#these were shockingly also hard to write | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aster-oid · 8 months ago

Text

To the stranger I knew too well

Summary: When your recurrent dreams about a puppet become out of hand, a reality check feels like the only way to get back to normalcy. Fate proves you wrong.

Pairing: Wanderer & gn!reader (post Irminsul), the relationship is heavily implied to be platonic

Content warnings: Reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood and murders but I don't go into details, slight angst, Wanderer is bad with feelings, platonic content

Word count: 7.2k | Soulmate AU

Comments: A special thank to my beta @ladyfocalors for always brainrotting with me about Genshin characters. We'll platonify the Genshin soulmate AU one work at the time /lh

It took you years to understand that your frequent lucid dreams about an Inazuman electricity-wielder leader were actually the memories of your soulmate.

To your parents' defense, every normal individual would have dismissed the idea. While your soulmate wearing an extravagant hat wasn’t impossible, your tales about a place shrouded in darkness and an Electro-user without a Vision sounded like a child's fantasy. There was no such thing in Teyvat.

You quickly got the reputation of an imaginative kid. Adults liked to ask you about your dreams.

"What a smart child you are!", they cooed once you finished recalling your visions. "You could write a storybook!"

Your younger self would shoot them the dirtiest glare they could muster. Unfortunately, adding that the protagonist was a puppet made hundreds of years ago was not the convincing argument you thought it was. To the layperson, your visions were nonsensical dreams.

But you knew what you saw. It felt real. Terribly, shockingly real. Most often that not, you woke up from these flashes with the taste of iron in your mouth, static filling your sight, your muscles locked into place. You were trapped in your own unresponsive body. Even your breath was stuck in your throat. But the worst part of your awakenings was the sticky feeling on your hands. No matter how many times you scrubbed, it lingered on your skin. You didn't know what it was at that time, just that it made you feel gross and that it would sometimes reappear if you washed your hands hard enough.

You learnt what blood was before you knew how to spell the color red.

When one is repeatedly told that they're wrong, they will come to believe it. You were no exception. As the years passed by, you pushed those fantasies in the back of your mind. The adults in your life must have been right. You were just a strange kid with gruesome dreams, that was all.

Despite knowing that they were figments of your vivid imagination, the sights of snow-covered plains and bloody massacres haunted you well into adulthood. They had grown more complex. Details you didn’t notice as a child seemed obvious now that you had more experience. You could also recall conversations better. That’s how you learnt the name of the body you inhabited. Well, it was more correct to say you learnt multiple names for them. Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, the Balladeer... It was like you could never make up your mind.

The puppet you temporarily inhabited was as elusive as the wind: no fixed name to call them and no face to match. They fled mirrors when they saw one, preventing you from seeing their appearance. The only thing you knew about them was their title: number Sixth of the Fatui Harbinger. A seat that was left vacant for centuries according to every Fatuus you asked.

Your constant daydreaming was annoying but manageable until you started having visions about Kunikuzushi taking over Sumeru. You saw them getting experimented on to become one with a robot, wincing in pain at the hands of a masked doctor, rambling about their birth-given right to access godhood, taunting a blonde traveler; a chain of events that could only make sense in a dream. The problem was that your reverie was affecting your daily life. You couldn’t go through a day without getting assailed by memories that weren’t yours. You had to stop halfway through any task, discussing became hard and sleep rarely came to you.

There was little you could do as you didn’t know what had worsened your visions. You were hoping it would go away by itself.

That was until a particularly haunting dream. As usual, you were but a spectator seeing through the Balladeer’s eyes. You saw a hand -their hand- reach for a chess piece, leaning forward as much as they could. Your blood went cold. They were about to fall over the edge of the platform! Your gaze darted everywhere. There was nothing on the distant ground that would break their fall. For the first time in your life, you realized that they could die. Scaramouche, the one you had observed for decades, could die.

You were the only one to realize how far they were leaning. They only had eyes for the violet pawn in front of them, begging and begging with a shaky voice. It had never sounded so frail, so raw with hurt and panic.

"Please, anything but the Gnosis!"

It’s not worth it! you tried to scream. Stop! You didn't know why this Gnosis was so important to them but it was nothing dying for. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to move your mouth, the body refused to answer to you. You were nothing but a witness of a tragic scene, a powerless ghost with a bleeding heart. Your throat was thick with emotions you were not allowed to express.

Your dream ended in a snap, quite literally. A tearing sound erupted from behind you before you were sent falling down, pain flaring in your back. You bit down a scream as the world turned to blurry shades of blue and fluttering black bangs. The increasing speed made your eyes water and your body burn. You clenched your teeth. The fall was inevitable. Maybe it made you a coward but you couldn't bear to see it. You didn’t want to see Kunikuzushi die. Muttering an apology to the stranger in your dreams, you squeezed your teary eyes shut.

The last thing you heard was a wet crushing sound, a mix between eggshells broken under the palm of your hand and a fruit being squashed. Your body jolted in your bed and you gagged, fighting the urge to throw up. You had never felt this sick. Not even when you dreamt of unfair massacres.

You sank to the floor, furiously wiping away the tears beading in the corner of your eyes. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to confront your dreaming problem. There was only one solution: if your brain was so adamant on obsessing over an imaginary character, you had to show it the harsh reality, to remind yourself that Kabukimono never existed.

Your trip to Sumeru was the most spontaneous project you ever planned. You were strolling through the busy streets of Sumeru city the very next day with barely enough money to get back to your nation. You had packed the bare minimum in your suitcase to carry it easily, meaning you wouldn’t be able to stay for more than just a few days.

That was, if you found a room for the night. You had no time to check what the usual prices were in the capital before leaving. Now that you were scouring the streets with your meager funds, unable to find a hotel within your budget, you were bitterly regretting your lack of foresight. You sighed. You supposed that the saying was right. Slow and steady wins the race.

As if it had felt your determination dwindling, the crushing sound echoed in your mind in response. You bit your lip, bile rising in your throat. You hadn't been able to forget about your last dream. It looped in your head like a broken record. Even if impulsively leaving your country was one of your worst ideas ever, the quicker you settled your daydream problem the sooner you'd be back to your normal life.

Your weary steps lead you to an indoor bazaar. The smell of fried food filled your nostrils, making your stomach growl. You winced. The small homemade sandwich you had earlier couldn't compete with the appeal of street food. Unfortunately you needed to save your funds for a room. You let your gaze wander in the crowded marketplace, trying to distract yourself from the appetizing smell. Colorful stalls were full of fresh fruits, potted flowers and intricate trinkets. If you stood on your toes, you could even see a small theater representation in the farthest part of the bazaar. It was a lively place that perfectly encapsulated Sumeru’s charm.

You were about to turn back when your eyes stopped on a blue silhouette near a candy stand. You didn't know how you missed them earlier. In the brown and green crowd, their traditional clothing and their ornamented Inazuman hat stuck out like a sore thumb. They were in deep discussion with the merchant. Turquoise fabric trailed behind them, floating in the wind.

Without a second thought, you cut through the crowd, never leaving the stranger from your sight. Your heart leaped in your chest when they left the small stall.

"Hey, you with the hat! Stop!" you yelled. To your dismay, the Inazuman did not even slow down. They must have been too far to hear you. Breaking into a sprint, you called again. "Hat guy!"

You breached the distance in a few seconds. Just as you were about to grab their shoulder, they turned around. A cold hand snatched your wrist, making you wince. When you looked at its owner, you were greeted with a deep scowl and narrowed indigo eyes.

"Don't." The man’s low voice warned you, his tone full of unspoken threats. You swallowed uncomfortably as your confidence melted away. He managed to be intimidating in spite petite stature and youthful appearance.

As he glared daggers at you, you were hit by a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You pressed your lips together, studying his messy black mullet and his glowing Anemo Vision. The word popped up in your head. Familiar. The stranger felt familiar.

Wiping the feeling of déjà-vu from your mind, you retreated your hand. "Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention."

"Well, now you have it," he huffed. Annoyance was written on his face. He crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

A good question, but not one you had an answer to. Running after the man was a spur of the moment decision.

Self-awareness striked you like a thunderbolt. Why were you even doing this? Your goal was to cure your daydreaming, not to throw yourself headfirst into the rabbit hole nor to annoy a stranger with the tales of an imaginary character.

He clicked his tongue. "Hurry. I don't have all day."

You huffed. It was true that you were taking too much time to gather your thoughts but he didn’t have to be rude about it.

"I'm looking for someone,” you said tentatively. It was the closest you could get from the truth without annoying him. Considering his foul mood, the stranger would have walked away if you told him you were looking for the lack of existence of Kunikuzushi, the Sixth Harbinger, the person who tried to become an Archon, someone that only existed in your mind.

The man didn't answer, encouraging you to continue with a movement on the head. His black bangs flew in the light breeze. Now that you had a clearer view of his face, the man seemed more bored than irritated. He wanted the conversation to be over with but he still had the patience to hear you out. This realization gave you the courage you needed to talk again.

"Their clothes are quite similar to yours, but they're red and black. They also have a hat. A huge one." You opened your arms in emphasis.

He scrunched his brows together, looking at you like you were an idiot. "Right. Because the length of their hat is the most important detail you could give me," he deadpanned.

You fight the urge to sigh. "I wasn't done. I don't know much about them, but they're linked to the Fatui." The stranger's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was back to glaring at you, his face closed. Unsettled by this sudden tension, you quickly added. "Probably. I'm still not sure about that." There was no Sixth Fatui Harbinger, after all. Your brain had made it up.

"Of course." His voice was drier than earlier. What little interest he had in your discussion had melted at the mention of the Fatui. You scrunched your brows. You swore you could read another emotion than ire in his eyes, even if you didn’t know what. "Anything else I should know about that... Friend of yours?"

You racked your brain for more details. There was a lot to say about the person in your dream. Their lack of heart, their coup attempt in Sumeru, their bloody killings, the experimentations they underwent... Nothing you could talk about in public without looking crazy, in sum. The only thing you could still mention was...

"Their name is Scaramouche."

The man went rigid. "What did you say?" he gawked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Scaramouche. I think that's their name?" Truthfully, they were given so many names that it probably wasn't their real one. But it was the one that came up most in your dreams.

As if it caught onto the tense atmosphere, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. You barely noticed it, focused on the horror shining in the man's eyes. He couldn't believe what you had just said. His piercing eyes analyzed every inch of you with a newfound distrust.

“Nobody should be able to-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. Recognition flashed across his face. "Wait. You...!"

His face went from surprise to disgust in the blink of an eye. You had barely the time to react before he pulled his hat down over his head, his scowl peeking from behind the rim.

"Of course fate would string something like this..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Has it ever made anything easy for me?"

You watched as crossed his arms, lifting his head to glare at you as if you had purposely wronged him. You tried to appease him by apologizing. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Despite your question, you knew you had done nothing worth this cold attitude. You didn’t know why he was overreacting, why he was looking at you like dirt under his soles. It’s as if he was personally offended by your description of the Balladeer. You blinked as pieces fell into place. An Inazuman with a strange hat and dark hair, just like the one you were looking for. Could it be…?

"Is that you? Are you Scaram—"

The man turned around before you could finish your sentence, the blue fabric tied to his hat smacking you in the face. You yelped in pain.

"Don’t use this name." You couldn't see what kind of expression he was making but his flat tone told you enough.

You were standing in front of the protagonist of your dreams.

Reality shattered around you. There were only two reasons for your dreams to be visions of the past. You either were a seer —which was unlikely considering you had no elemental affinity— or you were using your soulmate link. Realization sank in. You had a soulmate. Everything finally clicked together: why you had Scaramouche's memories, why he recognized you, why you never stopped having those dreams… It was because the universe had deemed you a perfect fit.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were not an anomaly without a soulmate, like you were led to believe. You just didn't pay attention to the signs.

"Wait a minute," you gasped. No matter how happy you were about your discovery, it came a lot of terrible implications. "Does it mean that everything is real? The Fatui, the taking over Sumeru part, everything ?"

Kunikuzushi immediately clammed up. Not even bothering to look at you, he said without a trace of emotion. "This conversation is over."

Strong wind currents flared all around you with him acting as the epicenter of the small storm he invoked. You stared at him with wide eyes. He was getting away!

"Please!"

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The man gave you the dirtiest glare from above his shoulder as the miniature hurricane intensified. But you didn't let him go. You sank your nails deeper into his arm.

"Listen to me!” you said through gritted teeth. “I'm not gonna pretend I know everything about you because that's not true. I only know glimpses of you. Parts of your past that don't make any sense."

You closed your eyes as the memories flooded your mind. The Gnosis, the laboratory, the crushing sound as he fell down... You didn't understand what those events meant to him. What kind of story they told. It was like you were in front of an incomplete puzzle where all edge pieces went missing. It was impossible to get the big picture no matter how many combinations you tried.

That didn’t mean the little bits of memories you had taught you nothing about him.

"You were hurt. That much is certain."

Your words only rekindled the fire of his ire. He bared his teeth at you. “Huh?! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He stabbed your chest with his finger, forcing you to take a step back. “Seeing glimpses of my past doesn’t give you the right to assume things about me, you worm.”

"But it’s not an assumption. You lived a very long and lonely life. A bloody one too.” You briefly wondered if contrary to you, he had grown accustomed to seeing his hands covered in crimson. You let out a shaky exhale. “But you cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago."

You had the experience to back yourself up. You still weren't sure what the Fatui thing was all about but if you could barely believe it after seeing his memories firsthand, no one else could.

"See, you’re just assuming things again out of pity," Scaramouche snapped. He tore himself from your grasp, sneering. "Guess what? I don't need you to feel sorry about me."

You shook your head. "I wasn't about to."

You were never going to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the crackling of electricity as you saw someone charred alive, the coolness of a cadaver against your skin. You couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for this man. It wasn't what someone like him sought.

Pity was for those forced to live under the ruling of unfairness, not able to object to its cruel laws. Forgiveness was for those that were mothered by this tyrant and dedicated their life to preach its teachings. For now, the Balladeer deserved none of them.

When you opened your eyes, Scaramouche had tipped his hat down, obscuring his expression. His grip on his crossed arms was so tight you thought he was going to break his fingers.

"You don't understand. You can't understand."

His voice was lower than earlier, almost like a growl.

It wasn't enough to scare you.

"You're right," you admitted. "I cannot understand you. But I really want to."

Maybe it was because you knew him on a deeper level than a stranger, but something had changed. You were starting to notice it. The hurt he masked behind a veil of fury. Until his words, you thought he was just an eternally angry man, bitter at the world and at his fate. Now, you wondered if he was just someone who lived through too much. Someone who was ready to beg and kill himself for a glimpse of a better future.

He snorted, disbelief written across his face. “A human like you, understanding someone like me? Don’t make me laugh.” He leaned towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back, withholding his stare with all of the courage you could summon. His mouth contorted into a twisted smile. “You’ve seen what I am capable of. Not only are you fundamentally unable to relate to a fraction of my existence, you’re also unable to withstand it. Understanding me will only bring you trouble.”

“You already do.” Scaramouche didn't utter a word, turning his back to you. You didn't let it get to you, instead squeezing your hand against your chest. "I spent my life stuck with visions I couldn't control. Seeing your memories at random moments robbed me from precious moments with the people I love. From enjoying a normal life, one where I don’t have to fear falling asleep."

Your hands were shaking. Whether from anger or sorrow, you didn’t know. Scaramouche was the one assuming things. You may only be a human, one similar to thousands that have come before you, but you knew how it felt to be misunderstood. How it felt not to belong. Nobody had believed you for decades, nor understood why you were so uncomfortable when it came to sleeping. Even your friends couldn’t wrap their heads about your constant worry of getting lost in the daydreaming. You might as well have been from a different species.

You took a deep exhale. Your anger faded away as quickly as it came. "I feel close to you, no matter how strange it sounds. You've always been a small part of me.” Determination seeped through your tone. “So I won't be able to move on as long as I don't know what's going on with my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word rolled strangely on your tongue. It was the first time you were saying it out loud.

Scaramouche gagged at your word choice. "I'm not looking for a lover." Disgust laced his voice. Seems like you were not the only one who felt weird about the whole situation.

You shook his concern with a wave of the hand. "Me neither. I'm looking for an explanation. A timeline in a chronological order, if possible."

Your attempt at a joke fell flat as silence fell between the two of us. Your face shifted into a frown. Had you been too insistent?

"It's alright if you find the situation strange," you said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that you saw glimpses of my life. This is quite embarrassing...."

You didn't have the most exciting life but there were private moments you wanted nobody to see. Especially not your soulmate.

He shot you an uninterested look, examining the dirt beneath his nails. "I could not care less about your mundane life."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to get interested in your life as much as you were in his, but was that supposed to be comforting? Unsure how to respond, your face contorted into a polite smile.

None of you said a word after that. You didn't dare move either. Weariness taking over you, you watched as the back of his hair fluttered in the breeze, joining the hypnotizing dance of the blue ribbons. The sound of animated conversations and the ringing of distant bells filled the otherwise tense silence.

You were about to leave when Scaramouche let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind. He finally turned to you, uttering a single word.

"Wanderer."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Come again?"

He rolled his eyes but repeated it anyway. "Wanderer. That’s my name. Not Scaramouche or whatever name you heard in my memories."

You felt your entire face lit up. You could recognize an olive branch when you saw one. "I won't call you anything else, I promise!"

He sighed at your sudden excitement, shaking his head. You were starting to recognize when he was truly irritated and when he was acting annoyed by habit. This time, the look in his eyes didn't match his bored pout. It was not soft by any means, but he did not glare daggers at you anymore.

"I still don’t think someone like you can handle the tale of centuries of existence.” He clicked his tongue. “That being said, I suppose it would be entertaining to see you try. Come to the entrance of Sumeru city in two hours."

Your eyes widened. You thought that you wouldn’t get more than his name, and now he gave you the opportunity to explain his life ? You had half the mind to pinch yourself awake.

"Don't be late Wanderer!"

He scoffed, readjusting the position of his ginormous hat. “If I were, you'd scream my name in the streets of Sumeru until you get ahold of me. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, really?" A smug smirk took place on his lips. He cleared his throat before taking a high-pitched voice. " 'Hey, you with the hat, stop right there ! I really want to talk to you! Stop, I say !' "

You gasped in shock. "So you actually heard me! Do you not stop when someone calls you?"

"I do. I just don't typically talk to pipsqueaks."

His grin deepened at seeing your offended expression. He even let out a short laugh. You playfully punched the cheeky bastard on the shoulder, not putting much force in the blow.

Wanderer didn't budge. He instead grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. His eyebrows were pinched together in irritation. "Don’t think you can punch me and get out unscathed, kid."

Despite his words, his grasp on you was light, as if he was careful not to hurt you. It was easy to slip from his hold. He was entertaining you, you realized. Considering how harsh he had been when you first had tried to touch him, a light scold was nothing.

Mimicking a fighting stance, you started shifting your weight from left to right.

"You're the one who's gonna bite the dust! I can knock out someone with a single blow!" You punched the air to demonstrate, a smile blooming on your face. "I can take anyone in a fight!"

Wanderer pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by your playful attitude. "Celestia above, not another Childe..."

You pouted at his words. "Are you calling me a child again? I'll let you know that I'm a fully-fledged adult!" You may not be as old as the immortal puppet but you were no kid by human standards. You were only teasing Wanderer because you needed something light after your heavy talk. He couldn’t base his whole perception of you on a speech stemming from your sleep-deprived self…

He clicked his tongue in his mouth before looking at you directly in the eyes. "You talk big for someone I've seen fall in the stairs several times."

Horror washed over you. Every little embarrassing moment you lived flooded your mind. The fact that Wanderer had seen some of them sent warmth pooling in your cheeks.

"You said you didn't care about my life!" you said, absolutely mortified.

"It doesn't mean watching you was not mildly entertaining. Why would I focus on boring Fatui politics talk when I could be the witness to the mess of your teenage years?” Your expression was decomposing by the second, to his delight. "I especially liked it when—"

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. Aren't you busy?"

His gaze fell into a small pouch at his sides. "I do, actually. Buer must be looking for me."

"Buer? Who's that?" You didn't remember hearing this name in his memories.

"The Dendro Archon," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Teyvat.

"...Right. Of course.”

Maybe you were a bit too optimistic about his ability to open up to you.

Wanderer couldn't believe himself. Three betrayals should have been enough to teach him that closeness only brought pain. Whether because of misunderstandings, lies or the unpredictable and unescapable scythe of Death, the ending was always the same: he was fated to end up hurt. Alone. Cursing himself for loving too much.

He snorted. He knew all of that and yet here he was, wrapping his job up before his meeting with you. How pathetic.

Part of him was not surprised about this new twist of events. Fate liked to throw him in the most ironic situations. He was currently going on errands for Buer, the same Archon he had tried to supplant her months ago and who took him prisoner. Randomly meeting his soulmate in the middle of the streets was not the most unexpected thing to have happened to him. Far from it. At that point, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

When Wanderer entered the sanctuary of Surasthana, the Archon was sitting on her swing, humming to herself. The melancholic tune didn’t sound familiar but the lyrics in old Sumerian sang the tale of a love long gone. If he rolled his eyes at the song choice, he was polite enough to wait until the end of the song before clearing his throat.

Buer perked up, finally noticing him. She jumped from the swing and greeted him with a small wave.

"Hat guy!" He cocked an eyebrow at the oh so creative sobriquet, making her giggle. "I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think that you had forgotten about me."

"As if my memory would get faulty. I was held up by someone." Holding his hat to pin it into place, he sat on the lush grass. Reunions with Buer always took a while. He might as well make himself comfortable.

Familiar curious green eyes landed on him. "Was it a friend from the Akademiya?"

He rolled his eyes. "I had never seen them before."

He had expected this flow of questions. Buer was very invested in his relationships with other people– well, rather his lack of. She had made him participate in social events like the Interdarshan championship to socialize. She even enrolled him in the Akademiya. Her argument was that it would help him understand humanity better, as well as himself.

The results were arguably mixed. Wanderer admittedly tolerated people a bit better than before. They were predictable creatures but they could be entertaining. Sometimes. On the other hand, he had not grown close to anyone since he started attending classes. Sure, some students followed him around, gushing about the mysterious “hat guy” and throwing a birthday party for him, but he would not call them friends. They were classmates at most. It was for the best: it didn’t matter if Buer claimed he was progressing regarding socialization, talking to him was an experience he wished on no one.

She didn’t seem to agree with him. Excitement and pride shone in her eyes. "Every stranger is a friend in potentiality. That is what makes new meetings so exciting: you might be talking to your new favorite person in Teyvat," she beamed, taking place near him.

"If you say so."

Friendship was a human concept. Something he could neither fully understand or get. Melodramatic speeches and lengthy explanations meant nothing to him. That is why Wanderer didn’t try to counter her argument. There was no point in talking about something he knew nothing about.

What he did know was that Buer was wrong. You were no stranger to him.

His gaze fell to his hands. The first time he had seen your memories, Scaramouche had thought he was defective. He had never been able to dream until then. His creator didn’t see the interest in allowing him to do so. The only reason he knew what dreams were was because Niwa liked to recount his when they worked together in the forge.

One second he was lying down in the laboratory of the Fatui, the other he was in a small bed. Piles of toys were scattered around him, decorating what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Why on Teyvat was he here? Scaramouche tried to move his arm but it did not move an inch. He cursed under his breath. For some reason, his body refused to listen to him. If it was Il Dottore’s scheme, the man was dead.

Without a warning, his head turned. He was greeted by the reflection of a small child in the mirror of the wardrobe. You.

His mind had been pure madness when he had come back to his senses. He had the time to zap five machines before the Doctor arrived, complaining that his research was being destroyed. The Tsaritsa, the stars, fate itself... He had cursed everything he could think of for giving him a soulmate. There was no other reason behind his sudden ability to “dream”. Fate had decided to intertwine your destinies together. The thought only made him more angry.

He couldn't be mad at the child you were, though. You were barely five. No matter how much of an unfeeling person he was, Scaramouche was not about to hold the situation against someone as young as you. A small part of him, one he had tried to bury for centuries, had even ached to hold your chubby hands in his when he had seen you reach for your reflection.

With the impossibility of breaking a soulmate bond, the Fatui Harbinger had been forced to watch you as you grew. He learnt about your favorite color, the school subject you liked best, the names of your childhood friends, the color of your bedroom, all the details of your ordinary life. He was a spectator to mundane moments, to victories and horrific failures alike.

You had transformed from a kid with shining eyes to a determined adult before his eyes.

If Buer was right and that all friends started as strangers, it meant that you would never be able to grow close to him. You already knew him.

Wanderer plucked a few strands of grass, watching how they fell to the ground. No, hoping for you two to be friends was wishful thinking. You had seen the atrocities he had done as a Fatui Harbinger. Once he filled the gap in your knowledge, you would not want anything to do with him. His erasure from existence didn’t excuse the actions of his past life.

He would not blame you. He deserved your hate. At the end of the day you were another name on the endless list of his victims. Because of your soulmate link, you had lived your entire life plagued by visions you didn't understand, othered because of things out of your control. You were the proof that Wanderer brought suffering just by existing. That he wasn't a fundamentally good person, like the one Buer and Traveler insisted he was. You had every right to loathe him.

That was why he accepted your offer. If he explained everything to you, if he confirmed that every "dream" of yours was true, you would move on. You would forgive Fate for giving you such an unloving person as a soulmate. Maybe you would even want to settle down with someone else... At the end of the day, you'd be free from the chain of destiny. So would he.

The world would let him do a good thing, for a change.

"While it's true that talking it out will appease both of your minds, you shouldn't only see them as a way to atone for the sins of your past life," Buer intervened.

Wanderer gave her an unimpressed look, throwing away the rest of the grass strands. "One day, you will have to answer for all of those breaches of privacy before the General Mahamatra."

"Talking about your thoughts with someone else can help you sort them out and gain new insight. I felt like you could benefit from it."

Her growing smile told him that she didn't feel sorry for reading his mind without his consent. He huffed. She was lucky he had grown accustomed to this habit of hers.

She hummed as she stepped in front of him. "Agreeing to a meeting to ease your guilty conscience is not a bad thing in itself. The problem is that you’re assuming that they can only hate you."

“What other reaction could they have?” The answer appeared in his mind before he finished his sentence. “Pity?” Pronouncing the word made his insides hurl. Wanderer would rather feel your wrath than your pity. The former didn’t feel as disgusting as the other;

Buer shook her head. “That’s not it either. It’s alright if you don’t yet understand Wanderer, you will see in due time.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He preferred it when she used complex metaphors. At least he had the opportunity to understand what was going on in her mind, contrary to when she used vague words of wisdom like a drowsy prophet.

"If I can give you one more piece of advice, you should give this relationship a chance." Seeing his scowl of disgust, she explained herself. "I'm not telling you to pursue a romance with them. Just don't assume that tonight is the only time you meet. Keep your mind and your heart open."

Despite her smile, she had a serious look in her eyes. It was the face of wisdom in all of its assured glory. Wanderer closed his eyes. It was easy for him to forget she was not a young child, like the one he took care of all those centuries ago.

"There is a reason why they're your soulmate," Buer said. "Don't you want to discover why?"

"Someone like them has nothing in common with me."

Your memories told the tale of a simple life. In an ideal world, a normal person like you wouldn't have been paired up with him. How it happened in this one was a mystery. If he was inclined to pity others, Wanderer would feel bad for you. Being his soulmate only brought you experiences that you couldn’t talk about to anyone.

“You cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago.” Their hands shook as they lifted their head to meet his gaze. He stilled. He had expected to read loneliness and fire in their eyes. He only found the glow of loneliness. It was the same he had seen in your reflection all those years ago.

Wanderer hid his face behind his hand. He supposed he was wrong. He could see a few ressemblances between you and him. That didn’t necessarily mean you would become friends.

"Don't expect too much from this meeting. I only plan on retelling my story, not on learning more about them."

Gentle hands covered his, pulling them away from his face before lightly squeezing them.

“You don’t need to. You already know them better than anyone else.” Buer's voice was as soft as her expression.

He opened his mouth but no snarky counter-argument came to his mind. From what little insight Wanderer had gained on friendship over the course of his life, sharing experiences with a potential friend wasn’t enough. You also had to learn about the other person's personality, their taste, the little things they did… Such a process was too much work for a relationship that would eventually decay. But the man already knew you, more intimately than any person ever would.

If to be friends was to learn about someone, he had become yours a long time ago.

Wanderer fought the urge to shield his face behind his hat. It would be as good as admitting to Buer her words had struck a chord. No way he would embarrass himself like that.

“You're not going to give up, are you?" he sighed.

“While I do hope you will form a bond with them, I will not hold it against you if it doesn’t happen.” She took some time to think, trying to come up with a convincing imagery. “Fate is a tricky concept. It steers you in a specific direction but it cannot force you to follow it. No matter what, you can always make your own way.”

He let the words sink in as he laid down on the cool grass. From the Sanctuary, he could hear the entire city’s hustle and bustle. The sound of the streets mixed with the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the branches.

He felt Buer sitting next to him. Her voice interrupted his quiet reverie, sounding cheekier than usual.

"Don't I deserve something in return for my good advice?"

Her eyes were focused on the small pouch hanging at his side. He had forgotten about it, their conversation had distracted him. Wanderer shook his head in defeat. The Archon didn’t need to use her mind-reading powers to know about the actions of her subjects.

“If you want to be paid for giving lectures, you should think about becoming a teacher at the Akademiya.”

“I would deprive someone from the joy of educating young minds.”

His lips curled into a grin. “Right. Poor them.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he relented. He unclipped the package from his belt and gave it to her, not bothering to sit back up. Buer tried to open it carefully. It was so full that in spite of her efforts, morsels of candied Ajilenakh nuts spilled on the ground.

Wanderer frowned at the sight of the mess. Something churned inside him. If he had known it would be wasted, he wouldn’t have bought so much food.

“Be more careful,” he chastised her. “It’s expensive.”

Buer shot him a perplexed look. He scoffed in response, averting his gaze.

"I didn't buy them. The merchant gave free samples to bystanders and he couldn't take no for an answer."

Another white lie from him. He had noticed that Buer didn't have much candy left and since he had to go to the Bazaar anyway, he had decided to buy some. He watched as she inspected a piece of candy, rolling it between her fingers. He didn't get why she was head over heels for those disgustingly sweet nuts but he had to keep her in good spirits. Otherwise, she might decide to lock him back in his cell. That and seeing her smile so much sent warmth running in his chest.

Her eyes crinkled, amused. "A free sample? How nice," she said, popping one of the delicacies in her mouth. He supposed there was no fooling the Archon of Knowledge. She pointed at him. "Your friend hasn't had the opportunity to try food from Sumeru, have they? You could bring them to Lambad’s and keep some of the Ajilenakh nuts to snack on."

“We have other things to do than distract ourselves with culinary tourism.”

“It’s not a distraction! See it as a bonding experience that will allow you to grow closer.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “As if I needed something like this to become their friend.”

He stopped after his own sentence. He blinked, not believing what he had just said.

Wanderer didn't know how he ended up in this situation. Truly. He was never one to let Fate decide for him. He defied it at each opportunity, fighting with all he had. This shouldn't have been any different. He was a traveler, an outcast, an outsider. He had no use for a soulmate– a lover. Especially not a human one, one that would be gone in a blink of his immortal life.

He had no use for a lover, but he supposed that if he had to befriend a single person in the world, it may as well be you.

If you liked this work, please reblog and leave a comment or an ask!

#scaramouche x reader #platonic genshin x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #gender neutral reader #scaramouche #Wanderer #genshin fanfic #Platonic genshin impact #Platonic genshin

165 notes · View notes

aliaology · 8 months ago

Text

SO AMERICAN (short)

SUMMARY: in which holtzy and you are dating, and you are very much in love with him

PAIRINGS: alexander holtz x fem!hughes!reader

WARNINGS: none just fluff :)

driving on the, right side road. he says im pretty, wearing his clothes. and hes got hands that, make hell seem cold. feet on the dashboard, he’s like a poem i wish i wrote. i wish i wrote.

you were the prime example of ‘passenger princess’ but in your very own car. i mean— it wasn’t necessarily your fault that you weren’t the best suited to drive in the city. no no— it was jacks because all he did was drive you and luke around.

but your brother was not the one driving. no, it was your boyfriend who was. you also never understood why he loved to drive your car. but the actual reason was because it was so… you. and he loved that.

your feet were propped on the dashboard, notebook and pen in your lap and hand as you mindlessly scribbled words together. alex’s hand was on your thigh, the warmth from his hand spreading throughout your body like a wildfire.

his fingers traced lightly on your bare thighs, pinky almost sliding up and hitting your shorts with every move he made. the bumps in the road made it so his hand would lightly hit your skin.

your eyes were averted to the pen and paper as you eagerly wrote down word after word, his hand squeezing your thigh every few minutes.

as he squeezed your thigh one more time, you looked over to him. he was the epitome of a love poem and you wished you were the one to write it. with a soft smile on your face, you leaned closer to him and placed your lips onto his cheek.

and he laughs at all my jokes, and he says im so american! oh god, its just not fair of him to make me feel this much. go anywhere he goes, and he says im so american! oh god, im gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up. i might just be in la-la-la-la-love.

you two were at a restaurant, smiling at each other. you spoke, hushed and quietly, almost with embarrassment. your words caused him to burst with laughter, hand slapping over his mouth as his shoulders shook.

his reaction caused you to giggle, a bright smile on your face. the smile would quickly turn to one of embarrassment when you ask a waitress for a meal— one that you have trouble pronouncing. and he laughs as the waitress leaves.

you had a frown on your face— not one of sadness but one of ‘are you kidding me?’

alex snorted as he spoke, “you are so american.”

feigning a look of offense, your eyes narrowed slightly, giving a look of hurt. this just caused alex to chuckle more before grabbing your hand and pressing a small kiss to it.

“how about we just get out of here instead? i think i’d very much rather eat in.” he suggested.

and so you went wherever he did. you ditched the restaurant. you ditched the fancy dinner, and you went home. when you got home; you both eagerly sat on the couch and just watched a movie.

god im so boring, and im so rude! cant have a conversation if its not all about you. the way you dress and, the books you read. i really love my bed but man its hard to sleep when he’s with me. when he’s with me…!

you sat with your friends, picking at your nails as they spoke. their conversation being something about style— something about clothes. you weren’t too interested, you weren’t even talking.

“anything to add, y/n?” one asked.

you shrugged. “i don’t know— style wise i really like alex’s and maybe i’m just biased but it seems super comfy. shockingly he also has a great taste in books and—“

“girl all you do is take about your man!” your friend cut you off.

another friend piped up, “can’t say i blame her. i mean we’ve been friends for what? seven years? in that time frame shes had one boyfriend and he kinda sucked. if i had a man treat me the way hers does, i’d be plastering that everywhere.”

your last friend shrugged. “i get it— honestly i want to hear more about this guy. she talks about him but its never enough because someone interrupts her.”

“its fine— all you really need to know about him is that he treats me very well, and i love him.”

after your little get together with your friends, you made your way to your apartment. the sun was setting and you wanted to lay in bed. but as soon as you got home, locked up and went to your room and saw your boyfriend, you knew for a fact you wouldn’t be going to sleep.

i apologize if its a little too much, just a little too soon. but if the conversation ever were to come up i don’t wanna assume this stuff. but aint it rough? think im in love!

#hockey #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #new jersey #new jersey devils #jack hughes #alexander holtz x y/n #alexander holtz x reader #alexander holtz imagine #alex holtz #alexander holtz #holtz10 #10

273 notes · View notes

sister-lucifer · 2 years ago

Text

Apology, With Tears

Lucifer x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst/Comfort

Summary: Lucifer comforts you during a hard time, and reminds you that your feelings are always welcome with him

Content/Warnings: Comfort, guilt, angst with happy ending, implied venting (the source of anguish itself isn’t specified, please project whatever issue you may be having onto this fic /srs)

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

“I-I’m sorry….”

Your voice was so small. Shockingly, terrifyingly so. For a moment Lucifer froze, unsure if he had really heard it. The words were as fragile as a single snowflake landing on the bare concrete, ready to break and melt into oblivion at any moment. They were as quiet as the coo of a dove in a raging thunderstorm, and yet they shook Lucifer to his very core.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, Lucifer…”

There was a small part of him that thought maybe the repetition would bring clarity, but no such luck. Gently he hooked two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up towards him in a slow manner so that you’d have ample opportunity to resist him if you’d like.

You did not. You allowed him to meet your eyes with his.

That was the softest you’ve ever seen his gaze.

The sharp brows that were usually taut with annoyance were furrowed just slightly in such a way that you could tell Lucifer didn’t even know he was doing it. He would never purposely let concern show so obviously, but it seems he was preoccupied with other, more pressing concerns at the moment.

Something sorrowful in the swirling red of his eyes stabbed into your heart with a pang of guilt. To know you had caused Lucifer—the chronically overworked head of house—such worry brought a heaving sob from you.

The last of your resilience disappeared like a flame in the wind. The tears flowed freely, and there was no stopping them. They ran fast down your cheeks and fell into your shaking palms and stained your shirt. They were shamefully, burning hot, like liquid fire on your face, but once they fell to your lap you could not feel them. You brought up an arm to cover your eyes, the tears soaking into your sleeve and soon after your skin.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I—“

“Please, please stop saying that, my love….”

The words are surprising, but even in your shock you can’t bring yourself to look up at Lucifer.

“Why…” He begins, at a loss for words for the first time since he can remember.

“…Why do you keep apologizing?”

You thought you’d have an immediate answer, and yet when you open your mouth no words come. That should be an easy question. You knew why.

Didn’t you?

You have to search a bit more before you even think of speaking.

“I just…I feel bad for…b-being like this—“

“Being like what?!” Lucifer interrupts, and now his confusion and desperation is showing through. He’s not raising his voice and yet his words hold a sense of urgency akin to that of a scream for help. He isn’t angry, but he is so overwhelmingly worried.

“I…I-I shouldn’t…” You have to fish around in the word pool a bit more before pulling out the right ones. “I shouldn’t be…making you deal with this, i-it’s my problem, I can handle it, I…”

The pause is heavy. Unbearably, crushingly heavy.

“I shouldn’t be doing this to you…”

It is in this moment that Lucifer’s black heart shatters into countless pieces. The larger fragments linger in their place, the smaller splinters go flying off in all directions. It is likely that he will never recover all of them. There is no way to when something like this happens. He knows that you have felt the same. You have lost many pieces of your heart along the way here.

Fortunately, Lucifer has some to spare.

“You aren’t doing anything to me, my love…” He assures you, taking your hands in his. His grip is loose, encouraging you to follow his movements instead of forcing you.

“You talk about yourself as if you are some terrible, laborious thing that must be dealt with against all will. I’m not here because I am forced to or because I feel I must, or else. If I thought this wasn’t a serious matter I would have walked out of this room long ago.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Living with six unruly little brothers means Lucifer has a very high tolerance for emotional turmoil. You’ve seen him shoo his bickering brothers away or send an injured Mammon off with no more than a ‘good luck’ and a wave of his hand. He knew his brothers could deal with themselves.

But you? You were not them, but he still knew exactly what you needed.

“You are not some heavy burden forced on my shoulders, I choose to be here. You have nothing to apologize for because I am asking you to seek me out for help.”

A gloved thumb wipes a tear from your cheek, and for the first time you meet Lucifer’s gaze on your own. His expression is lighter somehow, brows not pressed quite so tightly together.

“Hardships cannot be endured alone, that is a fact. They are meant to be shared. So please, no more ‘sorry.’ Apologies are for when you do something wrong…like how a certain twin keeps eating the drywall in the common room…”

You can’t help but laugh at that. It’s weak, hardly intelligible through your labored breathing, but Lucifer hears it.

The smile that crosses his lips is merely a ghost, gone in a moment.

But you see it.

It comforts you in such a way that it destroys every defensive wall you had been fighting so hard to keep up. Suddenly you’re reaching for him, gripping onto his uniform shirt with aching fingers before pulling him to you. A loud sob echoes through you as you hide your face against his chest, hot tears leaving trails down his button up.

If you were anyone else in any other scenario, Lucifer would probably be a bit appalled at how you were ruining his freshly ironed uniform.

And yet, the thought never even crossed his mind.

A tender hand strokes the back of your head, and the other ushers you up into a more comfortable sitting position in his lap.

He doesn’t shush you, or tell you it’s okay, because it isn’t. But it doesn’t have to be. He knows you will calm yourself in your own time.

Until then, he is more than content to stay right here.

#angst #fluff fic #comfort #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me angst #obey me fluff #obey me comfort #lucifer obey me #lucifer x reader #lucifer x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #lucifer fluff #lucifer angst

1K notes · View notes

deanmarywinchester · 1 month ago

Text

best sf/f/horror I read in 2024

hello esteemed colleagues. here’s stuff I read in 2024 that I liked, in no particular order outside of the ranking tiers. find previous years of this reclist here

top 5

the bright sword by lev grossman: “lev grossman wrote a shockingly melancholy, hopeful, and expansive novel that hurts a little to read, about a young man who dreams of the age of heroes but finds that that age is over” and other unsurprising statements. this one is a take on Arthurian legend that happens after Arthur is dead, and is really interesting to me for how it portrays England as abandoned once by Rome’s great architects and then once more by the magic of Arthur’s court. with the age of legends twice dead, can anyone bring it back for real or can they only try to make it RETVRN?

the traitor baru cormorant + sequels by seth dickinson: there was a version of this post, before I went back and checked my list of what I read this year, where the top 5 was only Seth Dickinson books. these books are about how far you’ll descend into evil (ie how many war crimes you’ll commit as an imperial operative) to save your colonized home. they’re all good but the first one goes CRAZY. the author was a police bias researcher and it shows. portrays lesbian desire really really well. “hard fantasy” isn’t REALLY a thing but it’s this, they’re barely fantasy and more political drama

exordia by seth dickinson also: what if a reality-warping anomaly was hotly pursued by the US military while they were hotly pursued by aliens with planet-killing power? what if you got your whole village killed as a child and now you’re in a romcom with an alien? the Acknowledgements say, nearly word for word, “i wrote this between Barus for fun because those really take it out of me. anyway I’d like to thank the researchers who helped me with astrophysics, nuclear weapon functions, Kurdish feminism and history, and translation into five languages.” read if you like meticulously researched thrillers, Annihilation, and Challengers situations.

everything for everyone by eman adelhadi and m. e. o’brien: told with a framing device whereby the authors mention their own experiences with activism and revolution after the 2020s and compile an oral history of the future anarchist New York Commune, each chapter of this book is an interview with someone about a different aspect of how they contributed to revolution and setting up a new society. my gripe with this book is that I wish it talked more about problems that will still (or newly) exist in utopia, but I still loved it.

we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson: I finished this book and immediately went to that blog that was running the literary incest tournament earlier this year because I was certain that Merricat and Constance had placed and lo and behold they had. those gothic themes are gothic themeing. read if you want jackson’s theme of small-town distrust and paranoia and isolation taken to the extreme

honorable mentions

the raven tower by ann leckie: what I love about ann leckie is her ability to write non-human protagonists without sci-fi jargon and with totally alien concerns and viewpoints that you can nonetheless buy into. this protagonist is a rock living on a hill that is a local god. read if you like folktales, loners, and twist endings.

the sapling cage by margaret killjoy: even though this is middle grade, all you had to say to me was “Margaret From Podcasts does transfem anarchist Song of the Lioness” and I was in. in a medieval fantasy world without a concept of transness, a trans girl swaps places with her friend so her friend can become a knight and she can become a witch and discover who is leaching the life from the forests for their own gain. the witch politics/interpersonal drama is done with the eye of someone who’s lived in communes most of her life and the way it straddles lingering love of knight tales and distrust of armed people with the legal right to kill you is refreshing

do you dream of terra two by temi oh: the most elite graduates of a cutthroat boarding school are selected for a mission to explore a potentially habitable planet in this character-driven meditation on what it takes to believe in something you can’t see and may have to give up your whole life for

monstrilio: a piece of flesh from a woman’s dead son grows into a person of its own, initially shaped like a monster but molded by his parents into a more-or-less normal-looking young man with a taste for human flesh. cringe moment but this is what Jack Supernatural could have been. to me. litfic with themes of monstrousness/normality, grief, and the various meanings of consuming flesh.

long live evil by sarah rees brennan: listen I know how it sounds but I’m putting this book so high up this list because I had a blast. a teenage cancer patient gets isekai’d into a book series that her sister loves but that she only half remembers, and has to use her vague memory of the plot to avoid execution long enough to obtain a magic item that’ll cure her in the real world. it has something to say about how it feels to live in a body that’s healthy after being desperately sick but it’s also just catnip for your inner teen fangirl daydreaming about getting your first kiss from a tortured prince

the terraformers by annalee newitz: in three different stories of people at different times in the planet’s political development, the story of a privately-owned planet terraformed to be habitable is told. this is for you if you like future politics about privatization and the rights of non-human persons a la Murderbot

silver under nightfall by rin chupeco: this book was selected for me by my friend and favorite bookseller @literally-irreverent because i like romance IN things but I don’t usually like when romance is the whole plot. anyway this is about solving a dangerous strain of vampirism while having a vampire/vampire/vampire-hunter romance that is. mwah. chef’s kiss. read if you like politically disastrous polyamory and The Witcher

the adventures of amina al-sirafi by s. a. chakraborty: i read the daevabad trilogy and I liked it but didn’t love it, but I liked this book a lot. mostly I think it’s really fun to have a seagoing adventurer who’s a mom, and it was done with a lot of care for her perspective.

runners up

to shape a dragon’s breath by monquill blackgoose: in an alternate history New England, an indigenous teenager finds a dragon egg and must become the first non-European to attend a school for dragon riders near her island. YA with prose that skews young and easy to read but with a good story. themes of colonialism and resistance.

things have gotten worse since we last spoke by eric larocca: I don’t love larocca’s prose but I felt like this book succeeded because it’s written in internet dialogue + therefore hid larocca’s tendency to get purple prose with it. horror about the quick rabbithole that is getting socialized/groomed mostly online.

the lion will slaughter the lamb & the barrow will send what it may by margaret killjoy: novellas where a group of wandering punk-house dwellers find out what’s raising supernatural horrors and how to stop them from killing again

running close to the wind by alex rowland: this felt like an attempt to bottle the Our Flag-type chaos and comedy pirate romance vibes without feeling like straight-up fanfiction. a pathetic meow meow of an ex-intelligence agent tries to sell state secrets without getting caught aboard his ex’s ship, while the two of them bet on who can break a hot monk’s vow of chastity first

the gone world by tom sweterlitch: this felt like christopher nolan writing a detective novel, as government agents travel to parallel realities to solve a murder

autonomous by annalee newitz: in a future society, this follows a scientist on the run from the governments and pharma companies that are out to get her for her work to make patented medications available on the black market, as she tries to fix a mistake she made in making an addictive treatment available to the public. this book is broadly about intellectual property and about the concept of property at all

the deep sky by yume kitasei: weirdly this book is a very different take on the same concept as another book on this list, do you dream of terra-two, where graduates of an elite school are sent on a generation ship to start a new colony. the twist is that all the characters are expected to bear two children to carry on the generation ship, which leads to some wild mostly-unexplored gender dynamics. this one is much more sci-fi/mystery to Terra-Two’s character-driven drama.

the atlas six by olivie blake: well-written dark-academia thriller that is obvious booktok fodder. with the vibes of the mortal instruments (everyone is so hot and powerful and tortured!) meets the secret history, a group of young magicians is recruited to learn the secrets of the library of alexandria

Ursula, kill this clown: dishonorable mentions

I don’t have enough dishonorable mentions for their own post this year but HOLY FUCK. THE FIVE BOOKS OF ROBERT MOSES. this book is FOURTEEN hundred pages of absolute dogshit that I should have DNFed but I liked the concept so much that I wanted to find something to like in the execution. Nope! the pitch is “a dirty bomb turns NYC into a wasteland and the city is picked up and moved wholesale, with the maps of the five boroughs remaining more or less the same, into a Nevada desert refugee camp guarded by the army, and a major character is Robert Moses’ disaffected younger brother.” on a petty level, this is the New Yorkiest pitch possible for someone who absolutely doesn’t give a shit about developing the new desert New York with any interest or fidelity. on an unpetty level, this is a slop “political” “thriller” that doesn’t develop a strong political perspective and moves at a sloth pace. skip.

#yearly book roundup #reading tag #my posts #I feel like I qualified a lot of my recs here but like I just like to be a hater and I feel like it’s best to warn somebody about what migh #turn them off of a book if it’s something they personally dislike #some of this is literary and some of it is exceptionally well-executed schlock! you know. as always here on deanmarywinchester dot com #and there’s a whole gamut in between

52 notes · View notes

weebsinstash · 5 months ago

Note

I’m sending this again because it might’ve been eaten by tumblr. (this is meant for hazbin but if you wanna write about a different fandom go wild!)

I like the idea of a Reader who is obsessed with not being humanoid. Maybe they purposely get themselves hurt by angelic weapons so they have to replace body parts. They’re so infatuated with being ‘upgraded’ that they don’t even realize someone is in love with them.

idk i just like the idea of it :p

I think I might've briefly covered this idea before but I keep thinking about a computer Reader who is in a relationship with... Jesus I can't decide anymore, any of the applemedia boys individually or just all three lol, where you're a computer/bot person and one day the boys come home and you're just. Completely different

You're all happy and excited to show them how you've changed your body, or maybe you discovered you have new powers all of your own, and the change in your appearance, at least to them, is... significant. Your head might be a completely different shape. Your voice may even sound differently. You might even be taller than before.

Just the idea of you all but racing to the door because you're so happy to show them this thing you think is so cool, or maybe it's a surgery you've saved up money for and worked REALLY hard for, and just... picture their smiles literally falling off of their faces (except Alastor but, it's as close to a grimace as he can manage). They're looking at you with clear shock, and it breaks your heart instantly. This is you, and your body, and who you are, and they... they don't like it? Even if they come around and apologize to you, your trust has been broken, and maybe even for extra drama, they catch you cheating on them, because since you no longer feel comfortable with any of them, you need the approval and touch of someone who DOES find you desirable

I've actually also mostly had the inverse of your idea a lot tbh, where Reader has a very tech-y box-like computer head and is a lot like Vox, but you hate your Sinner body so so so much that you find a way to make a new one. Alastor and the rest meet Fake You which is basically just a significantly more humanoid robot that you got looking shockingly like the old human you via some magical technological knowhow, and your real body is just, intentionally hidden away in your closet, plugged into an outlet or something, and you occasionally have to let your fake body recharge and cool down, which is 'sleeping' in your bed

Like I know I'm mentioning different ideas at once, but can you even imagine it. You're dead and you're getting massive body dysmorphia because you have this giant fucking weird head and all the parts of you that made you YOU are no longer flesh and bone but something else, something entirely different, and you're so incredibly disgusted and disdainful of this change that you can't even look at reflections of yourself? Then you find out how to make this, fake secondary body you can basically just transfer your consciousness into, and it's basically like a game avatar you can customize however you want, and you make it look basically exactly how your human body used to look, maybe with some slight Hell based alterations so you don't draw too much attention like horns and a different skin color, and while all of that is kind of a form of denial, it helps you cope with the trauma of being dead

Now imagine you're now basically living every single second inside of that fake body. It's not designed to eat. It's not designed to sweat. It's not designed to cry. But you're so extremely disgusted by your true form that you do basically everything but the absolute essentials in your new body, being in it basically 18/7 (cause God knows you're not letting yourself sleep and fully recharge either; can't risk anyone finding your secret while you're asleep)

I'm serious. Just imagine what would happen if you were awkwardly forced into this situation where your 3 very pushy soulmates are constantly basically forcing their way into your apartment, and you never want to eat in front of them, you forbid them from entering your bedroom, you don't cry in front of them, and one of them eventually basically completely ignores your boundaries and wanders into your bedroom, which is not only a complete depression cave but then they find the actual you, sleeping in the closet, on the floor, not even on a bed. There's little bags of trash laying around you like this, this living device you have become never leaves this small, cramped room. Maybe you've even cut a hole in the door and installed a slot where you just pass food and trash back and forth and you hate your true body so much you don't even let it leave the closet, even have it locked from the outside or you're pushing a piece of furniture in front of the door or something

Like literally, all three men awkwardly cramming themselves in your small walk in closet to crowd around "your real body" in awe while the fake you is getting upset and telling them they need to leave, you hate them, you don't want to be with them, whatever you think might make them leave, and they're just, looking down at your body that you've been keeping in the closet, sleeping on just some laid out blankets like some kind of shitty futon, and you show signs of being damaged, almost like something has been hitting and kicking your body in fits of rage, even showing outright signs like self harm like scratches or scrapes or cuts on your body with a box cutter from your job still on the floor nearby. This closet is so cramped, with no light sources inside of it besides maybe some candles, and you've moved all your actual clothing into boxes or drawers outside the closet to completely commit the small space to being a depressing, dark prison

and then your tummy growls and, that does it, they're instantly demanding you tell them how to "transfer you" back into your original body so you can get something to eat, and quickly making it pretty clear that they're not very receptive to the fake vessel you now inhabit. You did all of this because you hated being this, this weird fucking robot, going through all these lengths to get this body that made you feel mildly human again, but then your actual soulmates just, want the body you cast aside, and yes while they are technically objectively correct that you shouldnt be coping like this, in your eyes you see them rejecting "the real you", which is the artifical you you've constructed that looks like your old human self, and are instead choosing this, monstrosity you absolutely hate that borderline disgusts you to be, and you're also feeling like they aren't being considerate to your feelings. They're SO UPSET that you treat yourself like this that once they forcibly disconnect you and force your soul and energy back into your true body, they confiscate if not outright DESTROY your little decoy, which ALSO completely breaks your heart, and they're all, weirdly fetishistic and sappy and doe eyed as you sit there on your closet floor crying tears of frustration and grief and anger from your stupid boxy head because 1. They've never seen you cry before and 2. This is the first time they're basically officially truly meeting "their real soulmate" and seeing and hearing you completely unfiltered (hostile cussing and all)

I just really like how Hazbin has a lot of fantasy and magic in it which really expands the possibility for the kinds of stories we can think about and have fun with and all of you are clearly having fun too, sending me asks way more quickly than I can answer them. We're all having fun here for sure

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere x reader #vox x reader #alastor x reader #sinprompts #hh

64 notes · View notes

awwfur · 5 months ago

Text

WoF x TWST. Yuu, Grim, and the great seven.

Master post More WoF x twst AU! More info and rambles past here

(And size chart at the bottom cause I know WoF sizes are wack)

Makes the most sense to start with Yuu first, yea?

Yuu: They get to be human still! Yay them! In this AU I wanted scavengers/humans to be extinct. Why? To make Yuu even more outta place. There’s a bit more to them as a character, but I’ll save that for the writing of the AU.

Grim: I played with the idea of making him into some kinda cat-like fantribe. But settled on making him still very cat like but with more dragon like qualities. Also bigger. And I’m still playing with the idea of him having a smaller form closer in stature to him cannon size. (So he can still ride on Yuu and have something unique to him) He was really fun and really hard to figure out, cause I almost made him more wild cat looking, but I didn’t end up liking it.

(I don’t plan on giving the ramshackle ghost their own full fledged refs, or even just head shot/bust refs. Apologies to all.)

and now onto the seven! Who I’ve turned from Disney Villains into WoF villains/antagonists (they are in order of left to right too to bottom)

Queen Scarlet: “The Scarlet queen” I know that an icewing might have been more fitting, with all the rules they have. But! I went for color pallet. I’m also heavily bias. So Scarlet gets to be queen of hearts

Queen Wasp: “The Queen of Tribes” a big reason for picking Wasp over Blister in place of scar is the fact that, well, she did rule over the silkwings for a good 50 years give or take. And I have this head cannon that she’s fair more clever than she’s depicted in the books.

Albatross: “The great seawing animus” I REALLY wanted Ursula’s WoF substitute to be a seawing. And there was NO WAY I was using whirlpool. (If you know you know) also I have him holding the drawing for the summer palace

Blister: “The sister of Brilliance” If this clever villain wasn’t getting to be the Scar stand in, she was going to be the Jafar stand in. (And yes I drew her holding the eye of onyx. If you know. You know.)

Chameleon: “The beautiful shapeshifter” okay. Scarlet would have gotten to be the Evil queen stand in if I wasn’t dead set on making her the stand in for the queen of hearts. So I had to pick the next best character. That being Chameleon. I don’t have any big reason for him being the Evil Queen besides the fact he has those scraps of scroll to turn into a few other tribes (I can’t remember if there were more than the Icewing, Nightwing and skywing. Because I wanna say he had four tribes he turned into) and also I have him holding Darkstalker’s scroll

Queen Diamond: “The queen of Ice” another one who I just kinda picked the “oh ugh-this’ll do”. I mostly picked her cause of the spell she cast on foeslayer to keep her trapped. So I guess she gets to be the Hades stand in.

Darkstalker: “The Darkstalker” that title is subject to change. But since he already had one in the books may as well use it! Anyway, it only made since to make the most clever and powerful Wings of Fire villain be the Maleficent stand in. Drew him when he escaped from under the mountain because that pose felt like the most powerful one for him. (Although like scarlet I’m very bias)

welp that’s the WoF seven (shockingly hard to pick who would be who. Besides Darkstalker he was easy)

Size chart time!

The dragon examples are Skywings, and I’m of the belief that mudwings and nightwings are larger than skywings but I picked skywings to be the chart comparisons because not meany characters will be much taller or shorter than an average adult skywing. Well, besides the staff but that’s besides the point.

it also has Grim and Yuu because I feel it’s very important to know how tall these two are. (And if I give them exact measurements my brain won’t remember) I was also tempted to add in some kinda animal in here because we’re going largely with mega fauna and flora. But it made the chart crowded. But know I intend for even chickens to be larger than Yuu. (Or about the same hight not sure yet)

56 notes · View notes

one-annon · 4 months ago

Note

can you do one where reader has a threesome with the sawyer twins and they kill reader during?

waahh im so sorry this took so long!!! writing block hit SO hard for some reason!! shockingly got this to 2k words - this is also my first x reader smut so please forgive me! hope this is good! (is it obvious im awful at staying serious)

Twins Threesome

you had just started your job at K-OKLA. so far, it was going great! stretch was really nice and lg treated you like a younger sibling. they were patient with you throughout your first few weeks, helping you sort through records as you were instructed. you enjoyed your job and the people you worked with. most of the time, you were just asked to grab a cd, or help lefty in the back with calls.

what you weren't expecting was blood over the floor of the building. you promised to bring your coworkers back some good food. everything was a wreck and you weren't sure what had happened. where were stretch and lefty? were they safe? had they left early? was this a prank? so many questions ran through your head as you looked around. everything was trashed. it was quiet. well, mostly. the only noises came from the office area. you spent some time in there..could they possibly have just spilt something that looks like blood?

you were cautious as you opened the door. instead of finding your coworkers, you found two men. one was laid out on the couch, his purple sunglasses resting on his head. the other man was sat on the floor, messing around with what looked to be - and you hope werent - animal bones. it didn't take long for the men to notice you. what the hell were they doing here? you couldve sworn you were closed during the nights.

"o-oh! another one!" the man on the couch laughed, sitting up where he had been laying. neither of them were very..appealing. but you also didn't have a very normal taste in men. the parts of them that made them relatively gross looking added to their charm. to you, they were both handsome. what a weirdo (me too). the shorter one on the floor lifted his head, a goofy grin on both of their faces. "ooh, and they're real p-pretty!"

you couldnt help how your face heated up at the hippie lookin man's words. pretty? it wasn't very often you get called that. how nice.

the men approached you. "y-yer right..they are p-pretty- th-think we can g-get a taste of 'em, bobby?" he turned to this supposed bobby fellow. you weren't sure what you were supposed to do. two guys were pressing you to a wall and calling you pretty. do you; a) kick the crotch and run b) scream for help c) get horny?

well, a and b were the most logical. you pressed your hands to their chests, trying to push them off. "who are you! let me go!" you shout, lifting your chin to hopefully get your chances of a sliced neck slimmed down. the two men pressed closer, bobby grabbing at your arm and slamming it against the wall. your wrist was seized of all movement, forcing you to sit and squirm. of course..c was still there. it was still an option. you were into men like this. mean, creepy men. men who could (and would) kill you. you were sure what they meant by "a taste" but they both seemed to want some of you. were they gonna eat you? is that what happened to lg and stretch? you shiver at the thought of ending up dead and in these guys' dinner.

"let you go? o-oh but doll! we're j-just starting!" the hippie cackled, turning to the man in the green shirt. " 'member that r-rope in m' bag, nubbins? grab it for me?" nubbins. okay..bobby and nubbins. good to know names. nubbins scurried off, rummaging through a book bag with patches and stickers. bobby turned back toward you, a wicked grin on his face. "n-now listen here..we aint gonna hurt ya yknow? j-just gonna explore your pretty body a little!"

you weren't sure how to feel about that. it's been a while since someone had touched you sexually but also..you didn't know these guys too well. just their names and that they were batshit crazy. and wanted to apparently have sex with you. you could always just escape after…get them tired enough to escape. that could work! perfect. you had a plan and were prepared for it. "fuck..okay." you whisper, biting your lip.

the shorter one, nubbins, was back at your side, maneuvering you to face his brother. choptop held your waist tight, kissing at your neck and watching as the other tied your hands together. he would've done it himself but he knew nubs had been itching to do some bondage recently. they always shared their cravings with each other.

you were forced onto the couch, back down. bobby situated himself between your legs, nubbins just above your head. both men look equally as excited and you cant help but feel yourself get heated. choptop leans over you, the tent in his bellbottoms rubbing so deliciously over your crotch. "stay real still for us now.." he whispered, hands trailing over your body. his hands were warm, light touches going over your chest and down to your thighs.

nubbins was fucking around with his pants, shoving them down with shaky hands before he desperately palms his cock through his dirty boxers. "theyre pr-pretty bobby..think they c-can take y' all?" he was staring down at you with crazed eyes. a small patch of precum was pooling up at the front of his boxers and if they werent removed soon it might drip onto your face.

choptop was already tearing your clothing off, his hands grabbing and scratching anything he could. nubbins was moaning above you, small high-pitched noises that came out paired with little puffs of air. "theyll be fine." he smiled at nubbins, pausing at your underwear. it looked hella beautiful on you..too bad! he reached into his pants pocket and held out a pocket knife. what the fuck was he doing? "hope these a-aint yer faves!" he chuckled.

you screamed as your underwear was cut in half. it left a bloody cut down the middle of your abdomen- neither seemed to care. bobby groaned at the sight, fishing his cock from his boxers. you could hear nubbins doing something similar and, after a quick glance at them both, you realized just what you were facing. nubbins' length rested on your cheek, heavy and full. it had more length than girth but you knew it would still reach your guts if you were taking him from the other end.

bobbys cock wasn't much different. maybe a little more girthy. neither of them seemed to shave and they both were uncut..and leaking. nubbins rubbed his cock up onto your face, watching closely at your expressions. you let out a pathetic mewl, squirming and trying to get away from the mess he was slowly creating on the couch.

you were too busy thinking about their cocks to notice the cold feeling on your neck. nubbins panted heavily, the blade against your jugular shaking from his grip. "careful with 'em, nubbins.." you heard bobby warn, spitting on his fingers and running them over your hole. you shivered at the feeling, shouting when he started shoving a finger into you. you cried, tossing your head back onto the other twins' lap and exposing more of your neck to him.

it hurt like a bitch. you already had a whole finger in you and you felt like it was too much. bobby pistoned his finger in and out of your heat, making sure to curl it. nubbins shifted his positioning, moving himself and your head just a little. he pressed his thumb into your mouth, prying your jaws apart and slowly pushing his dick through your lips inch by inch. he tasted rather salty, but it did keep you quiet.

you stared up at him, watching as he tilted his head back and let out a loud moan. if you had to guess, he hadn't been blown in a while - or ever. you at least tried to make this somewhat pleasurable, running your tongue down the underside of his shaft. nubbins whimpered, pulling his cock back before easing it in again.

you choked up around his dick, lifting your leg to accommodate whatever the fuck bobby was up to. a second finger was pushed into you, then a third. he seemed to be getting antsy. and he was. bobby was getting jealous of the treatment you were giving his brother and felt he needed attention too! his cock mattered too didnt it?

you groaned at the stretch, closing your eyes tightly. "thats it…" you heard bobby say. a little shuffling was the only warning you got before his fingers were removed and replaced with his cock. in your opinion, there wasnt enough lube. but you couldnt really speak your opinion due to nubbins' cock, so you defaulted to a loud scream and a gag.

bobby leaned down, his lean frame towering over yours. he pushed your shirt up, holding it to your shoulders. you whine loudly as the ac's cool breeze hit your nipples, though the uncomfortable freeze didn't last too long. choptop grazed his tongue over your hardened nipples, giving you a bit of warmth from the saliva. he nibbled and sucked and licked and thrusted. long and slow thrusts in and out of your hole. it was starting to feel good for you, fucking finally.

the two kept their pace relatively the same, pounding you from every angle they could. bobby kissed over your skin, leaving small bites and bruises in his path. his hips continued to slam into yours, heavy breathing cooling your hot skin. nubbins was in the same state, moaning and crying out every time your tongue dug into the slit of his tip. he seemed to be the more sensitive brother, the inexperienced one. despite the rather submissive noises he was making, he was a little more violent than bobby. he was the one holding a knife to your neck. he was the one holding your hair with one hand to aid him in fucking your head on his cock.

bobby was a lot more patient. he had sped his thrusts up, but he was still gentle. he held onto your hips, digging his blunt nails into your skin. "good fuckin' doll.." he would mumble, nipping your ear lobe every time he got closer to your neck. bobby made sure to keep an eye on his brother. while he didn't mind the extra meat, he would rather you stay alive during your ride back home. how else was he supposed to keep you in their shared room if you couldnt even walk yourself up the stairs? he wanted to hear you scream, man!

unfortunately for you, he wasn't able to stop his dear brother. nubbins got a little too excited and ran the knife across your bite-covered throat. he grunted, pressing the tip of his cock all the way to the back of his throat and shooting his load. it was warm, salty, and it was a lot. you werent worried about that though. what you were worried about was the fact you were actively bleeding and you were losing your vision. nubbins let his cock slip from your mouth, panting hard from the adrenaline his climax gave. "aw-…aw shit.." he muttered.

choptop groaned, relishing in the way your body tightened up around him. he followed soon after his brother, filling your hole with the same substance that was down your throat. he looked up, noticing how you were currently dying. literally. "god dammit nubbins!" he shouted, frowning. "i-i told ya to keep 'em livin'!! i dont want no corpse in our room!"

the boy scoffed, crossing his arms and looking down at you. neither of them seemed very concerned about how you were bleeding to death. "ah, fuck. now we better put this one out o' its misery…" bobby grumbled to himself, tugging his dick out of you and watching as his cum leaked out. he snapped back out of his thoughts at a gargled scream you attempted. bobby huffed, rolling his eyes as he buttoned his jeans and sliced your throat just a bit deeper, making you meet your end.

the last things you heard at the end of your time on the shithole planet of earth were two guys arguing about what to tell their older brother when they arrived home with a body full of cum. what a way to end your life huh? ---- how the hell do you end a book also its 2 am if you see any mistakes no you dont (thank you again for your request! again i deeply apologize for the delay <3)

#HEY HEY HEY HEY! HEY STOOPID! ➸ annon writes #you fudgepackers'll be the death of me yet! ➸ tcm writes #rein raus rein raus ➸ smut writes #keeping our eyes close to whats going on on the screen ➸ angst writes #tcm #texas chainsaw massacre #chop top sawyer #nubbins sawyer #smut #threes0me #slashers x reader #slashers #horror films #slasher smut #slasher x you #slasher x reader #chop top x reader #nubbins x reader #x reader

52 notes · View notes

captain-mj · 1 year ago

Note

In the past I feel like you’ve said ‘I was just waiting for an ask so I could post this’ so this is an ask to give you that excuse completely. I request that thing you just really want to write. Use it at anytime you want. We love your writing.

Please let me read that thing you want to write !!!

*non normal noises*

i will absolutely take you up on this!! Ghost and Soap sparring angst edition, rather short, kinda clunky, very self indulgent for me.

Soap had never seen Ghost spar. Ever. He didn't get why. It felt like everyone should spar, just to keep their skills sharp. Maybe no one asked him? Whenever Ghost was in the gym, which was shockingly rare from what Soap saw but maybe he just went at different times, people avoided him. It would make sense if no one wanted to spar with him.

Maybe that's why it was so strange that today, someone asked Ghost to spar and he said yes. It made Soap wonder if he'd always say yes, just no one asked.

Ghost wrapped his hands and pulled off his jacket. Soap's attention was immediately caught on the wrist that was exposed at this move. In his head, he could hear Gaz calling him a Victorian woman seeing ankle.

Ghost had the other person fight him and it was clear he wasn't trying very hard. He was almost playful about the moves that would send the other guy sprawling to the ground. "Come on, private. You can hit me harder than that." He assured before yanking them back up.

A few other people stopped what they were doing to watch, several grimacing when Ghost sent the private tumbling. "Ah come on Simon, you're going easy on him!"

Soap watched Ghost... flinch wasn't the right word. His shoulder jerked up slightly, as if to cover his ear and block out what the guy was saying. The private managed to get a hit on him and Ghost cuffed his head to force him back.

"Get him, Carter!" Someone yelled and Ghost's shoulder jerked up again. He started to dodge the private's attacks instead of fighting back.

Soap sensed something was wrong and started to look for a way to de-escalate. He wasn't sure what was setting Ghost off, but he didn't want anyone to get hurt.

The private lunged at him in a rather unprofessional move. It managed to get Ghost on his back but it also flicked the switch.

Ghost grabbed the private and really hit him. No sense of hesitation or carefulness. The private's head snapped back and he quickly started to back up.

"There ya go Riley!" Someone jeered and Soap thought for a moment he was mocking him.

Ghost grabbed the private and started to hit him harder. For a moment, the world felt frozen as everyone who watched went from entertained to horrified.

The private tried to wrap his legs around Ghost to flip him but the man was a brick wall.

Someone started to scream for Price and people were moving quickly but Soap didn't bother with that. He just ran at Ghost, slamming into him to get him off of the private.

Ghost was feral, actually snapping his teeth at Soap despite the mask between them. "Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off."

Soap tried to pin Ghost and quickly found himself on his stomach, arm bent behind his back. He saw the private quickly scrambling to get away, blood dripping from his nose with a limp.

Soap struggled with Ghost, trying to get out of the pin he was in. His arm was slowly being twisted further and further up his back and he thought for a brief moment that his arm would pop out of his socket.

Price yanked Ghost off of him. "Simon, you're okay. You're alright. I promise."

Ghost kicked at the ground aggressively but didn't hit Price. He huffed and snarled. "Fuck you."

"You're fine. I promise. You're alright." Price held Ghost tight until his breathing evened out. "So. I think sparring is still of the table for you."

"Just wanted to try."

"What happened?"

"I was back in the ring." Ghost grunted, trying to pull away from Price who simply yanked him back down.

Soap tested his arm. It was his bad arm and he couldn't quite feel his fingers. "Ring?"

"Fighting ring." Ghost explained. "Couldn't let them win."

Soap shivered, wondering when the fuck he would've been in a fighting ring

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost #ghoap

109 notes · View notes

gottagetback2u · 2 years ago

Text

✰ stray kids as uni bfs!

warnings: mentions of food, too much boyfriend material, cause of death: uni!seungmin, inconsistent use of correct spelling

welcome to my first post! <3

-✰bang chan

uni!bangchan definitely… struggles :’) he stays awake till 2-3am every night, either doing homework or procrastinating and making music. thank god his roommate basically lives with their partner, because u get to stay in his dorm with him during these early mornings, urging him to stay on task so he can sleep.

u guys met at the gym!!! u were trying to get back into exercising after the spring break and he saw u on the treadmill. literally hearts in his eyes. like the shy guy he is, he waited until u were almost out of the door before asking “do u go to the uni around here?”

let’s just say he was giggling and kicking his feet when u offered ur number to him <3

bang chan credits u for every completed assignment! he loves that u are so willing to help him, even if he is embarrassed to ask sometimes. (it goes like, “babe.. ugh i’m so sorry but what the fuck does he mean by this?”)

he will get u breakfast from the campus cafe before all of ur morning classes. he says it’s his job as a boyfriend, even if he only got four hours of sleep! (one time he slept in and got u lunch AND dinner to make up for it)

-✰lee know

lee know is an interesting student to say the least. his electives are all “art 101” and “basket weaving” because those are the ‘easy’ classes (sadly, no college class is easy) though, surprisingly, he is very interested in his major classes! studious student.

his go-to look is glasses with a comfy hoodie and sweatpants. when u see him on campus u can’t help but stare. comfy bf material.

u guys always seemed to cross paths at the off campus grocery store! u happen to be picking up comfort snacks after crying ur eyes out due to stress :( he strolled down the same aisle as u, quickly recognizing the university hoodie u had on, staring longingly at what oreo flavor to choose with fresh tears in ur eyes.

“i like the java chip ones :)” after he saw ur tears, he bought them for u.

ur dates consist of: trudging along campus to classes together, movie nights with snacks in the oh so comfy twin sized dorm bed, and grocery store runs! he also loves to do sheet masks together! (just don’t tell anyone how soft he is for u)

studies come second to him. u come first <3

-✰changbin

a jock but not in the aggressive type way. he just wants to lift and pass his classes. (which he always does! nothing below a B- for binnie)

he is good with in-class work! whipping out assignments while the teacher is talking about the subject is light work for him. but homework… alone in his dorm…. his kryptonite. for some reason focusing is so hard in that situation!

when u first heard him speak in economics class, u didn’t expect him to be so sweet?? u sat a couple rows back, so good thing he couldn’t see ur constant staring. his smile, his biceps, his too-tight shirts, his everything.

group projects are ur guys’ weakness because you somehow always get put together. (not that u mind!) in ur third group project this semester, he bit the bullet and asked u out! he was so nervous that he made a whole google slide saying “will u go out with me?” he asked han to decorate it lol.

studying together is no easy task. ur talking about currency then suddenly in a sweet make out sesh! he said he couldn’t handle the “sweet” looks u were giving him.

really soft boyfie !

-✰hyunjin

my art student. what else would he major in?

you guys actually met in starbucks on campus! hyunjin tries to do essays in a cafe setting to “stay focused” (he really just wants to be aesthetic).

you work as a barista, and after taking his order, he couldn’t take his eyes off of u for the 2 hours he was there. he ended up sketching u instead of write his essay! shockingly, he was able to muster up the courage to at least ask ur major before he left (aka, rushed out and ran into the door).

you guys are the sickly sweet couple everyone sees on campus. u are always together!!! hyunjin wants nothing to separate ur hand from his >:(

of course, when he has freedom to choose for his big projects in his art classes, he always chooses something that reminds him of you. he doesn’t like painting portraits that much, so he will choose to paint ur favorite flowers, your first date scene, your hand holding his… yeah, he’s that type of boyfriend :’)

he despises his required classes, like english and math. he doesn’t understand it like he understands art, so he needs ur support!! please run ur fingers thru his hair when he’s whining about his weekly reading!

he loves ur relationship more than anything <3 he’s so happy he can spend his college years with u

-✰han

oh boy. how do we even start this.

i think he tries his best. he really does! he doesn’t want to be one of the few in his class failing, but he just doesn’t really grip onto learning the required subjects like english.

this is how u two met! u work for the university as a tutor, and han was required tutoring for english or else he would get dropped from the class :( he showed up to the tutoring session in an empty lobby in the main campus building, and as soon as he laid eyes on u, he cursed himself. he was supposed to be learning, how can he do that when he has the prettiest person in front of him!! :’(

even outside of ur sessions u help him all the time! he appreciates ur help so much, and of course he doesn’t want his partner to have to help him with his work 24/7, but u don’t mind at all.

his schedule is chaotic. wake up, go to class, go by the convenience store to get both of u snacks, come back to UR dorm, nap in UR bed, wake up when u get back from classes, walk around campus together, get dinner in the dining hall, then fall asleep at HIS dorm.

he always praises himself for choosing to live in a quad with his own room and praises u for working for the university so u get ur own dorm. “it’s like we knew we were going to date!”

he always shows his love and appreciation. power college couple <3

-✰felix

felix has the time of his life in college. he loves being independent, doing something new, and just taking it all in.

that’s why he decided to be ambitious his freshman year; getting a job right away at the campus cafe, and also continuing his hobby of dance by taking a freestyle dance elective!

u were also taking the elective class to try and get more in to ur passion for dance. u never felt too confident in ur skills, so what better way to improve than in a class with others that were learning too!

when felix walked in the room the first day of class, looking all professional in his beanie, oversized sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, u were immediately attracted… but also intimidated!! he must be so good (>:d) u guys actually got put as partners for ice breakers, then a partner project, then a mid-term project, realizing how genuine and sweet he is!!

let’s just say,, things got a lil close for ur projects. flirting was a given around him and kissing, definitely happened.

and even though his excitement for college was a 100! his grades… struggled to reflect that :( like others, college is hard to grasp sometimes!! u continued to help him and remind him that everyone is having a hard time too <3

another sickly sweet couple. he just can’t pry himself away from u!

-✰seungmin

i kinda feel like seungmin is like,, the perfect fit for uni boyfriend? he just gives off those vibes to me so much. (yes i am seungmin biased haha)

does he have all 100% in his classes? yes! does he procrastinate? hell yes…..that’s all he does. to try and help his problem, he wants to study with u! he thinks that this will help him focus more bc silence is always comfortable between u two. but it just ends up him playing some game and u watching, messing him up every time he’s close to passing the level.

if you guys have an in-person class together, he wants needs to sit by u. he doesn’t find it right that u don’t want to sit next to ur own boyfriend. how dare u actually want to listen to ur professor instead of engage in snarky side conversation the whole time >:(

he loves walking around campus late at night. not like, 2am but more like 10pm lol (cuz besides staying up for hw, i feel seungmin is an avid sleeper). after ur night class, he will meet u by ur dorm building and walk around, hands linked the whole time. this is the time where he’s affectionate and loves to talk about ur relationship aww!! it’s conversation like “i remember the first time i held ur hand”, and “we should have another takeout homework date in the library soon”.

i could literally go on and on about uni!seungmin bc it’s a perfect match ahh.

-✰i.n

high school classmates to college classmates! it might have been handy to know someone going into college…. if u and jeongin even knew who each other were.

“yang jeongin? he was in my homeroom? uhh-“

i.n thought that he didn’t need help going thru his first year. he wanted to be independent and make friends on his own >:( butttt with each passing day, adjusting to new classes and even his roommate moving out, he couldn’t even manage to talk to someone new for more than a minute.

u finally recognized him when u saw his academy hoodie he was wearing one day! u rushed to reach him before he entered the classroom, and when u two made eye contact… god jeongin thought the world stopped.

from then, u guys slowly started seeing each other more, than exchanging numbers, then hanging out! ur hangouts usually consisted of studying, but it always ended up in doing to the dining hall and eating together, staying in their right until it closed.

let’s just say, u both struggled in the homework department. but quizzes?? yang jeongin is, surprisingly, an academic weapon.

he loves quality time with u. staying up late, just being in each other arms and talking about nothing.

he will also most definitely require u to watch old minecraft videos with him. quality time right! :)

masterlist!

#sapphire’s log~#🎧#stray kids #kim seungmin #bang chan #hyunjin #lee felix #changbin #lee know #han jisung #yang jeongin #skz headcanons #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids soft thoughts

431 notes · View notes

rosiesdisneydrama · 9 days ago

Text

Witch Way Next? CH 3: What Bad Luck

Ford and Fiddleford made it to New Mexico in near record time, by Ford’s calculations. To the little town of Chaltuga, where Stanley was laid up in the hospital. The Doctors say it'll be another few days before his twin finally comes around, but it should be safe to take him home when he does. All that's left is to get settled in to wait.

AN: Writing Ford is shockingly hard. I had to maintain the balance of "Possibly Autistic Adult" with "Higher Education Vocabulary" while ALSO putting this man through Unresolved Emotions and still having a story sprinkled with lore at the end.

I hope I did this man justice. And no Bill yet, I needed to tackle one hurdle at a time and he was just a little too much for this.

They made it to New Mexico in near record time, by Ford’s calculations.

Fiddleford had been right, of course, that both of them taking turns driving (and resting) in the truck enabled them to cut a tremendous amount of time out of the drive. They did stay in a motel overnight at least once, despite the worries that were eating at them. Ford even remembered to call the hospital and ask for an update once they were checked in. Which was, thankfully, that Stanley had made it through the surgeries. But they were keeping him asleep medically for just a little longer.

(They were being cautious, was the explanation. But he couldn’t confirm that he was related yet so that was the most they could disclose to him over the phone.)

It had been an emergency when they called, so they’d had to make the trip quickly. (He had to be there for Stanley. He had to.) Even if it resulted in them both being very sore and somewhat irritable by the time they finally arrived in the city that housed St. Bartholomew's.

The city, Chaltuga, was on the smaller side as far as cities went and was surprisingly forested on one side of the city. He hadn’t thought there was much greenery in the southwest, outside of bushes and cacti, let alone enough for a full forest as thick as the one he could see as they drove into town. However, that may have spoken more about Ford’s lack of travels to that particular area of the country than anything else. (He wasn’t much of a traveler, outside of the hiking he did for his research.)

Chaltuga was a way-point city, of sorts. Rather than any one specific pull or industry of its own, it formed from people stopping by and resting for a day or two before moving on to other cities. Then it swelled in size from there, gaining its own market and staying strength from the people who came and never left.

It wasn’t a bad place, from what he could tell. It was a little kitschy if anything. Many of the buildings on the road were very “chic” looking. Everything looked very artsy from what he could see outside the windows of the truck.

He wondered if that kind of casual pull was what had drawn Stanley there. He’d always been good at fast talking and drumming up interest. The idea of him working as a salesman in a shop in a comfortable little town like this was… Actually pretty easy to picture, when he set aside his own feelings.

(He’d always thought Stan would be fine. He didn’t need to worry about his troublemaker brother. Like Pa told him.)

It still… It still didn’t feel real.

The idea that Stanley, of all people, was in the hospital. Part of him was still certain that it was a mistake and Stanley was fine. His brother was fine and off doing… Whatever it was he’d been doing over the past decade that he’s been gone. Traveling and putting all the people skills he learned from their Ma to use. Stanley, like their Ma, had always been good with people.

He’d been better with them than Ford had been growing up. And able to get himself both in and out of trouble by himself easily. He was able to take care of himself just fine. Like Pa had said, he didn’t need to worry about whatever his brother was up to.

After all, it had been ten years and it was only just now that Ford was hearing about him. Even though it was because… Because he was an emergency contact.

(Did he have their parents listed? Or was it just Ford? Was he even listed as family or did the hospital just assume they were based on their names?)

Stanley called Ma on occasion, he knew that much. She’d told him about it the few times that Ford remembered to set his research down and call her. She’d mentioned talking to Stan every once in a while, that he’d been by a particular city at some point, but not much more than that. It was always a passing note, sandwiched between other things that Ma wanted to tell him about before Pa told her to hang up.

(Long-distance calls were expensive, after all. And Pa hated spending money unnecessarily.)

Not that he could remember, anyway. And he’d never really thought to ask about him when she mentioned it. He’d needed to focus on his schooling, getting as many credits as he could to get the highest degrees and diplomas that he could manage.

Those calls were likely how Stan had gotten his contact information. Ma had probably given it to him, hoping Stan would reach out to him or something. Maybe. It was also possible that Stan had just looked him up after Ford had gotten into the papers after graduating.

Perhaps he ought to ask Ma the next time he called her. Just to clarify how his brother had gotten his phone number.

(Sweet Moses, how was he going to tell Ma about this? How would Pa react when he found out? Or even Shermie? Sure, their brother had moved out before they did and probably wouldn’t be home when Ford made the call but… He was still family and deserved to know that something had happened. Ford would have to call him directly to tell him.)

Fiddleford was at the wheel for this final leg of the drive, quickly reading signs and following the directions Ford figured out from the old gazetteer that his friend kept in the truck. It might have been a touch out of date, as he was sure he could see a few roads that weren’t listed on their map as they drove by, but the hospital was on it and that was the most important thing.

His friend was muttering about needing to get a new gazetteer while they were in town, squinting around to read the street signs as he drove. Which was probably a good idea, even if he didn’t travel very much.

“There it is!” Fiddleford said, his relief bleeding through when they finally spotted the building they were looking for.

Ford looked up at the clean, sturdy building that made up the hospital. Solid, red brickwork with lots of duller colors and surfaces. Likely to avoid blinding visitors in the bright sunlight normal for the area and to keep things cool in the prevalent heat.

(Because it was hot out here, good gracious. Wasn’t it supposed to be September? Fiddleford had just laughed at him when he’d commented on it.)

Fiddleford pulled up to the front doors, shifting the car into park but not turning off the engine. He turned in the driver’s seat to look over at Ford.

“Alright, you head in and start sorting through all the papers and such. I’ll find a spot to park and meetcha inside,” Fiddleford said, nodding at the front doors as he did. “Since it’ll probably take a bit to get through it all and there’s no sense in both of us standing around when you’re the only one that needs to fill out the papers.”

“Right, I- I’ll see you in a few minutes then.” Ford climbed out of the car, clutching his bag tightly so he wouldn’t drop it by accident. He took a fortifying breath, listening as Fiddleford left to find a space big enough for his pickup, then turned to the front doors and forced his feet to carry him forward.

The lobby was small, as far as hospital lobbies went, and sparsely decorated. A few low-maintenance plants and a landscape painting or two, some decently comfortably looking seats for people waiting, nothing too over the top for a hospital. The front desk had a single nurse manning it, focused on something on her computer screen.

She looked up at him when he approached the desk and gave a polite smile.

“Oh, good morning sir. What can I do for you today?” Her tone was polite and professional.

“I am Doctor Stanford Pines. I was called about a patient who was brought into your hospital a few days ago. A Mr. Stanley Pines?” He said, trying to keep his voice calm and polite. He habitually folded his hands behind him as he continued, “I believe he’s my brother, but it still needs to be confirmed with the doctors here.”

The nurse straightened up in her seat, immediately typing at her computer.

“Of course, sir. Give me just a moment to check the records.” There was a moment of silence as she worked, then she smiled up at him. “Yes, he’s been cleared from the ICU and is in a patient care room now. I’ll page Dr. Matthews and he can help you get everything squared away.”

(He could see the appeal of personal business computers in this situation. Being able to quickly check if a patient was in and who their attending doctor was without having to dig through a file cabinet would certainly make things like this easier.)

He listened to the page over the hospital speakers then the nurse looked back at him.

“Please have a seat sir, the doctor should be here shortly.” Ford simply nodded, seating himself on one of the couches to the side of the room. It was within sight of both the doors to the parking lot and the ones that led further into the hospital. Making it easy for both Fiddleford and the doctor to find him.

There was a small part of him that still didn’t think it was Stanley.

That there was some mistake and it wasn’t his brother who was staying in one of these rooms. That it was a simple case of mistaken identity. Stanley wasn’t an uncommon name, after all. Nor was the name Pines. So it wasn’t impossible for there to be more than one “Stanley Pines” in the country.

(But, as the more logical part of his brain argued, how many of them would have Ford’s contact information on their person? He didn’t have a way to refute that.)

He took off his glasses and rubbed at his forehead, the wondering and worry were giving him a headache. It didn’t feel real, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. The irrational desire to deny what was happening was difficult to ignore. He barely noted when Fiddleford arrived beside him, trying to keep himself calm as he waited for the doctor to arrive.

His friend didn’t say anything. Simply sitting beside him and offering his silent support.

“Dr. Pines?” Stanford nearly jumped at the unfamiliar voice. He put his glasses back on and looked up at the man now standing nearby.

“Ah, yes. That would be me.” He stood up, holding out a hand to shake. He saw the man’s eyes flicker down to his hands, widening ever so slightly at the six fingers there. But, to Ford’s immense relief, he didn’t comment on them. “Dr. Matthews, I presume?”

“That’s correct. We still need to confirm some things but I suppose the easiest to start with would be…” He said, flipping through the clipboard in his hands. He carefully pulled something from the board and handed it to Ford. “Can you confirm that this is your brother?”

It was a driver’s license. A driver’s license with his brother’s name on it, and a face identical to his own pictured on its front. It was from a different state (of course, Stanley would have needed to get a new license after he turned twenty-four) but there was no mistaking it.

That was Stanley. That was his twin brother.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Yes- yes, sir. That’s- That’s my brother.” The doctor gave him a sad, sympathetic look. (Why wouldn’t he? Ford had just confirmed that his brother was in their hospital.) He could feel Fiddleford set a hand on his shoulder, a silent show of support.

“I see. This way then, please. He’s no longer at high risk, so I can take you both to his room now. We’d like to keep him here for another day or two longer for monitoring. After that, you can bring him home again.”

He nodded numbly, trailing after the doctor as he led him to Stanley’s room. (Sweet Moses, his brother was in the hospital.) He could hear Fiddleford trotting beside him, though he wasn’t sure his assistant would be allowed in since he wasn’t family.

It didn’t matter to Ford. He would just let Fiddleford in himself if the doctor tried to stop him.

He stopped the moment Dr. Matthews did.

“Here we are,” he said, waving to the door beside them. “Mr. Pines is on very strong painkillers at the moment, so he likely won’t be awake for a while. But you can still see him.”

Ford was only half-listening, opening the door and stepping through.

The room was a relatively standard hospital room. Plain white walls (one of which had a wide window set into it) with an equally plain white ceiling, a plain gray tiled floor, a few stiff chairs for visitors to sit down in, and a rolling table for patient meals to be served on. There was a simple light set into the wall over the bed that could prop the patient to a sitting position, and some monitoring equipment beside it.

(An IV and a heart monitor. There was equipment for putting a patient on oxygen as well, but it wasn’t in use. Thank Moses that it didn’t need to be .)

The most important part, the one thing that Ford couldn’t tear his eyes from, was laid out on the bed. His twin brother, Stanley Pines, whom he hadn’t seen in a decade, was finally in front of him.

Stanley was asleep, just as the doctor said he’d be, and he would have looked peaceful right then if not for the fact that he was obviously in a hospital.

Part of Ford wanted to snatch the clipboard off the end of the bed and start reading the notes on it, find out exactly what kind of injuries had landed Stanley there in the first place. But he wasn’t sure the doctor would be very happy with him if he did that. (After the man left, then. He would save his snooping for then.)

“What- What happened to him?” he asked instead, looking back to the man politely waiting just inside the door.

“We believe your brother was the victim of a serious animal attack. He’s shockingly lucky, as we’ve had a large number of them over the past month but he’s the first to actually survive the encounter. That said, his injuries are still rather severe and need some specific care. It will take several months for him to recover, at the very least.”

Ford felt sick after hearing that. Animal attacks were nothing to joke about. They could do serious, long-term damage if they weren’t tended to quickly and thoroughly. Especially during the recovery process. They were some of the riskiest injuries to deal with simply because of how often people didn’t take them as seriously as they should have. He’d done some research into the kind of things he needed to be careful of while studying in Gravity Falls, to avoid being felled by something he hadn’t thought was dangerous, and… well, some of the risks made him nervous, to say the least.

(Most common were serious, life-threatening infections from bites that weren’t properly cleaned… Animal mouths were riddled with all kinds of bacteria that humans normally never encountered. The wound had to be carefully monitored because of that.)

“We’ve had to stitch them closed, despite the usual procedures for animal wounds, because of how large many of them are. They’ll need to be cleaned regularly, with medicine applied to them each time. We can send along notes to allow your local doctors to inject antibiotics once you get home.” The doctor looked directly at Ford as he continued. “I would advise against leaving him home alone while he’s recovering. He’ll likely need help around the house to avoid the injuries reopening during that time. Mr. Pine’s right arm and left leg had some of the worst damage, so he’ll need some physical therapy after his release.”

“Will we need to look into getting a wheelchair fer him? Or will he just need a crutch?” Fiddleford asked.

Ford was relieved he’d come with him. For some reason, he couldn’t seem to get his voice to work to ask important questions. The things he needed to know to help Stanley recover. But Fiddleford knew the right questions to ask. The things they needed to clarify while they were there. He knew he could leave it to him.

He let the conversation flow around him, not quite tuning them out but not really paying much attention to what was being said. Instead, he let his eyes roam over his brother’s sleeping form.

The covers were pulled up to his chest, and his left arm was laid atop the covers with the IV and heart monitor connected to it. (Likely because of the injuries sustained on his right arm.) Most of his twin was covered by the blankets, but what little Ford could see was covered by bandages. He could see them peeking out from under the hospital gown, wrapping their way around Stanley’s neck and over the left side of his face. They didn’t go over his eyes, thankfully, but it still would be difficult to take care of without help.

(They were still dangerously close to them, nonetheless. It made the skin near Ford’s own eyes prickle in phantom discomfort.)

His hair was longer than Ford could ever remember it being, as well. It was certainly longer than Pa would have let him grow it, he would have never let either of them have hair that long. Although, for some reason, his bangs were very short and messy looking. As if Stanley had decided to cut them himself instead of going to a barber. But he’d cut them with a knife instead of a set of scissors. It wasn’t quite a mullet but it was very close.

Stan was a tad more broad-shouldered than Ford remembered, too. Just enough that he could probably lift Ford without much trouble, even if he was more in shape than he’d been as a teenager. It was the kind of build found in someone who’d done a lot of heavy labor-type work. It could also be gained (and maintained) by regular visits to a gym or some other kind of regular exercise regime. He could only assume that Stan had tried to keep his boxing regime despite not using the gyms at home.

It seemed that he’d gotten a lot tanner than Stanford, on top of the other little differences he could see. It looked like he’d spent a lot of time out under the sun over the past summer. And maybe Stan had done just that. Ford didn’t know what Stanley did for a living, after all. He… He didn’t know what his brother had been doing for the past ten years.

(Where did his brother even live? That train of thought was… Uncomfortable. Because he didn’t know. It’s his brother, shouldn’t he know?)

“Ford?” Fiddleford’s voice cut through the mental haze he’d slid into, making him jump slightly.

“Yes?” He asked, trying to keep his voice even. Looking around he could see that Dr. Matthews was gone, though he had no idea where. “Where’s- ?”

“The doctor left to get some of yer brother’s things,” Fiddleford answered. He gently herded Ford to a chair, which he sank into. “He said one of ‘em is a motel key fer a place nearby, and it’s probably where the rest of yer brother’s stuff is.”

Oh, so then this likely wasn’t the town Stanley lived in. He rather doubted Stanley owned a motel, he never seemed the sort when they were growing up. So it was likely the key to the room he was staying in while in town. He was just passing through the area on his way to somewhere else. (And he was unlucky enough to be attacked…)

“We’ll probably need to talk to the staff there to get Stanley’s things. And find a place fer us to stay ‘till the hospital clears him to leave.” Fiddleford looked at him, gaze concerned as he slowly sat down in the seat next to him. “What’s the plan fer when that happens?”

The… Plan? The thought confused him, for just a moment. Then it clicked into place.

Stanley wasn’t a local, he was staying in a motel in the area. They didn’t know where Stanley lived or how far away it was from there. And Ford didn’t want to just- Dump him at his house (wherever it may be) and then leave. Not when the doctors already said that he would need help during his recovery. The thought of it made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

No, just walking away when his brother had just been in the hospital was not in his plans. Not this time.

“If Stanley doesn’t live close enough for us to drive to in reasonable time, then we’ll take him back to Gravity Falls and he’ll stay with me. That way there will be at least one person close by to help if he needs it. I’m sure I can shuffle things around to make it more comfortable if need be.” He gave his friend a tight smile. “We may have to slow our progress with- our project for a while. I’d rather not have Stanley running around the house unsupervised while he’s on strong painkillers.”

Fiddleford chuckled slightly, shaking his head. (Likely imagining something very different from what Ford was picturing.)

“No, I’d imagine not. Wouldn’t want him hurting himself on something we’d forgotten to put away. Or getting an infection from the chemicals you keep around.” Fiddleford hummed, idly rubbing his chin in thought. “I suppose we’ll need to do a bit of spring cleaning when we get back then. Or at least move the more breakable stuff to either the attic or the basement.”

Ford nodded. The less that could be broken the better. It would be far too easy for any of their experiments to be damaged by someone who was on powerful pain medications.

Thankfully, the portal was down in the basement and he could easily tell Stan to not go down there. Especially since one of Stanley’s legs was injured and he would likely need a crutch. He would, hopefully, be un-inclined to try it while injured if Ford told him it wasn’t safe. Actually, now that the idea was in his head, they could probably move a large number of his more fragile projects to the bunker for the time being. It would certainly keep Stanley from damaging them by accident.

“It may be better to convert my ground floor office into a temporary bedroom. If Stanley needs a wheelchair or a crutch, then he would need help every time he went up or down the staircase. Letting him stay on the ground floor would prevent the risk of him falling in the first place.”

A wheelchair was cumbersome for people unused to them and his home wasn't designed to be accessible for someone in one. Cutting down on the difficulties would make the stay more bearable for all of them. If Stanley needed one, that was.

Had the doctor said if he needed one? He'd gotten lost in his own head and hadn’t heard…

“We won’t need to worry about a wheelchair. Seems that Stanley was lucky enough that he’s not gonna need one. But he’ll probably need a crutch for the first couple weeks and a cane later on.” Fiddleford spoke up, gently filling in gaps that Ford had missed when he’d zoned out. “Most of the injuries are bites and lacerations. No broken bones, but at least one sprained ankle. Though that oughta be healed up by the time we leave town.”

Ford felt his shoulders relax. It was still uncomfortable, thinking about his brother being hurt like this, but knowing it wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought was making it easier. They still needed to figure out the arrangements they’d need to set up if Stanley was going to be staying with him until he recovered.

Hashing out living arrangements for him with Fiddleford’s help, hypothetical though they were right then, helped Ford clear his head. Made him feel more in control of the situation.

(It was always easier when he had a task he could put his mind to. It made it easier to deal with a lot of things over the years. Putting his mind to work was easier than letting himself spiral needlessly.)

Fiddleford had plenty of thoughts and ideas for things that Ford hadn’t considered that would make things easier for all of them. Especially to help Stanley to work around the injuries he had to deal with. Things that would be secure but still accessible to someone who was having issues moving. Or for someone who could only use one hand to do things.

He was hesitant to let Fiddleford start modifying his home appliances, but his friend was making some very good arguments about it. Some of them also being useful to Ford later on, if he could make them work the way he suggested he could.

(Some of those could be very good patents for Fiddleford to submit at a later date. “Nest Egg” money, as the mechanic liked to call it.)

Dr. Matthews returned as Fiddleford had started scribbling ideas for altering the shower to be more accessible.

“Ah, I see you’re… discussing preparations then.” The two looked up as the doctor walked over, depositing a box on the table they had dragged over to write on. “These are the belongings your brother had on his person when he came in. Unfortunately, you may need to get him a fresh change of clothes.”

Ford, in the morbid curiosity that sometimes got him into trouble, couldn’t help looking inside the box before the doctor had finished speaking.

On top was a worn little pocket address book, a leather wallet which was likely where they found the driver’s ID (which he still had in hand), some kind of waist bag that felt decently full yet not as heavy as it looked like it should be, a ring of keys with a single car key attached to it and several keys for locks (none of which looked like house keys, interestingly enough), and a large tag with a single key hanging off it. The last item was probably the motel key that the doctor had mentioned to Fiddleford. And underneath those items were… Under those were…

Stanley’s torn-up, bloody clothing.

Part of him wanted to pull them out. Examine the damage and try to puzzle out what animal it was that did it and help the locals identify it so it could be taken care of.

But another part of him was just- Frozen. Frozen as he stared at the blood that he knew came from his brother. They were further proof that Stanley had been hurt so badly that he’d been hospitalized. (Those were the clothes Stanley had been wearing when he was attacked.)

He swallowed and forced himself to look at the motel key, picking it up carefully.

“Do you- Do you know which motel this is for?” He asked, looking up at the doctor. The man smiled.

“Yes, actually. I have a niece who worked at that motel one summer. The Delmar, it’s closer to the edge of town. Not a bad place to stay at, but it’s not one of the fancier places to stay in town.” The Doctor listed off the directions so Ford could write them down. Then he handed a clipboard to him with several papers clipped to it. “These are the papers we need filled out for Mr. Pines, now that we’ve confirmed your relation to him. Your brother probably won’t wake up until tomorrow or the day after, but he’s stable and will be able to recover as long as he takes it slow and steady. Once he’s awake, he should be alright to check out. Please just hand over the papers at the front desk before you leave today.”

“Certainly, I’ll make sure to do that,” Ford said with a nod, shuffling the items around so he could write on the desk itself. Dr. Matthews straightened up and left. He looked up at Fiddleford once the door was closed. “Once I’ve finished filling these out, we’ll take both sets of keys and sort out Stanley’s belongings. Perhaps the motel will let us rent a room while we’re there.”

“That would make things easier,” Fiddleford said, nodding. “Guess you better start filling them out then. I’ll check the address on my maps.”

Ford turned back to the papers and started filling everything out.

(He hoped his muse would forgive the delay. But they were already making very good progress, so it should be fine.)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The paperwork didn’t take long, though Stanford really had to scratch through his memory at times to find what he needed to put in. It was a good thing they were twins since it meant a lot of their health issues were shared ones. (Except for the ten years after Stanley was kicked out left home.) The nurse accepted that when he said the two of them had lost contact for a while after moving across the country separately. Which wasn’t a lie, per se.

They had lost contact while traveling. That just… Wasn’t the full story behind it. (And he certainly wasn’t going to explain that to someone he didn’t even know.)

After that, he took the two sets of keys, the two of them climbed back into Fiddleford’s truck, and then they left to find the Delmar Motel.

Just like the doctor had told them, it was on the fringes of town and across the street from a combination gas station and convenience store. (Which was advertising that they sold fried chicken, of all things.)

He looked over the building as Fiddleford pulled in. It was a small place, a single-floored building that was colored in whites and blues. It probably wasn’t used by people staying for more than one or two nights. It didn’t seem like a seedy place at least. It looked cheap, yes, but not seedy.

There was some ocean theming to the motel, for some reason. Like the owner had been on a ship at some point and wanted to show the things they found neat about it. Nothing too over the top, thankfully. There were a few buoys and some oars around the motel’s sign, a lifesaver hung on the check-in door with a welcome sign attached to it, and little sailboat-shaped number plates on the doors to the rooms. There were probably more little decorations like those inside the rooms. Enough stuff to show their theming, but not so much that it looked tacky.

And he had seen tacky before. Backupsmore had a truly awful seafood place just off campus that a number of his fellow students went to… Ugh, just thinking about it made him cringe. He’d only eaten there once and refused to ever return.

The two climbed out of the truck after Fiddleford parked by a red and white car that was uncomfortably familiar to Ford. He was reasonably sure he knew whose car it was. But it was still a good idea to check first. He stepped around the back of the car to check the plate and winced.

Just as he’d thought.

It was the Stanley mobile, the same car that Stanley left home with all those years ago. He knew his brother had been attached to the old car, but he would have thought that Stan would have gotten a new one by now. It seemed that he hadn’t. (Then again, there was nothing wrong with holding onto something reliable.)

He heard Fiddleford let out a delighted noise, the kind he usually made when he saw a machine he liked. Or, in this case, a car he liked.

“Oh, it is what I thought it was! A 1965 El Diablo! Those things are major collectors' cars nowadays. It looks like the guy’s still got most of the original parts on it. He musta worked hard to keep it in good shape like this.” He looked back at Fiddleford, who was suddenly near giddy as he looked over the old car. He felt the edge of a smile starting as he watched. “Maybe the fella who owns it will let me take a look under the hood before we leave…”

“I’m sure Stanley wouldn’t mind. He’s always been proud of his car,” Ford kept his tone casual, a smile tugging at his face. He fought down a laugh as his friend’s head snapped to him.

“This is your brother’s car? How do ya know?” Fiddleford asked. Ford chuckled, pointing at the license plate.

“This is the same plate Stan had on the car when he left home. The same car, too. I’m sure of it. I remember how excited he was when he brought that thing home.” Ford couldn’t help smiling as he spoke. “He bought it for a steal from a neighbor who was retiring and planned to move south but didn’t see the point in driving both their cars down. Especially since they were only one person. He’d already saved up for months to get a car of his own and it was just- Perfect timing for Stan.”

Stanley had been near bouncing when he’d dragged Ford out of the house to show it to him. Saying that they could drive themselves around now and didn't have to walk or talk Pa into taking them places. All Ford had to do was ask and Stan would have been happy to take him anywhere he liked. It had meant a lot to him back then, especially since driving had always made Ford nervous and stressed him out too much…

He’d gotten better about it after leaving for college but he still wasn’t big on driving if he didn’t need to.

(When was the last time he thought about things like that? When was the last time he thought about happier times with his brother? Without the sting of Pa’s yelling and anger cutting in? Too long. It was too long.)

“Well, I’ll have to wait for him to come around before I ask, then.” Fiddleford paused for a moment, then, “I suppose it’s a good thing there’s two of us then. I don’t think Stanley would want to leave it behind. One of us can drive it back up. Unless I find a way to hitch it to the back of the truck. I might have a car hitch in one of my toolboxes, now that I think about it…”

He hummed quietly. A car hitch would make it easier to get the car back.

But cramming all three of them into the cab of Ford’s old pickup would be a bit of a tight fit. It may be easier to do a variant of how they drove down and just switch vehicles every few hours. That would probably be more comfortable for them all. They’d have to talk it over with Stanley since he’d be the permanent passenger no matter which plan they went with.

“We’ll have to work out the logistics later,” Ford said, gesturing to the front office. “First, we need to sort things out here. Then we can figure out how to get everyone back to Gravity Falls.”

“Fair point. We’ll circle back to this later, then,” Fiddleford said. Ford took the lead, stepping into the office. The woman who was likely the one manning the desk was watering the plants and looked up when the bell jingled.

“Oh, Mistah Pines! I was wondering where you were. Haven’t seen you around for breakfast in days. Cryin’ shame, I promised ya some good hotcakes…” She trailed off as she looked him over. And probably realized as she looked that, despite sharing a face, he didn’t look as much like his brother after a second glance. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Stanford Pines, my brother was the one who rented a room here.” The woman straightened up, looking bashful.

“Gracious, I’m terribly sorry dear. What can I do for you two gentlemen then?” She smiled kindly at him, setting the watering can down by the plants. Ford winced, slightly.

“I’m- I’m here because my brother was admitted to the hospital a few days ago,” Ford said, his tone even, despite the small stutter at the start. The woman let out a little gasp, hands fluttering to her mouth. “I need to pick up his belongings if you still have them. And, possibly, rent a room for myself and my assistant, if you have any available.”

The woman was nodding before he’d even finished speaking, hurrying behind the desk and digging through one of the drawers.

“Oh, certainly dear! In fact, the two of you can stay in Mistah Pines's room. Lemme get you the second key.”

“Are you sure?” Fiddleford asked, stepping closer to the desk.

“It’s no trouble, dearies. Mistah Pines’ room was actually a double room, it was meant for two people. It was the only one we had open when it was reserved and paid off before he arrived. Since he’s yer brother, I’m sure he won’t mind letting you stay there.”

Ford held back a twitch at that. Logically, he knew the woman didn’t know about the problems he and his brother had. But he also wasn’t fool enough to ignore when someone was making an assumption that was helpful for him.

Staying in a room that was already paid for would be much more helpful than canceling for the days that Stanley wasn’t going to be using it, and then reserving a new room for himself and Fiddleford on top of that. Especially without Stanley there to help sort out his side of the payments and paperwork.

It was simply less of a hassle to use the room that was already there. Even if it was, technically, not something they should have been doing.

“Thank you, ma’am,” was all he could really say.

“Oh, my name’s Martha, dear. Martha Wilks. My husband is the one who owns this motel and he handles most of the maintenance on the rooms. Here’s the other key!” Mrs. Wilks let out a little cheer, straightening up and presenting them with the second key to the room. “Now, this is for room twelve and it’s got two twin beds in it. Should be perfect for you two gentlemen. It’s got the usual things you find in a room these days; a TV so you can check the news, a phone in case you need to make any calls, and the bathroom even has a standing shower. We’re mighty lucky to have that last one, considering how much the water bills have been going up lately!”

Water bill? Ah right, this was New Mexico. Water was harder to get, considering how much of the state was desert. He was glad he never had to worry about that, since his cabin had a ground well that it got water from.

“What happened to Mistah Pines?” Mrs. Wilks asked hesitantly. Ford looked back at the woman, who was nervously fussing with her hands now. “I mean… He was such a nice fellow when I was talking to him.”

“Well, Stanley was the victim of an animal attack, apparently. According to the doctors we spoke to, he’ll be alright but will need time to recover,” he said. Ford didn’t want to go into too much detail. This woman seemed kind, but this felt… Private.

“Oh my! Did he go up by North Street?” Ford’s brow furrowed at that.

“North Street?”

“Yes, there have been a lot of animal attacks up there over the past month. According to the news, they think some kind of wild animal is the one doing it,” she said, a hand tapping nervously on the counter. “A lot of folks are saying coyotes, but to me, they sound more like mountain lion attacks.”

“Mountain lions?!” Fiddleford squeaked, eyes widening in shock. Ford felt his own breathing hitch at the thought. Sweet Moses…

“Oh yes! It’s the only thing big enough that I can think of that could do the kind of harm I’ve been hearing about. If I had known he was heading up there for work, I would have warned him to wait ‘till the sun was up…” Her voice trailed off. Fiddleford looked at her curiously, turning the key over in his hands.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Most of the animal attacks happened at night. Everyone assumed that you’d be safer doing any kind of work during the day instead.” Mrs. Wilks stated, leaning on the counter with a frown. “At least until animal control can finally get things back to normal over there. He must have stayed out later than he meant to…”

“But why would he even be out at night?” Ford couldn’t help muttering to himself. Poor visibility would make any kind of work very difficult.

“I think he was worried about being in trouble with the fella who hired him. The room was actually reserved by a local, who’d hired him for a job in the area. I knew he was coming, so I stayed late around the day he was supposed to arrive in town,” Mrs. Wilks answered, making Ford look back at her curiously. “He checked in real late at night. So late it was almost morning! I was out like a light after I finally hit the hay.”

Yes, that certainly sounded late. Did Stan have to make a long drive to get here? He must have to’ve arrived at a time like that.

“He slept the whole day away before he finally came in here for a town map and to ask when the nearest place to eat was. Said he was a handyman who was hired to come to town and take a look at something someone was trying to fix up by the north side of town, up by the woods. I can’t quite remember what he’d said he was doing specifically, since it’s been a couple days since then.”

A handyman. Stanley was a handyman now. That was- not something he would have expected from his brother. It sounded so… Mundane.

He remembered Ma talking to him about some of the absurd commercials that his brother had managed to get on to the public broadcast channels. A bunch of scam products that he’d put together that weren’t worth whatever Stanley had paid to get them played on the television networks. It had been obvious (to Ford at least) that his brother had been trying to squeeze every penny possible out of anyone dumb enough to purchase them. But the commercials had all stopped by the time Ford had finished his first year of college.

He’d assumed that his brother had wised up and taken his snake oil elsewhere. The people of New Jersey weren’t geniuses, but they weren’t fools who could be tricked forever. It was only a matter of time until people examined the quality of his products and brought it up to the appropriate authorities. He had assumed Stanley had stopped when that had happened and that was why the commercials had stopped.

Those commercials had always been in the back of his mind on the (very rare) occasions he pondered what his brother was up to. All he could picture was Stanley as some over-the-top, irritatingly chipper salesman selling low-quality products for absurdly high prices.

(And, maybe, getting in over his head. Breaking laws to sell things he shouldn’t to get rich quickly. Or running into a “customer” with a grudge over some subpar product he had sold them. A Liar. Selfish. Greedy. Like Pa always said.)

The idea that Stanley would have decided to change careers at some point had never crossed his mind. Never mind his brother taking on a common, mundane job like being a “handyman.”

Although he supposed, a handyman would find more consistent business in the long term than a self-employed salesman would. While not a job that would get him a large amount of money very quickly, it was certainly a more stable line of work. There was always a need for a handyman, no matter where you went.

Stanley had been trying to get to work after sleeping in and ended up being attacked by a wild animal.

What terrible luck…

“Thank you, Mrs. Wilks.” Ford looked back to Fiddleford, who was smiling politely at the woman. “We’d best start getting settled.”

“Of course, dears. Come by in the morning, alright? I try to make some breakfast fixings for the folks staying here, so if you want something to eat then please stop in.”

“We’ll keep that in mind!” Fiddleford called cheerfully, waving as they left the office. He looked back at Ford as the door closed. “We oughta grab our bags from the truck and bring ‘em to the room.”

Ford nodded.

“Right. No time like the present.”

Both of them went back to the truck and pulled out their respective luggage. It was good luck that they’d ended up parking next to Stanley’s car since it was also next to the room he’d been staying in. Which was now the room they would be staying in.

(Stan must have taken a taxi to get to wherever he was working. Likely because he didn’t know the local streets very well.)

Ford slid the key into the lock of room number twelve, opening the door with a click and stepping through.

His first thoughts were that the room was, in fact, meant for more than one person to stay in. And the second was that the room smelled like lavender.

Which was… Not what he was expecting. Though he hadn’t really expected any kind of smell for a motel room. And yet, the room smelled like lavender and a few other herbs that he couldn’t name off the top of his head. Like someone had burned incense or some scented candles or something in the room. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was enough for him to notice.

“Huh… Smells kinda floral in here,” he heard his friend mumble. “Better than most motel smells, at least.”

He hummed in agreement. He walked further in, looking around as he did with Fiddleford at his heels.

The room was small with two twin-size beds pressed against a side wall, just like Mrs. Wilks said they would find. There was a desk against the wall opposite the beds and an old tv propped up on top of the dresser. Heavy curtains hung over the window, blocking the light from outside and making the room fairly dark.

Fiddleford was quick to wander further in, opening the curtains so they could both have a better look around the room.

The room was decorated in cool colors, lots of blues and whites with some black trim on various parts of the room. The pillows on the beds were white, the comforters were dark blue, and the headboards were wood and painted in black. The desk, chairs, and dresser all had the same black painted wood. Though the chairs had blue patterned cloth cushions on them.

Just as he’d theorized in the parking lot, there were more nautical-themed items in the room.

A painting on one wall with a large ship depicted in it, a lampshade with ocean waves printed on it, a coat hook designed to look like an anchor hung up by the door, and a few other simple things like that.

Only one of the beds looked like it had been slept in, the one furthest from the window. The one that Stanley had slept through his first day in town in, most likely. It was partially made, and obviously not by the employees, with the large blue comforter pushed down onto the floor. One of the extra pillows was set on top of it.

Stan seemed to be using the other bed to lay out a dull orange and dark green duffel bag and an old-fashioned suitcase instead of putting his belongings away in the dresser.

Which would make sense, since Stanley probably wasn’t planning on staying for very long. Why unpack everything when you would only need a few things for one or two nights? He’d obviously just thought it was easier to keep it all in the bags until it was time to leave again.

(And Ford wasn’t inclined to disagree with that logic. It was something he would have done as well.)

There were some books sitting on the desk, next to the motel’s telephone. One was left open with a pen laying on top of it and another, a larger book set in the middle of the desk. There was also a dark brown, rattan picnic basket on the desk, opposite from the side that the phone was sitting on, with a few green dishes and silverware laid out beside it. A small cooler sat on the floor near the desk chair.

Since Stanley had arrived at the motel late in the night, he must have had some food of his own that he’d eaten before going to bed. Carrying a picnic basket for dishes was actually rather clever since those were usually made to carry dishes safely while traveling. His brother must have picked it up while on the road since he was certain Stanley hadn’t owned one before he’d left.

(Their father would have never kept something like that around, let alone allowed Stanley to have it. He would have been far more likely to sell it than keep it.)

As for the food in the cooler, it had probably gone bad by this point. Unless they were some kind of dry stock that Stanley just kept in a cooler for convenience. He would probably have to check it later, there was no reason to let something rot inside. Mold was a pain to clean out, too. So the sooner they took care of that the better.

There was an ashtray sitting on the bedside table between the two beds under the lamp, designed like a lighthouse with a large lampshade over it, with what looked like a half-burned cigarette sitting in it. But it didn’t look like the kind one would normally buy from a store.

Coming closer, the herby-floral smell grew stronger. Was it some kind of herbal cigarette, then? He supposed that would explain why it looked so unusual. He almost wanted to say it looked homemade, as well.

(And it didn’t look like weed. He’d never partaken in the substance himself, though he remembered people from college who’d used it. Fiddleford had tried it once, purely out of curiosity.)

There was a framed photo sitting beside the ashtray, pointed toward the bed that Stanley had likely been sleeping in. The frame was interesting since it looked like someone had made it from branches and was well lacquered to keep it in good condition. There was a small stick that was carefully attached to the back to help it stand up.

It was something he’d never expected his brother to have, yet there it was on the bedside table.

His curiosity peaked, he walked over picked up the picture, and looked it over. And saw a much younger version of his brother looking back out at him.

His hair was much shorter than it was now, though still longer than when he’d first left home, and he was dressed in a t-shirt and baggy overalls, with a large basket of apples in his arms. An old straw hat partially shaded his face from the sunlight. He looked nineteen, maybe twenty years old, if Ford had to guess. Especially since the Stanley in the picture still had the acne that Ford remembered from their teenage years.

Standing beside his brother was an old man that Ford didn’t know.

The man had a square, wrinkled, weather-beaten face with bright eyes and a full head of long, silver hair that was tied back at the base of his neck. A tattered, wide-brimmed hat was pushed back on his head, with some kind of bird feather stuck into the headband. He had a flannel shirt on with the sleeves rolled up underneath a set of overalls of his own. The old man was also carrying a basket, though smaller than the one Stan had. Behind them was an orchard and a small wagon with more baskets of apples already loaded in.

Both of them had smudges of dirt on their clothes and faces from working, standing under the bright sunshine the photo was taken in. But they both seemed happy as they grinned widely at whoever was taking the picture.

(It had been years since he’d seen his brother smile like that.)

Ford’s eyes roved over the two, taking in all the little details in the snapshot of what his brother had done after he left Jersey.

Was this a job his brother had held for a while? Was the old man his boss? Being a farmhand wasn’t something Ford would have expected from his brother. But, considering how old the man looked, maybe Stanley had decided he really needed the help.

It must have been a good job, or he at least had a good relationship with the man, if Stanley kept a photo from it near his bed…

(Had Pa put any pictures in the duffle he threw at Stanley when he was kicked out? Or had he only put his brother’s clothing in the bag? Did Ma manage to sneak any in before Pa had thrown the bag? Had his brother been able to keep anything from home?)

He gently set the photo down again, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

At least his brother’s life on the road hadn’t been entirely terrible, even if it had taken a path that Ford would never have expected from him. He’d had some good things happen to him while he’d been living on his own. At least one good boss who’d made a very strong (positive) impact on him.

Small mercies, he supposed.

There were worse things that could have happened to Stanley than switching his profession or working with a kind old man. There were many, many dangerous people and dangerous jobs that he could have ended up with instead.

Especially without his highschool diploma to prove his education level.

(Unless Stan had gone back to the school at some point to get it on his own? Would the school have even let him take one without their parents there? Ford was pretty sure you could do that, now that he was thinking of it.)

It would have been far too easy to fall in with the wrong crowds while on the streets. Start taking jobs from the wrong people. To fall for people promising things they would never deliver, with prices far higher than he could hope to pay. To be lead to believe that he was doing good only to take a fall that he would never be prepared for.

To be taken in by the worst sort and so thoroughly tangled in it that he would never be able to escape.

(Why was he only thinking of those things now? Why did it take seeing his brother in the hospital for him to consider the danger Stanley would have been living with while on the road?)

Thankfully, it seemed Stan had managed to avoid that happening. He’d avoided being in too deep. He’d avoided the worst cases. Yes, he was in the hospital, but not for the worst possible reasons. For mistakes he’d made without the rest of their family’s help finally catching up to him. He would be okay.

(Ford had been angry with his brother, but that didn’t mean he wanted the worst for him. He didn’t want bad things to happen to him.)

It was good that, at the very least, Stanley hadn’t been too far from Ford for him to help. He was close enough that Ford could come and help Stan get back on his feet again after all of this. It would cut into his work for a small time, but he wasn’t inclined to feel too bad about it.

Because Stan needed his help. Stan needed his help and he missed his brother he could handle taking care of his brother for a little while.

Besides, Stan could be helpful for a while. He’d had a few moments where he was too caught up in his notes to figure things out. He could admit that he missed the obvious on occasion. Things that, when they were children, his brother had easily been able to pick up on. Maybe he could even ask for help with a few other things if Stan felt up to it. Some of his piping had been asking odd noises and a second pair of eyes would help Ford figure out what was going on with them.

And maybe some company when Fiddleford left for the night would be nice… He wasn’t lonely. Certainly not.

“Which bed do you want to take?” He felt himself asking, pushing those feelings and thoughts away to unpack later. They were unimportant for now.

“Makes no difference to me. Unless you have a preference?” Fiddleford was neatly packing up the books on the desk, setting them aside to be put in either the truck or his brother’s car later. Ford hummed in thought, looking back at the two beds.

“You can take the one closer to the window. That way you’re not trying to sleep in the same bed Stanley had been using.” The idea of making his friend use the same bed his brother had been using felt weird. Something about it made him feel like he shouldn’t let that happen. Besides, he’d grown up with Stanley and they’d shared beds plenty of times. So that would be fine.

“Makes sense to me,” Fiddleford said, nodding. He hadn’t really expected his friend to disagree, but it did make him feel just a little bit better.

The two set to carefully packing up Stanley’s belongings before finally unpacking their own things for spending the night. Fiddleford even took a moment to wash Stan’s dishes in the bathroom sink before packing them away. They didn’t stow everything in Stan’s car, both agreeing that it would be better to ask Stan where he wanted them put rather than just randomly putting them in.

It was while Fiddleford went off to get some dinner from a nearby take-out restaurant for the two of them that something unexpected happened. Ford had opted to stay in the room, turning on the local news to see if there was more information about the animal attacks.

He… Wasn’t sure why he kept fixating on that. Something about the descriptions had felt off to him, but he still had no idea what or why. (Maybe it was the need for some kind of closure? Assurance that whatever had harmed his brother was being handled.)

But his moment of calm was shattered when the motel phone rang.

Ford’s head snapped to the phone, staring at it in confusion.

Who was calling? Who knew that there was anyone to call in the room? Not anyone who knew Fiddleford or himself. Were they looking for Stanley? Had Stanley told anyone he was staying at this motel?

It was possible that he had and Ford simply hadn’t known. It wasn’t as though Stan could have warned him before he came to the motel. But his brother was still out cold in the hospital. So he certainly couldn’t tell him now, or answer the phone himself.

He hesitantly picked the receiver up.

(He hoped he wouldn’t be getting his brother in trouble by answering.)

“Hello?” He asked. A very frustrated voice on the other end answered him

“Oh so there IS someone here. Why the hell haven’t you called me yet Pines? Don’t tell me you haven’t found something by now. It’s been days since you called for directions! And you’ve been giving me nothing but radio silence!”

“What do you mean? Who is this?” Ford scowled at the strangers’ tone. Then the rest of what he’d said sank in. He was looking for Stan, and had mentioned being called for directions. Was this Stan’s client?

“Wait- Ah, shit, did I dial the wrong number? I coulda sworn this was the number for Delmar…”

Well, that actually helped, ever so slightly.

“You have the correct motel and room, sir. Stanley Pines, the person I assume you’re trying to contact, is currently in the hospital. I’m his brother and was asked to come by the doctor. I’m at the motel to gather his belongings.” He kept the irritation from his voice as he spoke.

The man on the phone was rude but, if he was his brother’s client, then he was probably irritated from not hearing anything for the past few days. Silence from a paid contractor was a mildly reasonable cause for frustration. (Even if that contractor was Ford’s brother.)

“Oh… Oh shit… I’m, uh, I’m the guy who hired him to come to town, name’s Winston. Charlie Winston. I, ah, own a plot of land I was planning to rent out some space on and needed a second opinion on them for what I needed to get fixed up. So I hired a handyman to give it a once over.”

“And that handyman was my brother,” Ford said, nodding slowly.

The stranger was being… oddly vague about what he’d hired his brother for. He could have just been very private, or not wanting to share details about his business with a stranger. But there was definitely a nervous hint to his words that had Ford’s attention.

“That’s right. What happened to him? Is he alright? Did the doctors have any idea what attacked him?”

“He will be. The doctors say it was an animal attack, but they’re not sure what animal it might have been.” Ford had checked before they left. The nurse he’d spoken to had said they couldn’t quite figure out what had hurt him, but it was something with very large claws. “He hasn’t come around to tell them specifically what kind, however.”

“I see… When he comes around, please tell him to call me. I- I had no idea that this would happen. I want to make sure I get the chance to pay him before you both leave town. Your brother should already have my number somewhere, so he just needs to make the call and I can drop off the payment at the motel. I'll even throw in extra since he’s probably going to be out of work for a while.”

That was… Surprisingly amiable. That Stanley’s client was willing to raise the agreed payment after he’d been hurt on the job.

“Certainly. I’ll be sure to tell him once he comes around. Though it may be easier to just come to the hospital to ask him what he’d found. I’m sure the hospital staff would allow it.”

“I-I can’t. I have a very busy schedule so I wouldn’t have time to stop in just to ask. Especially since I don’t know when he’ll wake up. It would be better if he called me first.”

“Well, if you insist,” Ford said with a frown.

“Please do, I really do want to hear from him.” He listened as the stranger gave a few more pleasantries before they finally hung up the phone. He set the phone back down on the hook, his thoughts buzzing.

Something about that exchange felt… Strange. Oddly nervous and stilted.

The client was planning to pay for Stanley’s services, which was good, but something rang as strange in Ford’s mind.

Maybe it was the way the guy had asked about what had hurt Stanley? Their insistence that Stan needed to call them once he woke up? Had Stan really been sent to investigate a plot of land? Or had he been looking into something else?

And how had they known that Stan had been attacked by something? He said he had no idea that there was anything dangerous in the area but… Hadn’t the animal attacks been happening for weeks now? Wouldn’t Stan’s client have known about them? And shouldn’t he have thought to warn him about them?

It seemed that his brother would be answering some questions once he finally came around.

And there was a very real possibility that Ford was going to be having words with Mr. Winston.

AN: And done! I feel like the ending was a little rushed, but at least I got it down.

Also, I am not a doctor nor do I ever plan on becoming one, so if you see any medical errors, that's probably why they're there.

Comments and questions are always welcome!

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stanford pines #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #witch stan au #witch stanley au #witch way next au #rosie writes #stanley pines #stanley rae #stan pines #rosies writing

21 notes · View notes