love and comfort, he’s fine doing that too. Whatever you need, Frankie will provide.

Dave York

He’s going to murder them.

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[orikeepitasecret]

❝Wait. Do you have a crush on me?❞ or ❝Hey, don’t cry. Everything is okay, see?❞ fiddlestan :b

“Hey, don’t cry. Everything is okay, see?” 

So this ended being Fiddauthor instead of Fiddlestan so that’s something. I just liked the idea of this. Might revisit the crush prompt. 

.

“Hey, don’t cry. Everything is okay, see?” Somebody told Stan an arm wrapping an arm around his shoulder and giving him a small squeeze. Stan looked up and scrubbed away the tears running down his face.

“Wha?” He mumbled. He had never seen this man before and even if he had, Stan didn’t leave behind people who would want to see him again, let alone comfort him.

“There, there, Stanford.” The man said and rubbed his back. Stan stiffened under his touch, unused the name or the physical contact. Tis must be one of Stanford’s friends then. How would Ford react…? Stan ducked his head and wiped a stray tear off his face. As a child he wouldn’t have to wonder, to guess. Whatever if whoever this was asked, he’d just blame it on his death. 

“Everything will be okay.” His brother’s friend reassured him. “Once you forget… the Project. Once you forget, it’ll all be better. Things can go back to the way they were before! You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Stanford?” 

Stan’s head snapped up to find the stranger pointing the strangest looking gun he had ever seen. Project? The portal. This must be the assistant, Fiddleford (Hadron) McGucket, that quit on Ford sometime last year.

“What? H-Hey, c’mon, Fiddleford. Can’t we talk about this?” Stan asked and held up his hands in surrender. It proved to be a mistake. Fiddleford’s eyes narrowed at him as he took in his regular hands. 

“You’re not Stanford… You must be that… that… That Thing!” The smaller man shouted and leveled his weird gun more frimley at Stan’s head. “You’re gonna forget him! You ain’t gonna be able to hurt him no more!” 

“W-Wait! Fiddleford, it’s me! We went to college up at Backupsmore together! I’m your friend. Pl-Please…” Stan shouted and fell backwards off of the log he had been sitting on in his attempt to get away from Ford’s friend. 

“Stanford? Is that really you?” Fiddleford asked, and lowered the gun. 

“Yes! Yes!” Stan sobbed. He felt hands cupping his face and searching it intently. He sent a small prayer that Fiddleford wouldn’t notice the slight differences in the facial features. 

“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry, Ford. I ain’t meant to frighten you none…” Fiddleford sighed and gently wiped the fresh tears off Stan’s face. Stan sobbed and buried his face into the other’s shoulder. A hand ran through his freshly cropped hair and another rubbed soothing circles into his shoulder. Stan curled into the other man, finding a perverse comfort in his touch. It had been so long since anyone had held him while he wept. He couldn’t find it in him to move away, even after his sobbing subsided. Fiddleford didn’t seem to mind, just kept running his hands through Stan’s hair and murmuring things that Stan quite make out and can’t be bothered to try. 

“Ford.” Fiddleford said, his voice suddenly louder, harsher, and the hand that had just be combing his hair down curled it into Fiddleford’s fist and was used to jerk Stan’s head back. 

“Ow!” Stan hissed and focused back on the world around him. The weird gun was pointed at him. “Fiddleford?”

“Shhh, hun. It don’t hurt none. Just… Just lemme do this and then things can go back to normal!” Fiddleford soothed, smoothing Stan’s hair down. Stan jerked away from him, terror written across. He couldn’t forget Ford or the portal. He had to get away. 

“No, no, no. Fidds please you can’t.” Stan pleaded. Fiddleford didn’t look deterred. “We can go back to normal, ju-just stop it.”

“No.” Fiddleford says and so Stan lunges, shoves his shoulder into Fiddleford’s chest. They fall to the still snowy ground and the gun flies out of Fiddleford’s hand. Stan scrambles after it, Fiddelford’s not far after him despite having the wind knocked out of him. Stan wraps his hand around it and levels it at the other. 

Fiddleford curses and lunges at Stan. He rolls out of the way and squeezes the trigger. The blast goes wide and Fiddleford laughs. 

“That thing only erases memories. Ain’t gonna do you no good, whoever the hell you are.” Fiddleford taunts and lunges again but Stan’s faster and he has the other man shoved into the snow. The guns quickly leveled at his head again. 

“Back to that, huh?”

“Stanford would never fire that at me.”

“Yeah probably, he’s all bark and no bite. Too bad youse not gonna remember that, huh?” Stan replied and pulled the trigger again. This time it hits Fiddleford in the head and when Stan pulls the gun away, he’s staring at him blankly.

“Pardon, but do you know what I’m doing here?” Fiddleford asks, his southern accent thicker than it was before. Stan belatedly tucks the gun into the waistband into his pants and pulls Fiddleford to his feet. 

“You were uh… helpin’ me find my car keys.” Stan says and holds them up. “And we found ‘em so thanks.” 

~*~

“Stanley?” Stanford asks and squeezes his shoulder. Stan blinks himself out of the memory. 

“I’m here sorry. I-” His eyes flick over to his brother’s boyfriend and then the letter in his hand. “Umm. McGucket found me after you disappeared and he had really fallen into that whole ‘Society of the Blind Eye’ business and tried to erase you in the portal from my mind. I couldn’t risk h- forgetting so I made myself that note so if I got cornered again, I’d always know about it and you, even if I didn’t remember it.” 

“I see.” Ford mutters and turns away. Fiddleford catches Stan’s guilty eye and Stan knows he remembers what he did but they share a smile and they both know all is forgiven.

[thenexusofsouls]

Muse: Ethan Cavender

[Bio and other information below the cut!]

Type of Character & Fandom/Source Material: An OC/canon mashup (an OC that is very heavily inspired by a canon character and therefore not wholly original) inspired by the character Ben in the movie The Apparition (2012)

FC: Sebastian Stan (but not from The Apparition, haha... Ethan is about a decade older than Ben)

Race: Human

Age: 32

Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Heteroromantic/heterosexual, but hard to ship as his last two girlfriends were killed, so he’s not looking to endanger anyone else by starting a relationship

Occupation: Survivalist; online electrical/computer/robotics engineering consultant

Family: Parents he hasn’t seen in a decade; girlfriend, Lydia (deceased); girlfriend, Kelly (deceased)

Potentially Triggering Material in Threads: body horror (partially severed limbs, stretched faces, body parts stuck onto bodies in the wrong places or orientations, and/or bodies stuck in walls or other solid objects); demons; ghosts; insomnia; paranoia; PTSD; depression

Negative Personality Traits: He can be reckless, defensive, and standoffish. He sometimes gets nasty with people to purposely push them away so he doesn’t endanger them.

Positive Personality Traits: He’s a genuinely good person who just doesn’t want to be the reason why anyone else gets hurt at this point. He’s a lot braver than he realizes.

Background: Ethan was a typical midwestern kid growing up, and he always loved building things. despite his string of mind-numbingly boring jobs at places like Home Depot, Ethan was on his way to becoming a electrical and robotics engineer. He made it all the way to his senior year of college at age 22, but then dropped out without completing his senior research project or graduating. This was because of an incident that resulted in the death of a friend and his girlfriend at the time. Ethan and two friends, Patrick and Greg, and his girlfriend, Lydia, all of whom were students at the same university, decided to all work on one research project together, using space in the basement of one of the university buildings to set up their laboratory. Their disciplines spanned engineering, psychology, religious studies, and history.

Their hypothesis was simple: all paranormal events that cannot be explained by science are manifestations of the human mind. In other words, things like ghosts and demons exist because people believe they’re real. Once you believe, you can be affected by them. By using a trigger object (an object used in paranormal investigations to invite the energy of a spirit or entity, usually something from their life or visually representative of something the energy would be attracted to) and an electrical field designed to help focus all their brain waves on the trigger object, the four of them focused on a statue used in a similar experiment previously years ago and attempted to create an entity with their minds. At the time, they believed they were successful, because something did show up. It killed Greg and pulled Lydia into a nearby wall, never to be seen again. Ethan freaked out, quit school, and moved back home.

Two years later found Ethan moving into a new house with his then girlfriend Kelly. Everything was fine at first, but then strange things began to happen. The neighbor’s dog walked into their house and died. Things were moved around in the house. And odd occurrences like clothing being tied up in knots and objects being fused together began to happen. Around this time, Patrick reached out to Ethan, telling him that for the past two years, he’s been living in a Faraday Cage of sorts, a metal electrified cage that emits certain frequencies. This was apparently the only way he could stave off and survive the entity they “created” with their experience two years prior. The entity was captured during the experiment, and Patrick tried to get rid of it, to send it back where it came. Unfortunately, the opposite was done and the creature was set free. Not only were they completely misunderstood as to what the entity was, but it was far more intelligent than was previously thought. It also is angry that it was held captive and is systematically going after everyone involved with the experiment as well as their loved ones. Patrick contacted Ethan to warn him but also to ask for help in trying to destroy the creature again.

Long story short, it was a disaster. Patrick and Ethan set up another lab with Kelly’s help, and thy successfully purged the house of the creature... except for the garage. It hid in the largely metal-encased garage and was unaffected by the frequency-emitters employed during the purge attempt. Not realizing the entity still lived, the three let their guard down, and soon Patrick was killed, dragged into a dark room and never seen again, and Kelly was also killed, pulled partially into a wall and left there by the entity to die. Ethan assumed the entity would come after him next, however, with him being the last one left alive that had any part in the experiment that pulled it out of its own dimension and imprisoned it, the entity has decided instead to slowly torture Ethan. It hounds his sleep and doesn’t allow him much REM sleep, it manifests in frightening ways that give him nightmares, and it attacks and kills anyone who tries to help him or get close to him. Ethan travels with a cage similar to that which Patrick survived in for two years that he can put together in a short amount of time to protect him while he sleeps. Otherwise, he just stays on the road, working online because he’s not able to hold a normal job.

About the Entity or “Apparition”: This creature is not something that was produced by the minds of the college students in that original experiment. It is actually an inter-dimensional creature, basically an as-of-yet undescribed species/lifeform that exists in a dimension parallel to ours. The combination of mental energy and EMF (electro-magnetic frequencies) utilized during the experiment created a rift that let the creature come through. The attempt to send it back, left this rift open, and now the creature can enter our world and pull others into its world. It’s highly intelligent and methodical in its study of humans and the human world. It is curious about tangible life, for it is mostly an incorporeal being. I say mostly because it can manifest as a solid being for a time, and it does so partially to try and understand our anatomy but partially also to scare us and test our willpower, fears, and emotional endurance.

Because it does not fully understand humans and our world, its manifestations are often frighteningly grotesque (if you’ve seen any of the movies of The Thing, it’s kindof like that). It will try to look like a human, but the limbs are bent in weird ways, the head is on backward, the eyes are missing, things like that. So it’s trying to mimic and doing a poor job. Also, it likes to “play” with the human world, so an indication of its presence is the manipulation of solid objects such that they are changed on a molecular level. So... finding your flat screen TV suddenly embedded halfway into the wall as if it had always been a part of that wall. Having the wooden spokes of a staircase be curled in all different directions as if the wood had always been curved. Seeing chairs all melded together as if they’d always been that way. Those are all exampled of the entity playing with our environment in an attempt to better understand it.

In addition to not being able to cross certain EMF fields, the creature is also averse to bright light. It will avoid stepping into it directly and will become agitated if light is shined on it, such as with a flashlight or spotlight. It also does not like being filmed and will attack anyone with a camera or a phone pointed at it. It kills in two different ways. Either it grabs you and pulls you into its dimension, which either kills you once you get there or you get stuck halfway along the way and are killed by whatever solid object your body merges with, or it kills you simply with its residue. The creature leaves behind a black, bubbling, nodular substance or stain that is poisonous to living beings of our plane.

Here are some concept artworks of the creature in its natural form, which is incorporeal (trigger warning for demons/ghosts/skeletal creatures X,X,X), and when it tries to manifest solidly and mimic humans (trigger warning for body horror! X)

Potential Starter Ideas:

Your muse could meet Ethan and think he’s completely batshit crazy, heh. The entity has a habit of backing off for long enough periods of time to make it seem like he’s crazy. It seems to take some pleasure in this.

Your muse could offer to help him try and get rid of the entity, whether your muse is skilled with parapsychology or engineering, or even has magical abilities. Maybe your muse has connections to high-ranking/high-powered/cutting edge technology agencies that might be able to help sever the attachment between him and the entity or maybe even capture, kill, or send it back to its own dimension.

Since I write in the Marvel fandom, I welcome any and all magic user muses or SHIELD agents or anyone else who thinks they can help my rather hopeless and sleepy boi, heh.

Fun facts: 

Despite the very much not-funny reasons why Ethan is incredibly sleep deprived, the fact that he is often makes him turn to humor to lighten situations. He makes the worst jokes when he meets someone, trying to make the best of a crappy situation.

Ethan finished his degrees online, and now has a duel Masters in Electrical Engineering and Materials Science.

He’s gotten to the point where he can have short conversations with the entity in which it appears to understand him or at least be paying attention to what he’s saying. However, such encounters usually end in the entity becoming enraged and frightening him in some way with an upsetting manifestation, sometimes involving faces that look like either Lydia and Kelly.

[theladyofthewest]

We Are Family - 3

This is finally back ... how many years later??? Hush, let’s not speak of that. Here’s an AU with a happy family <3 We stan. 

Pairings: Inuparents, InuKag

We are looking at a well-adjusted family where Inuyasha grew up as the younger son of the Western Inu Lord. It’s this world Kagome falls into.. how is that going to work? Including bitchy older brother Sesshomaru for lots of fun

Find Part 1 and 2 here

Without further ado!!

                                  ------------------------------------

Dinner was an… awkward affair to say the least. 

Sesshomaru, irritated at being thwarted, brooded in his corner, sipping at a cup of sake with his usual elegance. Izayoi looked delighted with the circumstances, all things considered, and, not for the first time, he had to wonder whether she was entirely sane. Inuyasha alternated between throwing violent looks in his brother’s direction and awkward ones at their new houseguest. The houseguest in question couldn’t seem to decide who she wanted to stare at most. She’d start with Sesshomaru, watching him with wide and frightened eyes. Her gaze would then slide over to Inuyasha, alternating between his face and those ears. Interestingly enough, Touga noted that the fear that seemed to emanate off of her when she looked at Sesshomaru was not present when she would make Inuyasha her target. Inevitably, her eyes would always land on Izayoi and he would catch the question in them immediately. 

Too many times he’d seen that look. The ‘what the hell are you doing with these monsters’ look. And he supposed that to an outsider, it would look odd. A small human woman bringing three demons to heel. He supposed considering their heritage, the pun was a fitting one. He turned his attention back to their houseguest, blinking when he realized that her gaze was already riveted on him. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally gasped, looking away with a low cry. “I don’t mean to be rude and stare, really. It’s just -” 

“A lot to take in at first?” Izayoi cut across with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, dear, we all understand.” 

Touga nodded, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible when the girl glanced hesitantly at him again. 

“I promise you,” he began in a soft voice, “nobody will hurt you here. And nobody will take offence to your curiosity.” 

Sesshomaru made a snorting noise from his side of the table, sending a levelled look in his father’s direction that suggested he was very much taking offence to the human girl’s curiosity. 

“Don’t you have to go visit InuKimi or something?” Inuyasha growled, shifting to place himself between his brother and the human girl, sending a threatening look at his older sibling.

“Mother and I,” Sesshomaru sighed with a casual shrug, “have our best moments from a distance.” 

“Typical.” 

“Boys,” Touga intoned. “Enough.” 

Silence reigned immediately, the boys casting resentful glares in each other’s directions before returning to their dinners. 

Touga kept his gaze focused on his younger son, noting the way his ears would flick in the girl’s direction, tracking her every sigh and shift. He was intrigued, there was no doubting that. Did he have to be so obvious about it? Sesshomaru was responding to Inuyasha’s obvious interest, taking a perverse pleasure in baiting his younger brother. Harder to ignore still was Izayoi’s obvious delight with the situation, the telling glances she kept giving him were clue enough. 

“Do you see the way he looks at her, dearest?” She leaned towards him to whisper, hiding behind her sleeve. Touga was silent for a long moment, deliberating on whether to point out that Inuyasha could very well hear her, his scarlet face was indication enough. 

“How is he looking at her?” He whispered back, toying with a long strand of her hair. “The boy can’t make eye contact.” 

Inuyasha’s ears flattened against his skull, his mouth tugging into a frown as he stared at his parents in obvious reproach. Touga was reminded of his son’s childhood, of seeing that exact expression when Inuyasha wasn’t allowed to accompany him on a hunt. Perhaps it was his own skewed perception of time, but it seemed as if it had only been yesterday when his son had been but a boy. He didn’t quite remember when he’d turned into the man sitting across from him now. 

“Fascinating, are they?” 

It took him a moment to realize what Sesshomaru was referring to before he realized the comment was directed at their houseguest, who was transfixed by Inuyasha’s ears. He would never understand his elder son. He could pummel Inuyasha into the ground if he so chose, but now a young human girl stared at his younger brother’s ears and the boy was ready to draw blood. 

“Sesshomaru,” he warned. “Don’t start.” 

“No, I - I’m sorry. I just can’t - they look fuzzy.” She finished in a meek whisper. 

If Inuyasha’s face had been red before, it was flaming now. 

“Listen, lady,” he began in a loud voice, and Touga readied himself for the tantrum of the century. 

“It’s Kagome.” She interrupted him, looking equal parts irritated and abashed. 

“What is?” 

Touga saw Sesshomaru roll his eyes and knew the expression must have been mirrored on his own face. Idiot boy. 

“Her name,” Sesshomaru drawled, downing the remainder of his cup and reaching for the bottle again. “Her name is Kagome. My word, I need a drink.” 

Izayoi frowned at him, snatching the bottle out of his reach. “You’ve had quite enough, Sesshomaru.” 

“I most certainly have not.” He quipped, attempting to extract it from her fingers. “Inuyasha’s efforts have driven this Sesshomaru to drink. If you must lay blame, you may do so at his doorstep.” 

“Kagome,” Inuyasha repeated, awestruck, after a long moment. “That’s your name?” 

“Oh dear,” Izayoi sighed, relinquishing the bottle to Sesshomaru after he gave her a pointed look. 

“I believe we’ve established her name is Kagome, son.” Touga cast a pitying look at his younger son. “By now, you must have realized his name is Inuyasha.” 

The girl - Kagome - nodded. “Inu… cause of the ears?” 

He once again debated informing her that whispering was useless in their household. Inuyasha glared at him with resentment, ripping at the meat on his plate with unfounded aggression. 

“Yeah, the old man always thought he was real funny with his jokes.” 

“Inuyasha!” Izayoi scolded. “The Inu No Taisho,” she continued with a fond glance in his direction, “is an inuyokai. Naming Inuyasha was his way of ensuring his bloodline could go unquestioned.” 

“Now you know,” Touga announced, eager to finally be done with introductions, “I am the Inu No Taisho, this is my lady wife Izayoi.” He raised a hand in Inuyasha’s direction, “you’ve met my younger son, Inuyasha.” 

Kagome nodded again, returning Izayoi’s broad smile with a shy one of her own. 

“And who I am,” Sesshomaru deadpanned, “is none of your business.” 

“I present for your pleasure,” Touga continued in a wry tone, “my elder son and heir, Sesshomaru.” 

“Charmed,” Kagome finally managed after a long pause and Inuyasha covered his answering laugh with a cough. 

Sesshomaru made an unimpressed noise in answer, returning to his bottle with a dainty sniff. 

“Now, Kagome, it’s come to my attention that you seem to be a long way from home.” 

The small amount of comfort she seemed to feel evaporated at Touga’s words. She nodded, distress emanating off of her in waves. “I just know that I fell - through the old well at the shrine - and the next thing I knew -” 

“We should save this conversation for later,” Touga interrupted, feeling a rising sense of dread, “perhaps when you’re feeling more rested.” He tacked on as an afterthought. There was no shrine around here. He knew that well. Wherever Kagome had come from, it wasn’t here. And whatever the implications of that were, he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to potentially break his youngest’s heart with them. 

She accepted his deferral with a grateful nod, but Touga didn’t miss the worried look on Inuyasha’s face. 

“Many apologies, but it seems to have escaped me,” Sesshomaru began silkily, pouncing on the silence that followed, “what was the girl’s name again?” 

Kagome glared at him while a chorus of three other voices rose in unison. 

“Sesshomaru, no!”

“You jackass.” 

“Why are you the way that you are?”

[har-rison-s]

tears for fears

request: Okay but,, reader cradling stanley and comforting him after that flute lady from chapter one takes a big ol chomp on his face in the neilbolt house.. like,, baby.... could i PUHLEASE get a fic like that? thanks love, have an amazing day/night💞 (based off chapter one as children if possible)

A/N: I've been thinking about writing this the whole day, not kidding. Thought of the different approaches and I hope I've finally settled on one. Haha. Hope this is what you wanted! It's quite short. Perhaps because I can't write about sad Stan for too long. Happy reading!

warnings: angst, it's quite sad and tearful.

IT masterlist

main masterlist

Gif credit goes to owner!

“Stanley! Stanley!” 

All the Losers rushed over to their fearstruck and horribly frightened friend, who started thrashing around and screaming and crying once he realised his surroundings. Y/N gets to him the first, the closest, immediately reaching around his shoulders, trying to hold him.

“No! No! No! I hate you, I hate you all!” Stan continues screaming, crying. The liquid pouring down his cheeks the mixture of tears and blood and sweat. “You're not my friends! You abandoned me! You made me go into Neibolt! You're not my friends!”

His friends offer him many protests and arguments against his screams and anguish, but it doesn't work. He's convinced he hates them, that they left him alone on purpose, that they didn't care. They're all crying, hunched around him, holding him any place they can, offering a soothing touch.

Y/N is in complete shock and panic, holding her best friend from behind his back. Her arms are tightly secured around his shoulders. 

“Stan, we'd never let anything happen to you!” They tell him, hearts broken and eyes full of tears, voices shaking and breaking. Stan cries hysterically, his voice run down and hoarse.

Eddie notices Bill wandering off into the other end of the hallway and stands up, although his hand is still on Stan's shoulder. “Bill!” The young boy calls out and Richie immediately looks where he is looking. So do the rest.

They left Stanley alone and look what happened to him. They can't risk it with Bill, either. They all stand up, except Stanley and Y/N, who is bound to stay with her best friend until he's totally okay. They wait for them, despite all of them being in deep fear and anxiety.

She wraps her arms around Stan and pulls his soft, little face into her neck, holding him ever so close to her. He cries and he sobs and he searches for breaths, for air to breathe. And something to hold onto. Her upper arms, as he continues to let out the experienced horrors. 

“Stan. Stan, Stan,” she starts to call out to him, through his crying. He doesn't respond, so she cradles both his wet cheeks between her hands, bringing his face up to look at hers, “hey, lovely.” She whispers and looks into his tear-filled, scared eyes.

Stan still sobs, but he's maintaining eye contact with Y/N, somehow. Hiccups start and she can't help but smile at their entrance.

“Just look at me, okay?” She asks him, her own eyes full of fear and tears. Stanley doesn't respond, he doesn't nod or shake his head, he doesn't say anything, but his sobs and cries have died down just a tad. 

Her hands gently touch his cheeks. The wounds are fresh and even her gentle presses extract pained cries and whincing from him. She cleans of the dripping blood, she wipes away the tears. 

She rids his soft skin of the substances, hoping she's not hurting him too much. Her fingers are so soft and careful and graceful, taking up every little drop of blood and tears in them, soaking them into her digits. So that he doesn't have to.

“Tell me what hurts.” She asks of him, begging with her eyes to hear an answer from him. He blinks a few times and clears his throat, also gets rid of his cute hiccups.

“My cheeks hurt. My throat.” He tells her, his voice a mere squeak. She immediately pulls him into her again, petting his hair soothingly. Y/N's hand reaches out to his hand to hold, another soothing gesture to him. 

“It's from the screaming.” She says. “You're alright now.” She coos and though tears are still streaming down his face and fear is making his heart beat rapidly, Stanley doesn't make a sound and lays cradled in her loving arms. “We all love you. And we'll never leave you. We'll never do a thing to hurt you.”

Stanley listens to her words and takes them to head and heart. He trusts her most of all, and he believes her.

“Grannies, we gotta go find Bill!” Richie yells at the two and they both close their eyes in quite the level of annoyance. It still blows Y/N's mind that Richie can be such an insensitive prick most times. 

She slowly rises with Stan, both wobbly standing on their feet. Stan doesn't want to let go of her hand. Fearing she might be taken away. Fearing something might take away him. Fearing that if they're not holding onto each other, they'll be gone from each other in a flash.

So he doesn't let go of her hand as they catch up to the rest of the Losers. And she runs small circles into his skin with her thumb. And they don't let go of each other's hand when they enter IT's residence, or when they see all the floating kids and their toys, or when they find Bill. They're too afraid.

Permanent taglist: @v0idbella @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs @works-of-fanfiction @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @stfxlou @ur-gunna-h8-ths@empressdreams @betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie@deardeacy@thewinchesterchronicles@mavieesttriste16@mrsmazzello@benhardyseyes @langdonzvoid@intrrverted @the-freak-cassie-131

Stanley Uris tag-list: @nightbu-g

A/N: I am wondering why Wyatt hasn't gotten an award for this part. He is such an excellent actor. I love him. He's so incredible and talented. This scene touched me from the very first time I saw it, touched me very deeply. That's not something a lot of actors can do, at least for me. Where's the recognition my boy deserves ???????/

[sp-newkidkris]

Spook Park - All Mine - Chapter 4

Homicide. The deliberate and unlawful killing of one person by another; murder. The wind was colder than expected that afternoon. It made Wendy a little upset she didn't wear warmer clothes. But whines aside, she was positive of one thing. And that was she wanted Joslyn to suffer. A long slow suffering. The type where someone bleeds out leaving a trail like a fun scavenger hunt. The prize is a restored balance removing an unwanted member from Wendy's perfect world. Wendy had just finished doing homework back in her room at school and was walking to the store Joslyn worked at. While walking, Wendy entered her fantasies again. No distractions, no errors, no more air would soon pass through this girl's lungs. Wendy laughed to herself thinking of how funny Joslyn will look, struggling to escape her. Wendy's foot steps began to go faster. She couldn't be late. The last thing she wanted was to ruin the schedule. Wendy arrived at the clothing store and looked through the front window. She scanned the store, soon noticing Joslyn heading towards the door. Just in time. She finished her shift. Joslyn left the store and noticed Wendy standing by the window in front of her. "Wendy. Did you get my text? I didn't realize Stan was your boyfriend. Sorry." Joslyn frowned, tilting her head. "Quite alright. People make mistakes. Lucky for you, this will be your last." Wendy held out her arms. Joslyn read this gesture as an offer for a hug. She happily took it. Deep down Joslyn didn't mean any damage. She didn't intend for any problems. It wasn't her fault she thought Stan was good looking. Her problem was that Wendy didn't see it that way. She never did. Wendy's grip around Joslyn tightened. Joslyn felt it getting harder to breathe and patted Wendy's back as a sign she wanted to let go. Wendy didn't respond though. While Joslyn started moving her arm however her hand felt something near the center of Wendy's back under her clothes. "Uh. Wendy. You can let go now." Joslyn slightly gasped for air. Wendy let go and briefly apologized. She then continued to stand there and stare at Joslyn. Uncomfortably, Joslyn glanced around before clearing her throat. "You have quite the grip. Trying to get out of that hug was pretty difficult... I don't mean for this to sound strange, but when we were hugging I felt something under your clothes. Mind me asking what that was?" Joslyn hugged herself, most likely because of the chilly wind. "Oh. Probably just a tag." Wendy shrugged off Joslyn's comment. After her comment, Wendy seemed to become lifeless. All she could think of was how Joslyn's body felt in her arms. Warm. She could only imagine her blood flowing through her veins. How alive and healthy she was. Wendy hated it. Her heart was beating in her ears. Wendy continued to stare at Joslyn. It was obvious she was becoming uncomfortable. Everything around Wendy felt as if it went dark until the only visible things were her and Joslyn. Wendy could no longer feel her own heart beat. Only Joslyn's. She couldn't hear herself breathe. Only Joslyn. Wendy had only one thing on her mind. Joslyn. Joslyn nervously looked around. Wendy didn't seem to move an inch. Joslyn began to inch forward, hoping to get past Wendy. "I should go. Maybe I'll see you later." Joslyn waved farewell as she maneuvered her way around Wendy. Wendy turned and continued to stare as Joslyn moved. Nothing was around. There were no distractions. No obstacles. Wendy was going to kill her. *** Joslyn walked up the street. Getting a little chilly, she took the sweater she had tied around her waist and slipped it on. It didn't help a lot, but at least her arms were covered. She continued walking until she heard a second pair of footsteps behind her. Joslyn stopped and saw Wendy a fair distance away from her. Confused, she turned her body around to face Wendy. "Do you... Live this way?" Joslyn pointed behind her. Wendy didn't answer. Instead she continued standing there. Staring knives into Joslyn. "You aren't really wearing warm looking clothes. Are you warm enough? The wind's a little chilly." Joslyn grabbed the edges of her sweater. Wendy didn't seem to be moving. And from the distance between them, she didn't look like she was breathing either. Joslyn took a step towards Wendy. Wendy noticed and the faintest of smiles appeared on her face. "Why are you smiling?" Joslyn stopped in her tracks. Wendy stared back. She moved her arms behind her. She wasn't blinking. "Staring for so long can make your eyes hurt. Are you OK?" Joslyn took a step back. As Joslyn stepped back, Wendy took a step forward. Wendy started to think about what was going on in Joslyn's head right now. The thoughts she came up with made her grin widen. In fact, she started to giggle a little bit. "Is something funny?" Joslyn seemed a little frightened now. Frightened was good. It's when someone acts and thinks not as rational as they usually do. Wendy continued to quietly laugh. Keeping up these actions were key to making Joslyn head into the graveyard. Wendy began to move her foot forward as if she was going to take a step. As a part of instinct, Joslyn staggered backwards. She glanced around nervously. What was Wendy's deal? She apologized for flirting with her boyfriend. Was she sick in the head? Joslyn took a breath and reclaimed her ground. "What is your deal?! I apologized for what I did!" Joslyn held out her arms. Wendy looked down and laughed again. "Lies." Wendy muttered under her breath. "What did you say?" Joslyn tried to approach Wendy again. "You seem like a cat person..." Wendy calmly looked up. "What the fuck does that mean?!" Joslyn began to freak out again. Wendy stared back with a glazed over look in her eyes. She looked as if she was dead. However, the only one dead in Wendy's mind was Joslyn. "Curiosity. A noun. A strong desire to know or learn something." Wendy laughed. "I have no idea what you're talking about!" Joslyn seemed as if she was panicking. "Manslaughter. A noun. The crime of killing a human being without malice aforethought, or otherwise in circumstances not amounting to murder." Wendy began to walk towards Joslyn at a slow pace. All Joslyn could do was stutter. She started backing up again on nervous confusion. Wendy stopped after getting fairly closer than before. "I think I'll take a short cut through the graveyard. I'll see you around." Joslyn glanced at the graveyard and crossed the street to it. Wendy smiled to herself, remembering the things she had said. She giggled to herself. "Curiosity killed the cat." Wendy started walking towards the graveyard. *** Joslyn had started to start walking a little faster as she entered the graveyard. Not many people liked walking through it. Grimwood had it's fair share of ghost stories. Joslyn looked behind her and didn't see Wendy anywhere so she slowed down. Somehow she felt out of breath and went to a nearby bench to sit down and rest. Catching her breath, Joslyn slowly breathed in and out letting her heart beat slow. She decided to get up and go back the way she came in, thinking Wendy was too afraid to enter the graveyard after her and went back to where she lives. Joslyn began walking until she heard a set of footsteps coming towards her. It was getting dark which made it hard to see. Joslyn quickly went into her pocket and pulled out her phone, turning on the flashlight. She shone it in front of her, noticing a silhouette. Upon noticing who it was, Joslyn tensed up again. "What is your problem with me?! Didn't Stan tell you I apologized?!" Joslyn began to slowly back up again. Wendy shook her head, moving one hand behind her back. Moving her hand back to in front of her, Joslyn noticed something in her hand. A knife. A sharp one by the looks of it. Joslyn slowly began to back up faster. Not paying attention to what was behind her however, she tripped on a rock landing on her back. She let out a grunt of very light pain as she fell which seemed to make Wendy look pleased. "I've been waiting for that kind of sound. Why not give another, Joslyn?" Wendy grabbed her face with her hands and seemed to slightly moan. This was the point that sent Joslyn over the edge. She thought of what was going to happen and stared in disbelief. Wendy wanted to kill her. Tears began to run down her cheeks. They felt warm sliding down her face. Her cheeks cold from the wind. Joslyn proceeded to struggle and stand back up. Making eye contact with Wendy again, she seemed to smile wider and start to speed up. Joslyn turned and started to run. She didn't understand what she did wrong. They were just simple words. Stan didn't even accept the advances. Wendy had no reason to go to this level. *** Wendy was thrilled. She watched Joslyn begin to run and felt her heart pounding. Her blood pumping. Her breath getting thin and quickly inhale and exhale. It was such a wonderful melody. Wendy began to follow Joslyn, bouncing with every step. As if she was dancing to the sounds of Joslyn struggling. She was over the moon. This joy was something she never felt before. It was joyous. She loved it. She began to think about Stan. She was overjoyed rethinking the fact that he loved her more than any other girl he'd meet. Joslyn meant nothing to him. Wendy loved that. She continued to dance while she stepped forward with the occasional spin. She began to hum happily. Her perfect world would become perfect once more. *** Joslyn did her best to make some distance. Eventually she saw an old shack. Probably one the groundskeepers used. She ran inside locking the door behind her. She leaned against the door and started to catch her breath again. Wendy was crazy. Joslyn had never had this level of fear invade her before. She started to remember horror movies. Discovering she was in a similar situation. Quickly thinking, Joslyn looked around the shed.  To her surprise, she noticed something she hadn't when she came in. The shed was empty. Panicked, she began to hyperventilate. Where the tools had gone, she had no idea. But Wendy did. She had perfectly calculated her plan. Knowing exactly each turn and decision Joslyn would make. Joslyn listened out through the door but heard nothing. Maybe she had lost Wendy. But just to be safe, she waited a little longer. The silence was deafening. No sounds, no footsteps. Joslyn could only hear herself breathing in and out. Until a distant rumble could be heard. After a split second, the jagged teeth of a chainsaw could be seen starting to poke through the wall Joslyn was looking at. Quickly, she turned around and began to unlock the door. Slightly struggling, the wall behind her began to fall apart. Boards fell and Wendy could see inside. She laughed. "If only you hadn't bumped into him. Oh, how people wish to correct their mistakes." Wendy placed a hand to her face and reminisced. Joslyn tried to yell out to Wendy an apology again, but she had been muted by her fear. She opened the door and began to run again. Wendy walked around the side of the shed and saw Joslyn running again. The poor girl would tire herself out soon. Wendy shook her head sadly with a pouty lip. It looked like she'd have to help her. She was going to over exhaust herself. *** The wind had started to pick up. Joslyn's hair blew into her face making it harder for her to see. She couldn't find the exit to the graveyard. She bumped into a few tombstones. In slight pain each time, she started to make small pain sounds. Knowing that Wendy was bound to hear them, Joslyn covered her mouth. In the distance she could hear humming. There was no time to slow down. Despite the fact she was running out of breath. She looked behind her and didn't see anyone. For a split second, she stopped and pulled the hair out of her face. She soon began to hear footsteps. Wendy was getting closer. Joslyn approached a larger sized tombstone and ducked down. Wendy walked closer to where Joslyn had been standing and paused. She cleared her throat and looked around.  She was not moving for a few moments until she cleared her throat. "Dread." Wendy turned her body looking around the area, "A verb. Anticipate with great apprehension or fear. Does that sound familiar, Joslyn?" Wendy waited for a response despite knowing she wouldn't get one. After a while of continuing to stand there, Wendy began to walk past Joslyn who quietly covered her mouth. Just then, Wendy paused again. But this time pulled out her phone. She typed in a number and held it to her ear. Joslyn all of a sudden felt her phone buzz in her pocket and let out a short scream. Quickly she recovered her mouth. But it didn't help. Wendy quickly turned around and looked straight at Joslyn. Her smile was inhuman. Wendy was no longer a human to Joslyn. She had come out as her true self. A green-eyed monster. Wendy took a step towards Joslyn and began to count down from five. Unblinking, staring and slowly approaching. "Five....." "Four...." "Three..." "Two.." "One." Wendy's smile widened again and she lunged at Joslyn. At the sudden attack, Joslyn dropped her phone. She slightly dodged the attack but not completely. She let out a scream as she felt Wendy's knife make contact with her leg. She quickly got back up continuing to run but now with a noticeable limp. Wendy was sick. As if she knew exactly what was going to happen. As she ran, Joslyn rummaged through her pockets for her phone. She could barely see at this point as the sun had finally fully gone down. Just then, she remembered dropping her phone and thought about what direction she had come from. Joslyn glanced around before turning another direction. While running she could hear Wendy call her name. Tears ran down her face again. She bumped into another tombstone but quickly recovered from the bump and kept running. All of a sudden Joslyn felt her dragging foot catch on a nearby tree root. She feel forwards, letting out a scream. "Coming~!" Wendy sung back after hearing the scream. Joslyn picked herself up and noticed she was in an open hole. With a tombstone. She glanced up at it but couldn't read it. Then a light appeared, letting her read the engraving. It was of her name. Last name included. "That was a fun game of hide and seek. Stan was right about the hunt being the fun part. But I have a feeling this next part will be just as exciting." Wendy smiled holding Joslyn's phone in her hand with the flashlight on. Joslyn began to try and climb out of the hole until Wendy grabbed her arm. "Why are you doing this to me?" Tears ran down Joslyn's face. "A problem had surfaced in my prefect world." Wendy smiled, "I'm just fixing it." Wendy swiftly pulled the knife from before out again. She slowly ran the blade across the back of Joslyn's neck, easily slicing through her skin. Blood began to flow from the cut. Joslyn started to scream. Loud enough to make blood curdle. Wendy moaned. What a lovely sound. She closed her eyes and basked in it. She sighed. The problem that surfaced had started to shrink. Wendy opened her eyes again and moved her face closer to Joslyn's. Joslyn tried gasping for air but the slice in the back of her neck seemed to make it difficult. Wendy turned Joslyn over and slid the knife on its side down Joslyn's front. She tried to speak, but to no avail. Wendy tilted her head and re angled her knife. She pushed it slowly into Joslyn's chest, puncturing her lung. Wendy removed the knife and proceeded to continue doing this all the way around the heart. Joslyn's eyes began to look lifeless. Her clenched hands softened out. Wendy closed her eyes and listened. No longer could she hear a heartbeat. A smile appeared on Wendy's face. Looking at the sky, Wendy notice the moon was rising up. "Oh, no. My curfew is soon..." Wendy looked back at Joslyn's now lifeless body, "Don't worry though, Joslyn. I enjoyed spending time with you tonight." Wendy proceeded to lay Joslyn's corpse flat in the grave she had dug. She sat over top and proceeded to remove Joslyn's sweater. Looking at it, Wendy suddenly felt the chill of the wind and decided to put it on. The freshly spilled blood on it warmed her nicely. She smiled snuggling in the sweater. Soon after, she proceeded to cut around the area of the heart. She delicately peeled the skin and muscle tissue until she saw the heart. She smiled and began to cut it out. *** Walking out of the graveyard back towards Golden Blooms, Wendy looked at the heart in her hand. "I'll have to clean you up, Joslyn. You're awfully dirty." Wendy held the heart up slightly higher than she was before watching blood drip from the bottom of her hand. She snuck her way into the school and entered her room. It was late. She stretched and decided to get ready for bed. She changed into her pajamas and got into her bed. She closed her eyes and started to happily dream. *** Outside the next morning where the fences of Golden Blooms and Dark Meadows met, Stan stood there waiting for Wendy. She had sent him a text yesterday to meet her there. Stan checked the time on his phone and looked at the Golden Blooms gate again. Eventually, Stan saw Wendy walk towards him holding a box. He smiled and waved to her. She waved back as she approached before the two embraced. "Is that a new sweater?" Stan held Wendy's arms happily. "Oh, yeah. I got it from a friend yesterday. She doesn't need it anymore." Wendy looked at the sweater she was wearing. "That's cool." Stan grinned, "So, why did you want to meet up?" "Oh. Right." Wendy snapped her fingers and held up the box, "I got it." "Dude! Really?" Stan grabbed the box eagerly and began to open it. Once opened, he smiled brightly and pulled out a heart. "I can't believe you found one! Wasn't it hard? I thought they'd be sold out most places because they're a popular Halloween decoration." Stan's tail wagged quickly. "Not at all. I actually found out where to get one a while ago. It just took me a while to pin it down." Wendy shook her head and laughed. "It looks so real. This'll get Kenny and I an awesome grade for sure." Stan put the heart back in the box and faced Wendy. He grabbed her in a hug and spun her around. The two began to laugh. Taking a pause from laughing, Stan placed a hand on Wendy's cheek and they kissed. It was warm. Wendy loved these feelings. The love from her boyfriend, the feeling of completing a personal goal, and removing a problem. Sure, Wendy was the jealous type. But it's not like she goes overboard. They unlocked their lips and Wendy smiled. "You're welcome, Stan. And there's no need to pay me back. I'm just happy you're all mine."

[caitielady8705]

What I can’t get off my mind after watching that horrible excuse for a man speak AT (not WITH) Taylor:

1. He speaks about women like they are possessions. He never once said Kim. It was “my wife”. And even “my daughter”. They were minimized to be being things owned by him. You guys. I cannot emphasize enough how fucking dangerous that is. This is a tactic seen over and over again in abusers. Dehumanizing for their own gain. This is one of the ways emotional and physical abuse begin. It’s part of the cycles of coercive control. This is terrifying.

2. He’s not well. He seems to be in a manic state. Not making sense, reckless choices and behaviors with no consideration of consequence. He inflates his status, or perception of status, as a way to continue feeling untouchable and important. I mean, look at how irresponsible he was with finances. That is literally part of assessing someone for bipolar disorder and manic or hypomanic states. He desperately needs medication to help balance what’s happening in his brain chemistry. That is also dangerous. He could hurt himself or someone else irreparably- and I mean even more than what he did to Taylor. I’m literally saying life and death here. It’s absolutely not ok.

3. Listen to how he speaks about himself. I know you all know I’m a therapist. And this is what we mean when we talk about grandiosity. Inflating the sense of self to maintain ego. This is narcissism by clinical definition in action. How he feels like he’s in the right. That he’s this “cultural icon” and life changing simply for having the ability to string a melody together. This is literally what delusions of grandeur look like. How he talks about fashion. How his wife is a status symbol FOR HIS EGO. How he’s going to take over fashion. Who he knows. All of it. I cannot emphasize enough that this is narcissism if not full blown Narcissistic Personality Disorder (that would require an in depth assessment though). But the markers are certainly there. And that’s frightening.

4. Listen to how fearful Taylor was. She couldn’t elicit an honest answer out of that person. He made her feel so scared that she had to placate his insane reactionary state for her own preservation. She absolutely spoke her peace in many ways, and I’m so proud. Those moments are NEVER easy. But how she tried to get him to tell her the lyrics or play the song.. she want the truth. And he saw it as fear (which he probably perceived as respect. Or simply liked that he could make someone feel fearful) and chose to take advantage of that. That speaks far more to his character, or lack thereof, than anything to do with Taylor. And how Kim just goes along with all of it. They’re simply disgusting, soulless, thoughtless, succubus’ in humanity. On a basic human level, they showed their true colors. And they’re all ugly.

5. We Stan an absolute Queen. I know she never lied. You know she didn’t lie. We all fucking knew she was the honest one. @taylorswift I am so proud of you. How you even chose, to a degree, to let us see that vulnerability and forgiveness until he did this. And then feeling like you had to hide- I am so sorry you were ever made to feel less than. You really did something beautiful out of this heap of shit laid on your doorstep. And that says who you are. Every decision you made. Every precious thing you hid to keep safe. Every song YOU WROTE. Girl. I don’t know if I could have had the fortitude to keep going after feeling so alone and broken.. but you did. And I am in total awe of you. I can’t even conceptualize what it felt like on that scale. I was bullied before, and I know how I felt then- how afraid, alone, scared, hurt- empty- it all was. But magnifying it to be what you survived- it makes me ache for you. What I do know is that you gave me hope. Your actions filled my very soul with resiliency. I cannot thank you enough for being you. For choosing to create. For your ability to keep fucking going. I loved you a long time before this incident. But seeing all of this, the things you had to go through.. I love you all the more. Narcissistic people will always try and control the story when they feel they can’t control you. And you made the choice to take your power back. And to me, that is inspiring. Thank you. You’re my whole heart.

6. Karma is real. But it’s always worth the wait.

[billyboisfangirlarmy]

The Bowers Girl 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Patrick x reader

Smut!

••••

It was nothing the next morning. Patrick was gone before I even woke. My window opened and the warm summer air flowing in. I stand up and stretch, but notice something engraved on my skin. On my hip a very promenade dead smiley face is plastered on my skin. I roll my eyes seeing as that’s how Patrick was leaving a mark.

I walk down the stairs in my nightgown ignoring the noise from the living room as my tired mind only sets it sights on one thing. Breakfast. I turn to the fridge and grasp thee eggs taking them out of the cold box. Once I close the door a smirking face pops up. I gasp shocked to see Patrick here. “Making breakfast Bowers?” Henry follows in behind him patting him on the back. “I’ll take mine sunny side up.” Belch says tacking a seat at the table.

“I’m not going to cook for all of you.” I laugh making myself an egg. “Please? We’re all starved!” I roll my eyes ignoring them. Henry groans and pushes his chair in. “Fine. Let’s go.” One by one each of the boys leave, Patrick being the last one. He looks at his fellow friends as they exit, and once they’re all gone and out of sight. Patrick walk up to me standing beside me. I look up at his towering figure to see him looking at me. Just looking.

“What can I do for you Patrick?” I ask looking away and down at my cooking eggs. He leans down to my level, his breath hot on my neck. “You could do a lot for me, but I’ll take a kiss for now.” I scoff refusing to look at him. “One time thing.” As I do my best to ignore him he tries his hardest to get my attention. He lightly places his lips on the nape of my neck. Patrick continues to prep my neck with light kisses. I hold my composure as well as I can, not giving into him.

“Patrick! Come on!” Victor yells from the door. I feel his lips curve into a smirk. He lays an open mouth kiss on my neck sucking and latching his teeth on my skin. I gasp grabbing onto his hair surprised by the amount of pleasure. He pulls back removing my hand and giving my knuckles a kiss. “Something to remember me by kitten.” Patrick walks away yelling some excuse to his friends as he exits my home.

I frantically pick up a spoon examining the work he’s left on my body. This time it’s not a simple maker but a dark bruise spot growing deeper in color as it lays on my skin. There is no way I can hide this! Suddenly my phone ring bringing my attention away from the purple mark on my my neck.

“Hello, Bowers residence, this is-” “(Y/N)! You have to come over! Quick!” Beverly screams into the phone. “What? What’s wrong?” “Just get here as fast as you can!” She hangs up the phone leaving me worried. I rush to my room getting dressed. Shorts, a t-shirt, and a scarf to cover the mark. I hustle over on my bike seeing all my friends there waiting. “Alright what the fuck happened? Are you okay?” I ask grabbing Bevs face and making sure she wasn’t injured.

“Yes, I’m fine mom. I-I need to show you something.” “What is it?” I ask concerned. “More than we saw at the quarry?” I stare back at Richie with narrow fiery eyes. “Thement e hell are you wearing a scarf for? It’s like 100 degrees!” “I-It...It’s a fashion statement.”

“My dad will kill me if he finds out that I had boys in the apartment.” Bev trails off nervously. “W-w-w-w-we'll leave a lookout.” I smile picking our fall back. “Yeah! Richie, just stay here.”

“Woah, woah, woah, what if her dad comes back?” Richie asks annoyed as the rest of us run up the fire escape. “Do what you always do. Start talking.” I laugh patting Stan on the back. “Good one!”

As we enter the house Beverly leads us to the bathroom with the door closed. “In there…” She points shaking. “What is it?” I ask leaning forward; being drawn to the room. Beverly gulps. “You'll see.”

We walk closer to the door. Each step feeling heavy until we come to the wooden door with old chipping paint. I take it upon myself to turn the knob and open the door revealing a horrific sight.

Blood everywhere. The red liquid coated the room like a bomb had exploded. “Holy shit.” I say examining the room. “Do you see it?” Bev asks in a hopeful tone. I nod my head at a loss of words.

“What happened in here?” “My dad couldn't see it, I thought that I might be crazy.” I hug Bev tightly feeling the need to protect her. To protect them all.

“Well if you're crazy, then we're all crazy.” She hugs me back letting her tensed shoulders fall. “We c-c-c-can't leave it like this.” “What are we supposed to do?” Eddie asks frightened. “We’re going to clean all this up.” I say moving away and stepping into the crimson soaked room.

After almost two hours the bathroom is cleaned and all the blood is gone. As I dump the last bucket into the tub I suddenly realize something. “Guys? Did you call Mike?” Eddie’s head shot up nodding. “He said he would be over. He never came.” I shrug trying not to worry. “Maybe he got held up? Or maybe he’s outside with Richie!” Stan says thinking the worst.

Once we make it outside no Mike is found. We all brush it off and ride down the road on out bikes.

“No, I love being your personal doorman. Really could you idiots have taken any longer?” Richie complains as he rides circles around us on his bicycle. I sprout up. “Shut up, Richie.”

“Hey I wasn't the one scrubbing the bathroom floor imagining that her sink went all

Eddie's mom's vagina on halloween!” “She didn't imagine. I also saw something too.” Bill says.”

“You saw blood, too?” I ask gulping. “Not blood, I saw G-g-Georgie. It seemed so real, I mean it seemed like him but there was this…” “A clown.” Eddie speaks making all my thoughts ture. It was a monstrous clown in the sewers! That laugh… the sincal giggle that emerged from his lips rang memory of the horrific doll that latched itself on me leaving marks that burned my skin. “Yeah, I saw him too.” I say shaking slightly. I pinch the sides of my dress in fear.

“Wait, can only virgins see this stuff? Is that why I'm not. Seeing this shit?” Richie

“Oh shit, that's Belch Huggins car.” “We, we should probably get outta here.”

Yes.”Wait isn't that Mikes bike?” “Yeah, that's Mikes…” Eddie tails off.

We run to the edge of the ground and my eyes burn with fire as I witness my brother, Patrick, Victor, and Belch beating poor Mike to death. “HEY!” I scream gaining their attention, but they don’t stop. “Motherfucker.” I mutter dashing towards my brother. I push him as hard as I can away from Mike. “What the fuck are you doing you brat!” Henry screams in my face shoving me away and goes back to tourtching Mike. “Leave him alone.” I kick Henry in the face as hard as I could.

Mike crawls away quickly as I am wrapped in long arms. Patrick pulls me away from Henry; whether to stop him or me I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was run Henry over. “Hey! You’ve got to stop kitten. Breath. You know what happens when you get him mad.” Patrick whispers in my ear continuing to hold me back.

Henry looks up at the rest of my friends and chuckles. “You losers are trying too hard. She’ll do you, you just have to ask… Like I did.” Fucking prick! I struggle against Pats but he holds me tighter backing away.

Ben picks up a solid rock, screams a battle cry, and then nails my brother with the rock causing me to laugh. “ROCK WAR!” Richie yells before he’s struck with a big rock in the face.

As the war rages on Patrick pulls me all the way behind rows and rows of trees away from everyone else. He turns me around and pushes me up against a tree. “Why the fuck would you hit Henry? You know what he’s going to do.” I roll my eye pushing him away. “What do you care Cockstutter? Not like it impacts your life.” I try and walk away, but he pulls me back wrapping his lanky arms around my waist. “It does impact me! You’re almost real! I can’t have you hurt when you’re almost ready!” Patrick laughs looking into my eyes. “Almost real? Patrick what are you talking about? I am real! I live and breath with the same blood running through my body just like you!” Patrick's eyes become dark as I speak to him.

He plasters a smirk on his face and towers over me. “Oh, darling I know. I know you are, and this is just what I’ve been waiting for… For you to get on the reality level and understand what I am. I’ve waited to long for you (y/n).” Patrick backs me up to the tree causing me to feel the scratchy bark on my skin. “m-me? “ Patrick nods lowering his head closer to me, our lips almost touching. He strokes his finger up my arm smiling. “Breathtaking (y/n). Rule with me.” His breath coats my face. He moves his lips down to my neck. He pulls the scarf away with his teeth slowly. “What are you doing?” I ask in a mix of emotion.

“Shh.” Is all he says as he dips his lips onto my bruised neck. He licks a straight line with his tongue and then proceeds to blow on the damp spot making me shiver. I grip onto his shoulders gathering the cloth of his shirt as well. He hums drawing his teeth along the skin of my neck. He bites down in a rush drawing blood. I cry in pleasure and pain feeling a unique rush. “Patrick.” I gasp.

Rustles in the trees near by bring me away from my state of mind. “Patrick, stop.” He lifts his head but quickly captures my lips. I wrestle with him and get away from the tree and then see Victor and Belch booking it away with bloody faces. “Henry’s got it bad.” Belch says catching his breath. “What are you two doing out here?” “Nothing. I’ll see you guys later.” I turn away swiftly forgetting my scarf completely.

I stay locked away in my room for the rest of the night. Leaning my head out of the window and smoking. I touch the place on my neck without thought.

I take another hit of the toxin and feel myself float away. “Miss me?” I look over to my left and see Patrick leaning out of Henry’s window. “Do you live here now?” He shrugs sending me a smile. “If you want me to. I could even bunk with you sweets.” I roll my eyes taking another hit.

“You’re really just going to do that and not share?” Patrick says risking his life as he shimmies across the room and into my room. “If I wanted to share I would have asked.” I say laid on my back with my head out the window blowing smoke into the outside air of Derry.

Patrick lays next to my naked legs and stars drawing designs on them with the tip of his nail. “I’ll do something for you if you share.” I look at him with narrowed eyes. “Like what?” He tails kisses up my body meeting me eye level. “I’ll make you real.” I huff annoyed with all this real and not real crap. “I am real Pat.” He laughs snaking his hands up my body. “It’s cute that you think so. Come on, I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

In defeat I hand the blow over to Patrick, watching him take a hit and then blow it into my face. We sit in silence getting higher than the heavens together. I lay on my bed facing a standing Patrick. “So how does this thing go? Do you say some kind of chant over and over again?” I say laughing to myself. “No, I’ll worry about it. All I want you to do right now is kiss me.” Patrick falls onto my bed and immediately attacks my lips.

He kisses down my body, moving the night dress that covers my body. He exposes the skin of my body and runs his lips all over the skin tinderly. His large hands trail down my legs and once he comes to my ankles he grasps them tightly and yanks me harshly to the edge of the bed.

Patrick gets down on his knees and moves my night dress to the middle of my tummy. My breath becomes rigid and my nerves build up making me want to cave in on myself. Patrick kisses the inside of my thighs, smirking against my skin as he does. “You’ll feel so different being real. Just wait sweets… You’ll feel amazing.”

Patrick continues to slip the thin cloth of my panties away from my dripping heat. I arch my back enjoying the attention. I gasp as more pressure is applied. I feel his breath against my exposed flower. Then without hesitation Pat drags his tongue up my wet lips in one straight line.

I moan arching my back and grabbing the pillow from my pleasurer.

He leans up to me quickly placing a hand on my cheek. “I heard you (Y/n). I heard you moaning out my name in sweet breaths.” I suck in all the air around me in embarrassment. “I-I’m.” “Shh. We’ve waited to long for this.” I see him look down at my lips for a split second before meeting my eyes again. “May I?” He asks permission as if he needs it. If I didn’t stop him before I will not stop him now. I nod eagerly, placing my hands around his neck. “Please.” Patrick smiles and dives in to meet my lips in a firey kiss filled with passion.

He brings his hand down and slips one slim finger into my drenched pussy, then adding another and going at an agonizing slow pace. He preps me with kisses and leaves a mark right at the valley of my breast claiming I was his.

I trail my hands down his towering body meeting at his belt. I tug at it as he attacks my neck. He pulls away looking at me with lust, but also with care. “Are you ready to become one with the real world little (Y/n)?” I nod ready to explode.

In a matter of minutes he’s on top of me and lined with my entrance. Patrick locks eyes with me as he pushed himself into my tight entrance. His hips pushing against my own as groans out in pleasure. His thrusts are hard and fast, our hips snapping together with each thrust.

He brings his thumb down to my clit and rubs fast, quick circles on my sensitive bud. “Fuck, I’m not going to last.” I moan out, the knot in my stomach tightens and I know I’m close.

“Cum for me, princess.” I’m come undone shortly after. My orgasm sending tingles throughout my entire body.

He groans, his orgasm rocketing throughout his body. He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes in pleasure. A string of moans and profanities tumble out of his mouth as he cums.

He exits my body and grabs me quickly planting a beautiful kiss full of passion. “How do you feel?” Patrick breaths. I giggle kissing him again without care. “I feel alive Pats.” He growls and clings to my body, wrapping me up in his arms and holding me tightly. “Now your mine. My real pet.”

@blissfully-untitled

[hanscom]

💛-mermaids? Idk how specific i need to be but for the losers club lol

Everyone who’s from Derry has heard about what lives in the quarry.

There’s not a name for them. Those who are unimaginative (or perhaps just lazy) call them mermaids, but that’s not what they are, not really. Mermaids are supposed to live in the ocean - not in some small, dingy, manmade lake.

People come from all over to see them. All sorts of shops have set up downtown: quaint seafood restaurants with voluptuous, finned ladies as their logo. Gift shops with miniature blown-glass keepsakes. A visitor center with a half-dozen pamphlets, each with their own suggestions on the best way to see the creatures. Late at night, some say. Early morning, say others.

Personally, Richie thinks it’s all a big hoax. A tourist trap to drag people to Derry, to blind them with enough supernatural hope so they can’t see what an awful place it really is. They bring their children and entertain them with a few good hours of creature-hunting, and then the kids inevitably get bored of finding nothing, and so they move on. But not before they spend a few dollars in the McDonalds drive thru and at the gas pumps on the edge of town. These people keep Derry alive. They’re paying for a lie, but they don’t have to know that.

Richie works as a tour guide, of sorts. Mostly he keeps an eye on the quarry and picks up litter and occasionally saves a kid or two from drowning. He hates his job. He’s good at his job. He’s been doing this since he was sixteen. He’s almost twenty-eight now. Twelve years of this shit, and he’s never once seen them, these quarry creatures.

He used to believe in them. Every Derry kid did. They all got caught up in the magic, too young and dumb to understand that dull look in their parents’ eye, the way they didn’t quite believe what they were saying. That’s the way he talks now. The parents give him sympathetic half-smiles, but the kids latch on to his every word. He feels bad, sometimes, deceiving them, but it’s just harmless fun. Like Santa Claus.

It’s a Wednesday night in the middle of October, one of the slowest nights of the entire year. School is just starting to get serious. Kids aren’t worried about mermaids when midterms are coming up. Richie hasn’t seen a soul all day, but he kind of likes it like that. It’s peaceful down on the water when no one’s around. Cold already, but not freezing yet. Quiet. Sometimes the wind dips down into the quarry and makes a loud, hollow, miserable noise, but the air is pretty still now.

Which is weird, because he just heard a splash.

That happens, sometimes. There are fish in the quarry, and small turtles. But that sounded sort of big. Well, whatever. Maybe something rolled off the cliff and fell in.

Or maybe someone’s trespassing. Best to check. Just in case.

His boat is a little wooden single-person kayak. It floats perfectly on the water, used to his weight. He’s gotten good at rowing it, even when it’s stormy out and the water acts up. It’s calm now, but there’s that sound again. Splash! Far off to his left. The water ripples.

“Someone out there?” he yells, feeling stupidly like an actor in some bad horror film, the one that dies in the first ten minutes before the good shit even starts. He turns his phone’s flashlight on and casts the light onto the water. It reflects, suddenly and unexpectedly, off of someone’s face.

Richie jumps back so hard he almost tips the kayak over. A gasp tears out of his chest, raw-sounding. The person in the water flinches away just as hard, backpedaling in the water, surprisingly graceful. He has nothing to push off of but he somehow manages to dart back a few good feet, out of reach of the light cast by Richie’s phone.

“You’re not supposed to be swimming here,” Richie calls. He sounds braver than he feels. What kind of lunatic goes for a dip in mermaid-infested waters? Not that there really are any mermaids. But this guy can’t know that. He’s not a local. Richie has never seen him before.

The boy doesn’t say anything. Richie only knows he’s still there because he can hear the gentle way he’s treading water. His movement makes small waves lap quietly against the side of the kayak.

“You have to leave,” Richie tries, more forcefully this time. “Don’t make me call the cops.”

Richie can just barely see movement outside the perimeter of his flashlight’s reach. He leans in, trying to make his eyes adjust, and then jumps back again when the guy pops up out of the water, suddenly a few inches from him.

“Jesus!” he gasps, clutching his chest. “Stop doing that!”

The man smiles. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very sorry. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie mutters, his heart still pounding. “Laugh it up. You done messing around now? You’ve played your prank, let’s go.”

The man bobs in the water. His movement is fluid. Seamless. He’s clearly a strong swimmer. Maybe he was one of those weird kids who always wanted to be a mermaid, and now he’s trying to come home to his real family or something. The thought almost makes Richie laugh.

He doesn’t say anything. A handful of strange, silent seconds pass. “Hello?” Richie says eventually, waving his hand in front of the man’s face, careful not to get too close. “Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” the man says calmly. “You’re very loud.”

Well, this guy is certainly not the first person to ever say so. “And you’re very quiet,” Richie points out. “You’re the one trying to sneak up on me.”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you,” the man says. “I thought you had left. You’re usually gone by now.”

The hair on the back of Richie’s neck stands up. This guy knows his schedule? Jesus. This might be worse than he thought.

Maybe he looks as terrified as he feels, because the man stares at him, cocking his head to the side. “Is something wrong?” he asks. “You don’t look like yourself.”

Fuck. Oh, fuck. “I’m fine,” Richie says faintly. How the hell is he gonna get out of this one? He’s a strong rower, but this guy looks like maybe he’s a stronger swimmer.

“Are you sure?” The man’s eyes are wide and dark, deceptively gentle. He floats closer to the boat and puts his hand on the side of it. Richie is half-afraid he’s going to tip it over, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “You look pale, Richie.”

Richie’s heart jams up in his throat. “You know my name?” he squeaks out, pathetically frightened and unable to hide it.

This strange man smiles a strange smile, like he’s humoring Richie. “Of course I do,” he says. “You’re the protector.”

The protector…? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Dude, I just do what I get paid for,” he says, trying to sound calm and convincing. “I’m not, like, the guardian of the quarry. I don’t give a shit what happens to it.”

The man looks strangely upset by that. His face crumbles into a displeased frown. “That’s not true. You protect it.”

Richie shakes his head. “The only thing I do is make sure no one litters and that people stay in the designated swimming area,” he argues.

The man nods eagerly. “Exactly. You keep us safe.”

Us…?

Richie stares at him. “The only thing I keep alive in here is the wildlife. So unless you’re part fish, I’m not protecting you.”

Something twitches on the man’s face, something both amused and exasperated. “Isn’t that what your people say we are?” he asks. “Part fish?”

God. Oh, God. This guy is cracked.

“Are you trying to say,” Richie says, his voice shaking just the slightest bit, “that you’re a mermaid?”

The man laughs. “Of course not,” he says, and Richie would be relieved except he follows it up with, “That’s not what we’re called.”

Richie probably shouldn’t encourage this delusion, but he can’t resist. “What are you called then?”

The man considers the question. “Eddie,” he finally decides.

Richie’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re called Eddies?”

The man shakes his head. “No. I’m called Eddie.”

“Oh,” Richie realizes. “That’s your name.”

Eddie nods happily. “There are others,” he says, more talkative now, perhaps pleased that Richie is humoring him. “Stan and Bill and Bev and Mike and Ben.”

“Those are pretty normal names,” Richie points out.

Eddie smiles. “You couldn’t pronounce my real name,” he says. “We stole these names from humans. We didn’t think you would mind.”

Richie nods like he understands. God, he has a headache. He just wants to get this nut out of the water so he can go home. “Where are you friends?” he asks, just in case.

“Oh, they’re hiding,” Eddie says dismissively. “They’re scared of you.”

Richie almost laughs. Of all the ludicrous ideas, that one almost beats out mermaids. “Why? I’m not scary.”

“I know that,” Eddie says. “You’re good. But we’re not supposed to talk to humans.”

“Why not?” Richie asks.

Eddie levels him with a flat look like it’s a stupid question. “Because they want to hurt us,” he says. His voice doesn’t sound playful anymore. Instead it’s melancholy. Heart-wrenching. Ancient, like he’s actually much older than he appears. “They come here to find us, pretending they would be happy just to see us. But all they really want is to hunt us.” He peers at Richie and his expression suddenly clears. “You’re not like that, though.”

Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe Richie never really woke up this morning. Maybe he fell and knocked himself out and and this is all in his subconscious. Maybe this is a feverish hallucination. Maybe he’s dead and this is some really weird afterlife.

He pinches himself, just to be sure. Yep, still hurts. Eddie watches the movement, looking confused, and then understanding passes over his face.

“You don’t believe me,” he says. He doesn’t sound upset about it, but Richie is still half-afraid he’s some kind of lunatic ready to snap, so he quickly shakes his head.

“Of course I believe you!” he protests, but he must not sound very convincing, because Eddie latches both hands onto the side of the boat. He’s going to tip it, Richie realizes frantically and he tries to brace himself for the cold water. But nothing happens.

Well, nothing except that Eddie lets his body float away from the body, so that it’s almost horizontal with the surface. His head and chest are still above water, held up by his grip on the kayak, and his back and shoulders are strong and muscled and bare, but Richie isn’t looking at that.

Richie isn’t looking at that because there, past his waist, where there should be legs, there’s… there’s a tail. It’s long and wet and shining, reddish-brown, flecked with gold. It is scaly and thick and pulsing gently, keeping Eddie’s body afloat. It starts somewhere near where his hips should be, vaguely flesh-colored at first, and ends with a fin, split and delicate-looking. It comes up out of the water and then falls back with a heavy splash, and then disappears underneath the surface as Eddie rights himself again.

Eddie, for his part, looks rather smug. “I told you,” he says.

Richie opens his mouth to say something. Anything. But slowly, steadily, his vision starts to blur and go black. He doesn’t realize he’s passing out, and there’s no time to save himself from falling back into the water. He hears a shout and then a splash, and then, right before everything goes totally black, he feels someone grab him, solid and strangely warm, holding him up, keeping his face from sinking below the surface.

[anistarrose]

Some Sunny Day - Chapter 7: Dark Void (Gravity Falls Same Coin Theory)

Summary: An encounter in the Mindscape begins to expose a harsh reality that none of the Pines want to face, Stan least of all.

Warnings: Manipulation through lying, (brief) self-blame

Previous / Next

The Beginning

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

“There’s nothing down there,” Stan repeated, coils of dark fog winding around his arms and seeping into the sleeves of his suit. “You should have stayed in the real world, Ford.”

In the vending machine behind him, a black liquid began to rise in level, filling it until its lights no longer flickered and the sounds of the piano music grew muffled. Then, the darkness began to seep out and snake across the floorboards like an oil leak, staining everything black.

Ford’s stomach churned, and a sickening sour-sweet taste burned at the back of his throat. “Stanley, you… you have to have heard that song, you couldn’t have not heard —”

Stan tilted his head like a confused dog, expression still impossibly blank. “Song?”

From either Dipper or Mabel, Ford heard a sharp, upset intake of breath, mirroring the tightening feeling in his heart. “What — what did Bill do to you?!” he gasped.

“Bill?” Stan murmured. “Bill’s dead.”

He paused. “Right, Stanford?”

Finally, there was something flickering in his expression — the faintest hint of fear, of vulnerability, like a frightened child turning to a trusted adult for reassurance. “We killed him. Didn’t we?”

“You’re scared of what’s behind that machine,” Ford realized aloud. Curling his hands into fists to hide how much they were shaking, he added: “Stanley, I know it’s frightening, but you can’t just… trap yourself in some fantasy where everything’s alright. I’m sorry, but in order to fix this, you have to admit that Bill isn’t —”

Stan flinched, and as the wave of terror contorted his face, a bolt of blue lightning flew across the room, illuminating its every detail for a few brilliant microseconds.

“T-there’s nothing down there, I told you!” Stan stumbled away from his family, pressing his back to the dripping, almost unrecognizable vending machine. At his feet, a whirlpool of darkness grew, throwing off tendrils that struck the few remaining light patches and drowned them in shadow.

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper and Mabel cried out in unison, just as Soos yelled “Mr. Pines!” and stepped forwards —

The Shack shuddered, floorboards torn apart beneath Soos’s feet. From beneath them, there erupted a geyser of cold, churning, all-consuming blackness —

“Soos!” Mabel yelled, reaching forward — but his form had already vanished into the plume of dark water. “Soos! Soos, say something! Are you —”

“If you won’t leave,” Stan interrupted, speaking in only a whisper yet somehow becoming the most commanding voice in the room, “then I guess I’ll have to…”

He made a motion like he was snapping his fingers, but no noise came. Around Soos, the water swirled into a perfect sphere, floating off the ground and towards the impossibly high ceiling until it disappeared into the ink-black clouds.

“Grunkle Stan, t-that wasn’t you, was it?” Dipper stammered. “You wouldn’t —”

Stan stared downwards as the fog around him thickened, droplets of darkness condensing on his fingers and then rolling off, joining the rivers that carved their way between upturned floorboards. They flowed stronger and stronger, wider and wider, splitting off separate channels that wound around the Pines and forming a constantly shifting web.

Dipper pulled Ford back from one of them, only to nearly stumble into another himself before Ford caught him. His knuckles were white as he gripped Ford’s hand.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Stan said.

“Stanley…” Ford whispered. “Stanley, please…”

Mabel took a single cautious step towards Stan, watching the floor carefully, but one of the darkest clouds above released an absolute waterfall of a downpour, sending a wave of blackness cascading down towards her —

Without a moment to spare, Ford summoned a glowing rectangular blue barrier above her, tilted to direct the water back towards the foggy chasm — but even then, Mabel barely had enough time to dive out of the way before it shattered, its fragments dissolving into darkness.

“Run,” Ford choked out, wiping dark splashes off his face with a trembling arm. When Dipper and Mabel turned to him in shock, he raised his voice: “Run! It’s too dangerous to stay here!”

Because Ford had been horribly mistaken, because this just couldn’t be the real Stan, because Stan would never do anything like this, no matter how frightened he was…

…would he?

No. No, he just couldn’t.

“It’s Bill!” Ford shouted to the kids — it has to be — and with that, another bolt of lightning tore through the air, evaporating fog away for a single moment before Stan screamed, a huge wave appearing behind him and chilling the whole room as it surged towards Ford and the kids —

They ran, not having any time to try to find what had happened to Soos, not having any time to look down at their footing — only time to pray to blind luck that none of them would step in a riptide current of darkness, and be carried away into whatever void awaited them.

Fighting against all his survival instincts, Ford turned back for just a moment and saw that Stan was following them, wading through the surging waves like they were nothing.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Stan cried, and in any other situation, the sheer anguish in his voice would have been more than enough to make Ford believe him.

“I’m just doing this to keep you away from — from it! To try to protect you from it!”

“But from what?!” Dipper yelled over the sound of crashing waves, coming to a halt altogether as he turned to face Stan. “If it’s Bill, we need to know about it, so we can —”

The floorboards snapped beneath his feet, spraying gray splinters everywhere and sending him plummeting down to the cold, dark void below. For a split second, his tiny hand still reached out of the water, grasping desperately, futilely, at the jagged edge of one of the planks, but before Ford could grab ahold of it, it was pulled out of his reach, dragged by some impossibly strong current.

Mabel cried out, but the water began to gurgle upwards from the hole left in the floor, slowly at first but then erupting into a raging waterspout. Out of pure reflex, Ford grabbed her and began to run, carrying her away even as she struggled to free herself from his grip.

“We’ll go back for him,” Ford gasped, “I swear. We’ll go back for him and Soos as soon as we can. We won’t be any use to them if we’re — if we’re captured ourselves.”

He took a step onto one of the winding, floating staircases, and it melted, pouring down into the abyss. For a moment, Ford and Mabel hovered in the air like they were in some old-fashioned cartoon, but gravity took hold of them a second later, and for a moment they were falling, the g-force pulling at them and twisting Ford’s stomach —

But they were in the mind, and eventually they imagined themselves to a halt, floating in a sea of thick gray clouds — just plain, cold, uniform gray, stretching on forever in every direction. Stan was no longer anywhere to be seen.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel whispered. “Which… which way is up?”

Ford was about to point to above their heads, when suddenly a splatter of black rained up, from beneath their feet. And then there was another, coming from behind them and moving in a nearly horizontal direction.

Ford cursed in an alien language.

Of course, of course. This whole area disregarded the laws of gravity; he’d seen that with all the staircases. The way that felt like up to him, the way it felt like he’d fallen from, could easily just be a trick, an illusion — in fact, he’d bet that it was.

An illusion… Something was nagging at him, something he knew he was forgetting. Something important, something dangerous.

“Mabel, could you pick a direction for us to go?” he asked quietly. “I… I don’t know any way to get out of here, other than trying everything until something works.”

There was, of course, always the chance that they’d just get more lost, but what other choice did they have? No one was coming to help them, and there had to be at least an hour remaining before Stan’s sedative wore off and he woke up, if not even longer…

Mabel nodded, and pointed a bit above and to the left of them. “Let’s try that way, I guess?”

“That’s good,” Ford replied, and then added more quietly: “I’m… I’m so sorry that I put you in danger like this. You’ve been very brave.”

Mabel squeezed his arm. “We wouldn’t have let you leave us outside the Mindscape anyways. You said you knew that, didn’t you?”

“That’s true.”

They floated upwards (?) through the fog in silence for a moment.

“Keep squeezing my arm like that. Make sure we don’t get separated.”

“I will,” Mabel replied. Then she frowned. “If I get… if I end up like Dipper and Soos, you’ll go on without me, right?”

“In the moment… I may have to. But I’ll come back. I promise.”

“I know you will, Grunkle Ford. But… if you get captured, what do I do? How do I save you and the others?”

“I…”

What was Ford supposed to say — that he had no plan other than relying on sheer determination, possibly with an additional hint of self-martyrdom if required?

Something cold splattered against his arm, bleeding through his coat and sweater, turning him numb and blurring his vision…

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel yelled, as if from a distance. “Grunkle Ford, you’re falling!”

He shook his head, and again he could feel Mabel gripping his other arm, the only thing keeping him from plummeting into the foggy abyss.

Let me fall, let me forget about all this, let me rest… part of his mind kept saying, but he managed to focus on the idea of his body levitating, and he floated back up to Mabel’s side, narrowly dodging another shower of water.

“It — it’s messing with my thoughts. We have to keep moving.”

Mabel started to say something, but more rain began to fall from all directions, and she and Ford both summoned a spherical barrier around them — Ford’s half metallic and glowing blue like alien technology, Mabel’s half pink and plastic like a hamster ball. But the darkness ate away at both sides like acid, spewing out dark wisps of vapor that blurred into the endless expanse of gray clouds and darkened them even more…

“We can’t block it off,” Ford realized. “We — we have to just make a break for it, and dodge all of it somehow —”

But I’m not even sure we’re heading the right way. I might as well just let it consume me — it’ll be a peaceful way to go out, at least…

“Let’s go!” Mabel told him, pointing to a direction where the rain seemed less intense and pulling Ford along. He barely snapped out of his thoughts in time to dodge a splash from the barrier as it collapsed in on itself fully, melting together towards its center and spraying off rain like some sort of dying star.

What was he thinking? He couldn’t just give up and pretend like nothing was wrong — Mabel needed him, Stan needed him…

From the clouds, a familiar dark figure materialized, drops of shadow slowly dripping off of his suit. Frowning very faintly, Stan flicked his hand, and a torrent of water rained down from above, swirling like a descending tornado and heading straight for Ford —

Mabel shoved him out of the way. The cyclone grazed her back, and darkness bled through her sweater, her hair…

She let go of Ford’s arm, and before he could reach back out to her, she floated away from him, limbs hanging limp. A detached, peaceful look spread across her face as she fell, the grey clouds closing around her until it looked as if she might have never been there in the first place.

“She’ll be safe now,” Stan whispered.

Something inside Ford — something that had been lurking somewhere between his desperation to save Stan and his instincts screaming at him to flee, something that had been growing strained ever since finding the vending machine — something snapped.

“What have you done?!” he roared. “What have you done to them?! Bring them back, or I’ll —”

“I’m keeping them safe.” Stan paused, as if unsure whether to continue. “And happy.”

“You’re lying,” Ford growled through gritted teeth. “You’re not Stan, and I was a fool for thinking you were. You’re B—”

“NO!”

Stan shuddered, wrapping his arms around his chest and tucking his hands beneath them. “D-don’t say that! Don’t say that I’m him —”

“I’ll say what I want, because there’s no way Stanley would ever do this. You are not my brother. You’re Bill Cipher, and nothing you say will delude me into believing otherwise —”

Stan let out a sob, his tears spilling out into waves that circled the two of them, cutting them off in every direction except for far, far above. Even beneath the sound of the raging water, Ford could hear Stan repeating, like a ritual:

“I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not I can’t be I CAN’T BE I CAN’T —”

Really, honestly, Ford wanted nothing more than to hug him, but he knew the being that resembled his brother had to be an illusion, had to be Bill getting in his head —

In his head.

The nagging feeling from earlier returned to him, erupting into an explosion of panic, and self-hatred, and regret for his own stupidity.

For decades now, he’d taken it for granted that his mind was protected from Bill, his memories safe from interference, with only the occasional vivid dream left vulnerable to the demon. But the metal plate in his head was a physical barrier, not a mental one… which meant that in his body in the real world, it did nothing.

And his consciousness and memories, which he’d willingly projected into another mind, were left exposed.

He — foolishly, irresponsibly, idiotically — had felt safe bringing the kids and Soos into Stan’s mindscape with him because he’d figured that he’d be immune to the type of tricks Bill could play, that he would be capable of snapping the others out of it if the need arose. But he was just as vulnerable as they were, of course he was.

I’m such a fool. I just put everyone in even greater danger. There are so many decisions, spread out over so many years, that I could have made differently to prevent this.

Just a few yards away from him, Ford saw Stan’s face contort into a grimace, ink-black droplets leaving dark trails as they ran down his cheeks. Ever so slightly, he shook his head, and the whirlpool around them began to draw closer —

Ford launched himself into flight, moving as fast as he could possibly imagine and aiming for the opening at the top of the cyclone — the opening that was growing smaller and smaller with every second. He didn’t have a plan, other than to hope against hope that his thoughts and memories hadn’t been manipulated too much yet, and that he’d be able to continue fleeing from Bill until Stan woke up and he was brought back to the waking world —

The spot of light above him narrowed to a pinprick of light gray within the black, and the water grew closer and closer to him, spraying him with a mist of a thousand comforting thoughts: nothing’s wrong, your brother’s safe, just relax and forget about all these worries —

He had to power through this. He had to keep his thoughts his —

He reached for the opening above him, but the waves closed in around his wrist, numbing his arm and spilling down over the rest of his body. They raged around him, absorbing all light and striking out all thoughts, until the surroundings finally grew calm and uniform and blank.

Where am I, how did I get here, what…

Within the darkness, a single slit-pupiled eye blinked open, black droplets spilling off its lashes.

And then, from behind Ford, someone pressed a gun into his hands.

***

“Hey, Soos, you with me?”

Soos opened his eyes to find himself on the porch of the Shack — the real, colorful one, not the mindscape version — and to see Stan standing in front of him, one hand placed on Soos’s shoulder. He was back to wearing his white t-shirt and red beanie, and the smile on his face was wide, but not too wide. Soos hadn’t felt so relieved since Weirdmageddon.

(Relieved, or confused.)

“Mr. Pines, you’re okay!” he blurted out, wrapping Stan in a bear hug before he could stop himself, but Stan returned it, gently hitting Soos on the back.

“‘Course I am, bud. Remember? You guys got rid of Bill once and for all.”

Soos’s brain felt like it had gotten dust in it like a video game cartridge, and needed to be blown out in order to process his thoughts correctly. “Uh, actually… I’m not really sure if I do remember —”

“You did good back there, Soos.” Stan withdrew from the hug, a football appearing in his hands like it had materialized out of thin air. “Hey, you wanna toss the ol’ pigskin around? We haven’t done that since the one time last summer, have we?”

...then again, maybe remembering wasn’t all that important.

“Sure, Mr. Pines!”

“Alright, then! Go long!”

Soos started jogging out across the field, turning his head over his shoulder to look back at Stan, who was watching with a smile on his face. The first through arced through the air perfectly, landing in Soos’s hands with a satisfying clap.

He still had no idea what had happened to Ford and the kids, but for some reason, he found himself wondering about it less and less as the game of catch went on, until the thought couldn’t have been further from his mind.

***

Dipper stumbled to the ground, barely avoiding the wailing, glowing green specter as it soared over him.

“Heads up, Dipper!” he heard Stan yell, and he reached above him just in time to grab hold of a small rectangular device. On one end, it had two silver antenna, and between them, a conical piece that somewhat resembled a nozzle, while on an adjacent side it had a series of color-coded control buttons and switches.

Pointing the nozzle end at the ghost as it sped towards Ford (who was naturally just holding a camera and smiling without an ounce of concern), Dipper pressed the largest blue button —

A web of holographic, crisscrossing lines sprayed out, shifting in color from pink to purple and back to pink, ensnaring the ghost and automatically pulling it back towards him. It struggled against the net, wailing at an even more off-tune pitch, but it didn’t produce enough force for Dipper to even feel its pull, much less to dislodge the device from his grip.

Perfect!

“Hey, it worked!” Stan whistled. “You really caught yourself a spook!”

“Of course it worked, brother of little faith,” Ford retorted, raising his voice not out of serious anger but simply to be heard over the ghost’s howling. “That adhesive can trap anything, with or without a physical form. You should have seen how extensively Dipper tested it!”

Stan might have offered another good-natured wisecrack in response, but Mabel cut in: “Hey, bro, I get you’re excited about your new pet ghoul and all, but can you get it to quiet down? My ears feel like they’re melting!”

“Oh, uh, right! Sorry!” Dipper flicked a switch on his invention, and the ghost’s cries grew muffled. He turned to Ford, who was holding the camera, and announced: “This concludes today’s episode of Guide to Haunted Mansions with Dipper and the Pines Family! Join us next week, as we examine our new specimen in the lab! You’re not gonna want to miss it!”

Everyone cheered, chanting Pines! Pines Pines! as Ford got one last shot of the mansion’s room to close on.

“We may want want to edit out the part where I mentioned the adhesive,” Ford suggested once the camera was off, “lest some viewers with too much time on their hands realize that it’s of extraterrestrial origin. I’d rather not have the shadow government on our backs.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, good catch. I’ll edit it.”

For the briefest of moments as he turned towards the door to leave, he had a faint nagging feeling that something was wrong, that this whole scene was too perfect to be true, but he ignored it. On the way out, Stan gave him a high-five and an affectionate punch on the shoulder.

***

Mabel knew she was falling, knew that she probably shouldn’t be falling, but she couldn’t bring herself to try to stop, to fly back up. She felt peaceful like this — and what would she even go back to? More of Stan acting like that? Acting like…

With what felt like her last spark of energy, she pulled her arms and legs close to her body and squeezed her eyes shut.

I just wish Bill would leave us alone…

…

…

She pulled her sweater tightly over her head and knees, and settled down onto the ground.

“I just wish summer could last forever…” she found herself murmuring.

“T-that might be possible!”

“Sweater Town is not accepting incoming calls right now.”

“M-M-M-Mabel, it’s me!”

She peeked her head out of her sweater, finding a forest bathed in the red light of the setting sun. “Wha? Who said that?”

“I-I-I can help!” Blendin flickered into existence before her, his suit showing the briefest glimpses of an autumn schoolyard, and then, a burning ruin — both so quick they seemed almost imagined.

“The… time travel guy? What are you doing here?”

This all felt so wrong, for so many different reasons…

“You said you don't want summer to end, right? D-did-did I hear that right?”

“Yeah... why are you asking?”

Mabel didn’t trust this sort-of-friend of hers one bit, didn’t want to know where this conversation was going. It just felt chillingly, inexplicably sinister…

“Look, maybe it's against the rules, but you once did a favor for me, so I thought I could help you out!”

The setting sun gleamed off Blendin’s goggles, making them gleam yellow instead of red for just a moment. “It's called a time bubble, and it prevents time from going forward! Summer in Gravity Falls can last as long as you want it to!”

There was a feeling of déjà vu buzzing at the back of her mind like a fizzing caffeinated drink, faint but anxious, telling her she’d done all this before, that this had already happened —

She shook her head, and the buzz faded.

“Really?” she asked Blendin. “But… how does it work?”

Blendin pressed a button on his watch, and a holographic projection appeared in vivid light blue, showing a cracked sphere with four ducts connecting it to a striped base. Mabel had never seen it before in her life, or at least, she shouldn’t have, but the sight of it sent a chill through her.

“I just need you to get a little gizmo for me from your uncle. It's something small, he won't even know it's missing!”

“No,” Mabel whispered without knowing why, and then repeated, louder: “No. That — that thing’s dangerous!”

How do I know, why do I know this —

“What?!” Blendin exclaimed. “No no no, it’s — it’s perfectly harmless, I promise! And — and I can’t make the time bubble without it, so just hand it over, or I’ll have to —”

Mabel pulled Dipper’s backpack close to her and sprung to her feet, kicking Blendin in the knee and making a break for the Shack. “Dipper! Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Stan! Help!”

Time and space felt distorted, like her legs were carrying her further with each step than they should have been able to. Somehow, without actually looking back, she could see Blendin following her, hot on her heels at first but then slowly starting to lag behind…

Ford burst out of the Shack and fired a blast from his stun gun, striking Blendin square in the chest. He crumpled to the ground, the world turning gray for a second as a burst of yellow flew out from his form. Then color returned to the forest — no longer red, but rather, the peaceful, beautiful pink of a late August sunset.

Somewhat numbly, Mabel handed Ford the backpack, and he rifled through it quickly as Dipper and Stan rushed over, looking concerned.

“The rift is still stable,” Ford reported, his frown still tight with worry. “Now, Mabel, are you alright? Bill didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I think? Does… does this mean Weirdmageddon won’t happen?”

Ford put a hand on her shoulder. “No. No, it won’t. I still have to seal this rift, but once that’s done, Bill will never be able to physically manifest in our dimension this way — thanks to you seeing through his tricks. We’ll be safe.”

Why did she even know what Weirdmageddon was? Why was no one surprised by her knowing? What was happening to —

“Mabel, I was so worried!” Dipper hugged her. “I’m so sorry for what I said — I’m not going to stay in Gravity Falls, I know that now…”

The apology barely registered for Mabel, the words muffled by the fog in her head. She’d already forgiven him, a long time ago.

“It’s okay, Dip,” she managed to say. “I don’t blame you…”

As Ford headed inside to seal the rift, Dipper following him, Stan and Mabel were left alone. He gave her a gentle pat on the back.

“Hey, pumpkin, you okay? There’s no need to be scared of nothin’ anymore. The triangle can’t do jack now.”

There was a gleam in Stan’s eyes that Ford and Dipper had lacked, Mabel realized. He seemed less distant. More real. More reminiscent of everything that felt wrong about all this.

“A-are you okay, Grunkle Stan? Bill didn’t do anything to you?” she blurted out, grabbing him by the arm.

It couldn’t be this easy. They couldn’t really be safe. Stan, especially, couldn’t really be safe, it just didn’t feel right —

“Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m fine.” He smiled to her. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I promise.”

“I know…” she told him, even though she really, really didn’t know anything. Her thoughts were jumbled, jumping around like popcorn in one of those glass-walled machines, striking the sides of her skull and exploding and just creating so much chaos that she just couldn’t find the right ones, couldn’t remember what she should have, what she needed to remember —

Stan hugged her, and the chaos faded to a distant roar, faint and consistent and easy to tune out.

“Bill’s never laid a hand on me,” he assured her. “I’ve got nothin’ to do with him — unless I run into him when he’s giving one of you guys a hard time, but I’ve got a feeling he won’t be doing much of anything like that anymore. That rift thing is what he wants from Ford, right? And he can’t get that now.”

Mabel nodded. Yeah, that all made sense. Stan was right, of course he was…

“I just… I had a dream, I think. Or a nightmare. Where Bill got into our world, and it — and it was all my fault, and I didn’t want to believe it so I locked myself in this… in this bubble… ”

Bubbles, dream bubbles, prison bubbles, Sweater Town, block out all the bad stuff, hide there forever, lying about it to keep you away from it —

“Must have been a trick that demon played,” Stan murmured, words oddly soothing — almost hypnotizing. “But it wasn’t real. And you’re stronger than that nightmare, I know you are.”

That’s right, everything is alright. Nothing bad happened, nothing was your fault —

But this isn’t real; that all was, Mabel was finally able to put to words. This is the dream, that was reality.

But she didn’t dare say as much out loud. Instead, she whispered: “Thanks, Grunkle Stan, you’re right. I’m… I’m gonna go inside now.”

“No problem, pumpkin,” Stan replied, helping her up. “You ever need anything, just come and ask.”

Mabel nodded, and then, the second she was out of Stan’s sight, she huddled down in the corner and shut her eyes, afraid to look at whatever illusions the dream might summon to tempt her.

Her first thought was that this was Bill’s doing again, that he was trying to trap her, to keep her and Ford and the others from finding where he lurked in Stan’s mind… but deep down, she knew that wasn’t it.

She remembered what it had felt like to be in the bubble Bill created, and like this one, it certainly had given her what she wanted — or at least, what she believed she wanted. But this… this illusion was more powerful. A stronger pull, a more irresistible temptation, so strong that she almost hadn’t even realized it was all a dream.

This was what her heart had yearned after for the past ten months. To be free of this guilt, this knowledge that she’d almost gotten her family killed.

And if anyone was going to understand that, it wasn’t going to be Bill. It was going to be Stan.

Stan, who must have been so afraid for his family’s sakes. Stan, who just wanted them all to be not just safe, but happy. Stan, who had always been so good at lying about his own happiness, so of course he would be good at lying to make others happy, too.

Stan, who was so similar to Bill, yet even more different.

“I’m gonna find a way to save you, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel whispered. “I’m gonna find a way to make it so you don’t have to lie. I promise.”

She told herself she wasn’t being hypocritical for tuning out the intrusive thoughts of what if he can’t be saved? and what if the truth is even worse than you think?

Because those thoughts couldn’t be true, she just wouldn’t let them be true…

What if there was never anyone else here that Stan needed saving from?

What if he only needs saving from himself?

***

A high-pitched, horrifyingly familiar voice screamed from all around Ford, the darkness seeping out of his surroundings and condensing together into one perfectly equilateral triangle.

“Oh, now what do we have HERE? Six-Fingers really thinks he can figure out a way to run the portal ‘safely?’ News flash, BRAINIAC: you’ve never —”

Ford found himself squeezing a trigger.

A brilliant beam of light shot out at Bill — blasting a hole in his chest, sparking a fire that consumed his triangular form in an instant, raging bright orange like burning sodium. For just a moment, there was an awful shriek of panic and horrified realization, but before Ford could even move to cover his ears, it was gone — it echoed for just a moment, and then faded out entirely.

Faintly red-orange embers were drifting to the ground, burning out and joining all the other particles that made up the dirt floor as if they had never been a part of anything else, a part of anything dangerous. Their orange glow disappeared, replaced by the faint blue light that the portal machinery projected, humming steadily and peacefully.

It was all very quick, and very decisive, and very not right. The world seemed to shift around Ford, and he felt as if he too was drifting to the ground, extinguished —

A steady hand caught him by the arm and held him until he regained his balance. A gruff, comfortingly familiar voice spoke from behind him:

“Hey, Stanford, you okay? We did it, buddy. Bill’s dead. We’re safe.”

Unsteadily, Ford turned, and saw Stan looking at him — his long brown hair was a mess, and his red jacket was singed, but his expression was comforting, full of relief. The portal cast its blue glow over him, too, flickering slightly like a fire…

“Where… what year is it?” Ford mumbled.

“It’s 1982,” Stan replied, patting him gently on the back. “You and Fidds made an invention to blast Bill out of existence. You remember that, right?”

“The portal… why is it…”

“We restarted it as a trap — because the gun only worked on him if he took a physical form. Is… is this coming back to you?”

“…Right,” Ford replied. “Right. I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me —”

“Hey, it’s okay. I… I get why this might be a lot to take in, but… you’re safe from Bill now. He’s never gonna hurt anyone again.”

“He’s…”

He’s really gone? I’m safe from him? You’re safe from him?

“Stanford! Are ya alright?” Fiddleford was running over to them now, slamming the door to the control chamber closed behind him.

“He’s gonna be,” Stan said confidently. “It all worked out just like we planned — Ford just needs a second to —”

“No,” Ford whispered. “Fiddleford, why are you… why are you…?!”

“Pardon?” Fiddleford asked, looking to Stan uncertainly.

“Young,” Ford finally choked out. “Why are either of you young? Why is Stan —”

Then the truth dawned on him, and as obvious as it seemed, it was a struggle to choke out, a struggle to admit. “This — this isn’t real, is it?”

“Whoa, Ford!” Stan put a hand on Ford’s arm. “Calm down. It’s okay, it’s —”

“It’s absolutely not okay!” Ford shouted, pulling himself away. “And you — you’re not even denying it!”

Stan let out a sad, quiet sigh.

“Does it really matter if this is real, Ford?”

“Yes! Yes, it does! It…”

Stan and McGucket were both staring at him, but now that Ford knew what to look for, there was a dullness to Fiddleford’s eyes, a lack of detail in his expression. While Stan… felt more real, more genuine. The bodies that all of them wore now were illusions, but the real Fiddleford wasn’t present in any capacity, as opposed to Stan, who was very much himself.

And Ford couldn’t bring himself to be that angry with the real Stan.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

He felt like he should remember something important about how he got here, something that might explain why Stan was here but Fiddleford wasn’t really, but reaching for the memory felt like plunging into a violent current, dark and chaotic and impossible to navigate —

What have you done? What have you done to them?

I’m keeping them safe. And happy.

“Ford, you don’t have to stay here,” Stan told him. “This isn’t some… some prison, some diabolical trap. I just… I thought you could use a break from reality. Some time to relax, in a place where… things went better. Where you can actually do the things you always wished you could do.”

“So — so you created this? Not Bill?”

“Yeah. Remember, we killed Bill in real life, too, it just… took a lot longer.”

Ford’s heart was pounding, like his body, his instincts, knew something his conscious mind didn’t — but Stan gently took him by the shoulders and turned him around to face the portal, its glow hypnotizing.

“In this world, it’s safe to use. You can explore anywhere you want to explore, alongside anyone you want to adventure with. You can even meet anyone you mighta given up on seeing again.”

Ford could think of a number of different people he’d given up on seeing again, had parted ways with far too soon, people for whom he would rejoice at an opportunity to talk to, even knowing they weren’t really there — but he couldn’t let himself get caught up in this illusion. He’d been in the middle of something important when he’d gotten pulled into this dream, he was sure of it. It was just the specifics that kept eluding him…

But then again, he’d already spent a fair amount of time here, hadn’t he? He could surely afford to waste just a little bit more.

“Ten minutes,” he told Stan. “That’s all.”

Then added: “...maybe fifteen, if we’re in the middle of something when the first ten minutes end. But that’s the absolute most.”

He knew it was a dangerous concession to be making, but he could control himself, of course he could.

(And…. ten minutes did feel unfairly brief. So did fifteen minutes, for that matter…)

Stan’s face lit up with excitement and maybe, just a hint of relief?

“Then to the portal!” he cheered, voice full of contagious enthusiasm.

“To the portal!” Ford echoed, oblivious as the watch on his wrist sublimated into a plume of dark fog.

***

“I've been lying about it to try to keep you away from it! To try to protect you from it!” — Stanley Pines, Scary-oke

***

The way I see it, Stan obviously loves his family and understands their desires far better than Bill could, but that also means the illusions he summons are even more powerful and tempting than the ones Mabel and company overcame in Weirdmageddon…

(Also, I recently wrote a Same Coin one-shot, The Phoenix in the Birch Trees, that can be taken as a prequel to this story. You don’t have to read that one to understand anything that goes on in SSD, of course, but I thought I’d leave it here in case anyone who missed it before is interested!)

and yeah the title is a pokemon reference. because, you know, nightmare demons who don't actually mean harm but trap people in dreams to protect themselves

[velvet-tread]

Multishipping Bellarke and Becho: a guide

I know I said I wasn’t going to be here, butttttttt things are getting crazy here and apparently I want to cut my followers down to zero so here goes.

Look, guys, ok I know the vast majority of you are on a scale of ambivalent to nuking North Korea when it comes to Becho and *FINE* I understand why. The Bellarke fandom wants Bellarke (not unreasonable!) so one half of your otp in a relationship galls.

But I love Becho even though I am Bellarke af and honestly the view is GREAT from here and I would love to share some of that good feeling around.

Seeing Bellamy and Echo in what is clearly a very happy and content (yet doomed!) relationship, is basically the most beautiful bittersweet thing to happen to me since Jason chose to serve my own heart up to me on a plate  with ai gonplei ste odon atop the satellite tower *sob*.

So I’m going to have a crack at some of the whys and wherefores of Becho and address how it could fit our Bellarke endgame.

My opinions, ok? I’m not trying to convert anyone, just spread some love.

Why put Bellamy in a long-term relationship at all?

Mostly, I think the answer is in the narrative shorthand the show is using to help us navigate the time jump, and the people Bellamy and Clarke are now. And who is that? Well, we don’t know the whole picture yet but one thing is for sure: Bellamy and Clarke have had a relatively content 6 years. They’re OK. Changed, yes, for a variety of reasons, but psychologically sound compared to, say, the people in the bunker.

Sure, there are some things missing from their lives - I’ll get to the nitty gritty of that later on - but I think we’re supposed to believe that they are more or less happy and healthy and whole.

So, I guess the question is, what does happy and whole Bellamy look like? Not only am I Bellarke af, but I am also a Bellamy stan to the core.  In the context of a 6 year time jump, I want nothing for him but contentment, appreciation and nookie on the regular. And it seems that against the odds, this has happened for Bellamy Bradbury Blake.  In the relative safety of space, in the company of his newfound space family, his impulse to slavishly attend to the everyday needs of his sister curtailed, Bellamy has actually, finally, taken 6 years for himself.

At his core Bellamy is an affectionate person, with a deep need for personal connection and intimacy. And, clearly, he’s attracted to girls and sex is high on his list of needs too (do we all need to be reminded of pre-Bree Bellamy and post-Bree Bellamy in s4?) so the idea of him in space for 6 years deprived of that emotional and physical intimacy just makes me sad.  And so, the shot of his and Echo’s quarters with their double bed, the TV in the corner, the punchbag above the bed (*raised eyebrow*) the shelving unit with 68 canteens on (why Becho, why?) is so heartwarming in its mundane domesticity. It shouted to me: BELLAMY IS OKAY.

Indulge my singing emo heart for a hot second. They clearly appreciate each other. He runs his hands up and down her arms.  She strokes his jaw. THEY ARE SO SOFT.  She soothes his Octavia anxiety. His terrible dad jokes make her laugh and ease her tension. These two people who have spent a life time pleasing others are happy making each other happy.

Oh, and he is JAW-DROPPINGLY NAÏVE.

Watching Bellamy in a comfortable space relationship with someone who hurt him so badly in the past deliver this bizarro rose-tinted expectation of his feisty, judgemental sister suggests that in his mind, everything about his life on Earth is hued in gold. This is a Bellamy who, surrounded by his friends and safety, has forgotten the grim realities of survival, of human frailty and human cruelty.

*foghorn* IT DOESN’T MEAN HE’S FORGOTTEN CLARKE OR DOESN’T LOVE HER ANYMORE. *end foghorn*

In fact, Bellamy finding love with Echo is just about the biggest endorsement of everything that Clarke stood for when she gave him her dying words of wisdom.

This Bellamy has absorbed all of Clarke’s glorious idealism, her ability to forgive, her faith in humanity, her faith in her own agency, her faith that whatever the problem is, there’s a solution. This is what head-and-heart Bellamy looks like.

Finally…realtalk time: I may choke on these words as I type them, but the truth about storytelling is that if you have an endgame ship in mind (and I stfg I refuse to be gaslighted on this any longer) and a 6 year time jump in which they believe each other dead, it would be straight up BIZARRE not to have one of them come back in a long-term relationship. No matter what the writers’ room says about Bellarke or love triangles, that is a conflict opportunity that is too delicious to pass up.  It’s what Satan would do.

But whhhhhyyyy does it have to be Echo?

Sidebar - I’m not going to get in too deep with the forgiveness question, because we’ve all been over it many a time. My take on it is that forgiveness is something you do for yourself,  not for someone else and is not the same as justice – especially when both people involved have things to answer for. For what it’s worth, the show’s take on it seems to be similar (hi Jake Griffin), so I see no reason why this is a problem in terms of tone or characterisation.

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I love Echo, and have a gazillion thoughts about what her arc could or should be this season.  But ultimately, this show is about Bellamy and Clarke, so it’s worth looking at this in terms of what this means for Bellamy’s character.

Basically: this is a question of impact. Echo represents the furthest possible point for Bellamy’s character development in the context they’ve given him (7 people in space for 6 years).  Echo hurt him, but she also represents all the terrible things that he has done himself, all of which he’s been grappling with for the past 2 seasons. So for him to be in a place where he forgives her enough to actually like her and then forge an intimate connection with her – that says more about how far he’s come in terms of forgiveness of others and self-forgiveness than, say, a relationship with Raven.

It doesn’t mean he’s ruined (and seriously, is this the 17th century?) or it’s out of character.  It means he’s taken Clarke’s lessons to heart.

How am I supposed to be invested in this relationship if I haven’t seen the start of it?

Well, I’ve been shipping Becho ever since she spat in his face in MW prior to their joint murder so I mayyy be biased but I would say we’ve been watching their relationship evolve for some time. No, we don’t get to see the point where forgiveness tipped into intimacy, but having been watching them forever it’s not a leap for me to headcanon the rest.

I get that it is a stretch for others but here’s the thing: I don’t think the show is asking us to be invested in Bellamy and Echo because they should be together forever.  The show is asking us to be invested in the peace and stability they found in space, literally in a vacuum, of which Becho is a product.

But if they’re going to split up, what’s the point?

Becho is the perfect illustration of the fragility of peace and human co-operation, which is in turn such a core theme of the show imo.  What Bellamy and the rest of the Spacekru achieved was an environment in which even Becho can forgive and flourish, find love and softness. That’s the goal.  But this isn’t that universe.  Bellamy and Echo were at odds on Earth because the reality of life there is messy, complicated and frightening.

Echo, bless her, knows that very few things are permanent, even the love of a good man. She lost Azgeda, why would she trust anything in her life to be constant after that? But this forgiving, idealistic, measured, comfortable, Clarke-like Bellamy is in for a shock.

You’re not expected to be sad about the demise of Becho because Bellamy and Echo lose each other, but because Becho represents an unsustainable level of stability and comfort that just doesn’t play in this universe.  Much like Clarke and Lexa before them, they’ll have to let go of the dream of a world in which their relationship is possible and I for one will ache for them.

I’m going to say here too that I think in contrast to Becho, I think Bellarke could survive in any environment.  It was forged out of crisis – as Eliza says, they’re in each other’s DNA.  They just have to work out what that means.

Why is it good for Bellarke?

Let’s push aside all my Bellarke shipper reasons for wanting a happy and whole Bellarke to be the people they reconnect with and find lasting love. And the fact that Clarke, too, has experienced a doomed love affair and I want my tragedy babies to be on an equal footing and commonality when they finally get their shit together.

Let’s also push aside the angst potential of Bellamy and Clarke reuniting when one of them has a long-term partner, which makes up the tense character-focused storytelling this show is famous for.

Because, narratively speaking, the way this has been set up is just so Bellarke-centric I cannot even. Bellamy’s life – including his relationship with Echo - and Clarke’s life are the missing puzzle pieces for one another. Bellamy is

happy

but there are a few things he misses.  He misses Octavia, who is practically his own child, and he yearns to be back on the ground with her. And like the rest of Spacekru, he misses the variety of living on Earth eating more than just algae. And guess what?  Clarke, who is also

happy

has both of those things.  She has a fulfilling parental relationship with a child.  She has abundance.  But what doesn’t she have? She misses her friends and family, and adult company. I’m going to go ahead and assume she also misses the comfort and intimacy of a physical romantic relationship too, because we’ve seen her enjoy those things before.  Both of which Bellamy has.  When those pieces unite, when Bellarke reunite, the puzzle becomes complete.

[wits-writing]

IT: Chapter One movie review

Picture a middle school classroom back around 2006; the class has been asked to write short essays about things that scared them in the past and present them to everyone. Later, when the time came to present these papers, was when I first learned about the 1990 mini-series based on Stephen King’s novel IT. The descriptions of why my classmates where frightened by this made-for-TV movie were all my younger self needed to know that I didn’t want to find out any more. To this day, I’ve only ever seen small clips of Tim Curry’s performance from that mini-series and never felt any need to read the book. However, over time I began to give more of a chance to horror films and when I saw some of the positive reception the new version has been getting, I decided to give it a shot.

Bearing the on-screen title IT: Chapter One, directed by Andy Muschietti, is an intense ride of horror takes the familiar tale of a group of social outcasts in Derry, Maine during the summer of 1989 who catch onto the fact that a string of child disappearances in the town are connected to a malevolent force woven into the fabric of the town itself, eventually deciding that they need to be the ones to do something about it.

[Full review under the cut]

The Losers Club form the film’s heart that keeps the story going through all the scares and apathy of life around them. The seven of them; Bill (Jaeden Liehberher), Ben (Jeremy Ray Taylor), Bev (Sophia Lillis), Stan (Wyatt Oleff), Richie (Finn Wolfhard), Mike (Chosen Jacobs), and Eddie (Jack Dylan Grazer), all have different baggage from their personal lives and giving each other the strength to deal with that stuff helps them stand up and fight back.

Bill’s little brother Georgie (Jackson Robert Scott), was among the first in the town to disappear and has been unable to process it for months afterward. Despite a lack of social graces due to his stutter, Bill finds himself the de facto leader of the Losers as the one most prepared to go up against the force stalking them. Ben, due to his weight and being the new kid in Derry, finds himself an easy target for bullying, so he tries to keep his head down until he starts making friends with the rest the group. Bev, the lone girl in the group, is subjected to many pressures in her life, from her peers spreading hurtful rumors about her to her possessively abusive father, finally gets a chance to relax by hanging out with the boys over the summer. Stan lives his life under the pressure of his Rabbi father to set forth a good image for their family and he’s hesitant in following the journey. Richie is the loudmouth of the group and the most likely to argue with Bill over whether they should even continue towards this mad goal. Mike is a home-schooled kid living on the outskirts of Derry with his grandfather and as one of the few black people in Derry, gets harassed by the town bullies telling him to leave “their town.” Eddie has been raised to be an overly cautious hypochondriac by his overprotective mother, which means he often gets dragged into situations he wants no part of throughout the film.

All the young actors who make up the Losers are good performers who you can believe form these social bonds with each other as quickly as they do. Many of the film’s best parts are dedicated to them simply doing stuff together before any horror creeps in and it’s a great rapport to watch. The big moments where they stand together against the things threatening them, both natural and supernatural, are among the most cathartic in any film this year. Special mention goes to the rock war moment where the Losers help Mike fight back against the town bullies, led by the sociopathic Henry Bowers (Nicholas Hamilton), watching these outcasts not hesitate to help someone they barely know against one of the worst people in their lives is enough to bring a smile to my face. The ensemble works well together on screen and mostly gets a good balance out of all of them, though Mike and Stan unfortunately get the short straw when it comes to overall development. By the time the third act rolls around, it’s totally believable that these kids would face down literal monsters for each other.

The monster itself, Pennywise the Dancing Clown played primarily by Bill Skarsgård, enjoys the everything leading up to the kill as much as the kill itself. It finds ways to get personal with its victims, exploiting their anxieties to get the reaction it wants out of them. Skarsgård is at his best in this role when he’s given the chance to menace the Losers by making minor appearance while something else is going on. The movie makes a connection between Pennywise and the bullies that pick on the Losers, down to certain taunts and injuries dealt by the clown mirroring stuff the bullies did earlier. The fact that Pennywise is a supernaturally more sadistic type of bully than what the Losers already face every day is an interesting kind of terror to behold considering how the normal bullies are already uniquely sadistic.

The effects for Pennywise are accomplished through a mixture of CGI, makeup, and practical effects and they all blend together in an effective manner to portray its supernatural ability to bend reality around people while building towards the kill. The major monster moments in the film rely the most on this aspect of filmmaking to be effective and a few of them got me to jump in my seat, especially the moments where Pennywise shifts between forms. Monster movies need a level of terrifying spectacle for everything else to build from and IT: Chapter One is fully capable of delivering on that front.

Aside from the monstrous circus performer, Derry, Maine is dripping with more mundane flavors of horror that helps fuel Pennywise’s ability to operate in the town the way he does. Its influence is everywhere, but most apparent in how apathetic many of the townspeople are to what goes on around them. One more missing child poster can get put up while another is taken down and forgotten. We even get the chance to see this attitude start to take hold in our protagonists when some of them consider giving up the fight against It.

Muschietti’s direction on IT: Chapter One is the key ingredient in bringing all the elements at play in the film together. The mood of Derry permeates the film as Muschietti builds tension without tedium as things moves along from one major moment to another. There are a few things in the way the story is told that don’t quite work, like that aside from Bev and Eddie we don’t get too much of a sense of any of the Losers’ home lives, but in exchange we get one of the best examples of pacing in a film this year. I get the feeling most horror movie fans have already made their minds up about this one, but if you’re like myself and don’t typically go in for the genre, I say IT is worth checking out on the big screen.

[xwubzxbubzx]

TV Remotes and Ice-Cream

Fluffy one-shot. SFW. 1k. Stancest. on ao3

Stan has a hard time relearning how to repress his feelings towards Ford. He’s just lucky that Ford is kind of…dense.

Stan may have lost most of his memories and Ford may have finally acknowledged his hubris, but they are still the same men. Men who have carried decades of repressed anger and bitterness towards each other.

The conflict between them cannot be resolved in a day, nor even in a decade. It is unsurprising that not long after the twins have left for Piedmont and they are alone again that any modicum of good will dissolves into violence.

“Change the fucking channel, Ford. I’m not watching this shit—” Stan is waving the remote, pointing it at the TV. Ford lunges at him.

Ford has managed to pin Stan to the floor. He’s straddling his brother, putting his full weight on Stan’s weaker lower half so that his bucking is useless, one of his hands is gripping both of Stan’s wrist, and the other clutches the remote. His brother is completely restrained. They’re both panting heavily, sweat drips from his forehead and onto Stan.

“What the fuck, Sixer?”

“Take it back.”

Stan is kicking out his legs behind him, desperate to gain the leverage necessary to throw off his brother. His shoes scrape noisily against the wooden floor. His hips are rolling upward. And then he stops.

The surprise that fills Ford causes his hold to loosen slightly, this is perhaps the closest Stan has gotten to throwing him off since Ford lunged at him, but still, his brother doesn’t move. Ford recovers quickly –if there’s anything he’s learnt from his dimensional travels, it is that he must to adapt to survive – he squeezes Stan’s wrist even harder this time, feeling the fragile bones beneath his fingers. “Finally decided to admit defeat, Stanley?” Ford is flushed with success.

Stan looks stricken, perhaps he has finally learnt not to insult Ancient Aliens. Ford has always dreamed of this day, ever since he was a boy. How anyone could not appreciate the thoughtful and logically grounded insights into the technological advancements of long dead civilisations—

“Ford.” Stan sounds oddly breathless, interrupting him from his reverie. “Ok, watch your educational bullsh— show. Can you just get off of me?”

Ford is suspicious, but Stan seems contrite. He rolls off his brother and dusts himself off. Stan is hunched over, adjusting his belt. He coughs awkwardly. The TV flickers quietly in the background.

“I’m a—I’m gonna go.”

Ford watches his brother slowly shuffle out of the living room. He is confused, rubbing at the bruise slowly swelling on his cheek. At least, Stan’s legendary left hook hasn’t changed.

*

Stan is different from what he remembers. Quieter, more awkward.

It’s a late summer day and they’re eating ice lollies on the sofa, watching the trees bend and shake in the wind. Except Stan’s not, he’s watching Ford with a quiet intensity.

“Stan?”

Stan does not respond, his gaze focused on his fingers, which are sticky and stained pink with the melting cherry pop. It makes him feel self-conscious.

“Stan?” He says it louder this time and Stan startles. “Is there something on my face?”

“N-no.” Stan is stuttering. This is very odd.

Ford leans closer to his brother and places a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. His pupils are dilated. He looks afraid. “Did you remember something, Lee?”

Stan crosses his legs and leans away from Ford. He’s shifting in his seat, looking like wants to be anywhere but here. “Uh, yeah, Sixer. I think I left the stove on. Gotta go and prevent a fire, like Smokey Bear says: safety first, you know?”

He hurries inside, gait slightly off, leaving his lolly on the plate between them. He hasn’t had any of it. This is weird by even Gravity Falls standards, Stan has always had a sweet tooth.

Maybe he did leave the stove on.

*

Stan is always grumpy when he wakes up. This is not surprising, nor is it even new. Stan hated waking up for school. But Ford feels like literally jumping out of bed with a half-panicked, half-desperate and punching him so hard he’s dazed just because he tried to wake him up is a tad excessive.

No one can be that attached to sleep and he’s been to places that literally worship the concept of rest.

Also, covering his eyes and then bodily pushing him out of the room is just plain rude. Unwarranted and strange perhaps, but mostly it is very, very rude. It makes him bristle with anger. Aren’t pacifism and hospitality virtues in this dimension? No, wait, he’s seen the news. That is probably a different Earth. It doesn’t matter, Ford can recognize rudeness from a mile away and Stan has always made a point to be as ill-mannered as possible.

There will be repercussions.

*

Ford is perhaps a bit obsessive. Maybe he’s overly fond of unnecessarily complicated plans. Many would say these are qualities and not faults. Essential building blocks of any mad-scientist or genius.

Nonetheless, he’s brilliant and his plan is fool-proof. Hell, he’ll go out on a limb and say it’s Stanley-proof.

He lies in wait behind shower curtain, camera in hand. He’s jittery with excitement, with success so close he can almost taste it.

The door open, it creaks on its rusted hinges. His adrenaline spirals higher. He hears the muffled sound of footsteps. Water running, a satisfied ah.

Oh.

That is not water. Ford flushes, his palms grow sweatier. This is okay, they’re twins. He’s sure they’ve peed on each other dozens of times. It is totally not weird for him to be here. Not even a little. This is just normal, familial levels of intimacy.

He hears a soft shift of thick fabric. He must focus. The silhouette of his brother advances towards the bath tub. Ford’s camera is at the ready, this is years of black mail material.

The curtain opens and he sees the shocked face of Stanley, still in his bathrobe. Damn it. A sudden movement and then blackness.

He supposes that he deserved to be knocked out but still.

*

Stan is avoiding him. He is surprisingly successful.

He leaves any room that Ford enters, has breakfast at noon, hides on the roof. He looks scared, frightened of Ford. Disgusted by his presence. Maybe he has remembered everything and he doesn’t forgive him, maybe he wants to kick him out.

Ford understands, he has prepared for this eventuality, but it still hurts far more than he expected.

*

He’s doing his work on the kitchen table. The sun is setting, causing all of the colours on the gradient between red and yellow to tint his surroundings. He feels at peace, more comfortable than he has been for a long time. He feels the prickle of someone’s eyes on him.

Stan is shifting from foot to foot, clearly nervous. Ford looks up from his journal, pen still poised in his hand. He’s sweating slightly, nervous.

“Ford—”Stan starts, before closing his mouth. His face is grim, like he’s steeling himself. Ford closes his eyes for a moment, preparing himself. “Ford,” Stan begins again, voice slightly stronger, “I have to—” he pauses again, swallowing audibly, “ask you something.”

“Stan, I understand and I’ll make things easier. I’ll go.”

“W-Wait, what?” Stan deflates. “Is it— am I that bad?”

It is Ford’s turn to be confused. “You remember everything, right?” Stan nods, hesitant. “Then you know about what I’ve done to you and you hate me and you want me to leave. I’m sorry, Stan—” He’s babbling because it hurts.

“You’re an idiot, Sixer.”

Stan is insulting him, adding salt to the wound. Now this is just cruel—

Stan grabs him by the shoulders and he flinches, preparing for a punch. His eyes are clenched shut, he feels the soft press of chapped lips against his own. This is unexpected, but in a good way. It takes him a moment, but he kisses back.

When they draw back, Stan is stained a beautiful shade of red, the waning light from outside catching the deep brown of his eyes. He has the most absurdly happy expression on his face. Ford supposes his is identical.

“I love you, you goddamn knucklehead.”

They both lean in for a kiss this time.