#this series is kinda making me wanna gnaw my arm off

[sunnnfish]

Okay OKAY I wasn’t gonna propagandize the summer hikaru died but ive been thinking a little too much about it. SORRY I’ve been basically recommending a hundred different series. If you think my posts are all over the place you should see my brain. Anyways.

The THING about the summer hikaru died. The many things about it. That are getting to me. Number one the overwhelming feeling of SUMMER. Almost every page has the sound effects of cicadas or rain and sweat on everyone’s bodies. It’s so immersive, to me at least. It’s like it never lets you forget. A constant droning it feels like everyone has to speak a little louder to be heard. Something oppressive lives here, and it’s not just the eldritch horrors.

Number TWO. Grief. But in like that horror way. Mourning somebody no one else knows is gone. I’m just gonna say it bc it’s revealed in like the first 5 pages it’s body replacement. Some.. thing replaces the main characters best friend and it’s like. The twisting feeling in your gut looking at something that you should know but knowing it’s not the same anymore. It’s someone else. Look at this page I can’t stop thinking about it

[ID: A panel from Hikaru ga Shinda Natsu. Yoshiki sits with his head on his desk, drawn so his face and body are streaking down the page in smears of black. Around him float black text bubbles with scratchy text saying "To move on." Then he lifts his head with a gasp when someone exclaims, "Finally! There you are!" End ID]

That’s fucking GRIEF a sinking terrible grief. That nobody in their right mind could understand. But it’s also like. Christ it’s the mitsuba sousuke tbhk dilemma it’s that this new thing is it’s own person too. They aren’t the same but it’s damn near impossible to separate them because they look the same and act the same and desperately want to be the same. They want to be alive.

THREE. Cannot forget the queerness. The queer allegories and actual queerness are intense. Grotesqueness and horror at being different. Feeling like you know something is bad but you can’t help but enjoy it. Gut wrenching desire mixed in with every complicated feeling about losing your best friend while something pilots his body almost perfectly. It’s very fucked up. ALSO. Fear at being found out. Self hatred for being grotesque and different and not what everyone wants. Not what he wants.

Anyways uuuhhhh.yeah the summer hikaru died is fascinating to me. I love the feeling of it. Gives me chills. It’s cool 👍🏻 ALSO THE ART IS SO. GOOD. Haunting. I love it.

[loosesodamarble]

Sorry about that!! I'm illiterate and I can't read. I'm back to do this properly. Leo abd Noelle for 🥛 please?

It's perfectly alright, Theo! Thanks for understanding and resending your request! So now...

I've got your order ready: one friendship between Leopold and Noelle!

This friendship fic is going to be a little more somber because the song for the milk request is I'd Give Anything by Alan Menken from Tangled: The Series.

..........

It had been years ago, before either of them learned about the pressure that came with the families they were born into. Leopold and Noelle sat together in the boy’s play room. Noelle had a small globe of water floating in front of her hands, wobbling like a piece of jello.

“My magic isn’t like yours,” Noelle muttered, a slight frown on her face. “It doesn’t hold still like Solid’s.”

“That shouldn’t matter!” Leopold exclaimed with a shake of his head. “It looks like your water is dancing! And look, look!” He conjured a flickering flame in his hands. “My fire wiggles too! So your magic is fine!”

Noelle smiled but it was thin and saddened by her eyes. “Okay… I guess…”

“Now watch this!” Leopold said as he held his fire close to Noelle’s water. “The fire will make the water all hot and change it!”

Just as Leopold said, Noelle’s water sphere began to bubble before eventually hitting the boiling point. Puffs of steam rose from the sphere that gathered on the children’s cheeks.

“It kinda tickled, didn’t it?” Noelle giggled while drying her face with a handkerchief. She then used the handkerchief on Leopold’s face. “How’d you know it would do that?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

Smirking, Leopold puffed out his chest and said, “It’s because I’m older than you!”

Leopold sighed as he opened the doors and stared into the room that no longer existed, now a study. That innocent and happy past was long gone.

Tears pooled in his eyes, frustration gnawing at him. He should’ve stayed friends with Noelle. Maybe then he would have seen the signs. Noelle’s anxiety over her magic and the cold, almost cruel, treatment that her family showed her. If he had, he would have helped her and given her the support she so clearly needed.

Or could he have?

…..

“Why do we have to wait so long before we get our grimoires?” Leopold huffed while flopping backwards onto the grass in the palace garden.

“Stop being impatient, Leo.” Noelle, with the grace of a swan, knelt on the ground beside Leopold and looked down her nose at him. “As a royal, you need to act with more dignity.”

“But you don’t wanna wait either, right?” Leopold kicked himself up and turned onto his hands and knees. “The sooner we get our grimoires, the sooner we become Magic Knights, and the faster we can get strong like our siblings! I wanna catch up to them right now!”

Noelle opened her mouth to object but nothing came out. As much as she wanted, she could never be like her siblings, with their excellent control over magic. In her opinion, Leopold shouldn’t have been complaining. He had power and control so his goal was actually achievable.

I hate how he can say that so easily, Noelle thought as she grit her teeth behind her lips. In her lap, her hands curled into fists. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have nothing but failure expected of you…

“I’ve decided, Noelle!” Leopold jumped to his feet and extended a hand to her. “We’ll be captains just like Nozel and Big Bro Fuegoleon!”

“Uh…” Noelle wanted to say “Let’s do it!” but the words didn’t come out.

In the present, Noelle stared at Asta as he sun-bathed behind the squad base. It was Asta who helped her find her resolve despite Leopold trying much earlier.

She walked away from Asta to be with her thoughts. Now, she could only wish that she matched Leopold’s resolve back then. Perhaps she would have noticed his self-doubt that came from being in the shadow of Mereoleona and Fuegoleon. If she had, she would have reassured him that he didn’t need to be his siblings to be amazing.

Or could she have?

…

Between training sessions with the Heart Kingdom’s Spirit Guardians, the Clover Kingdom’s Magic Knights got time to themselves to relax. Noelle wandered the lush palace garden, her thoughts once again on the past. She heard a twig snap ahead of her and she looked up to see Leopold. Noelle gasped and Leopold appeared off guard as well.

A beat.

“Leopold, I wanted—!”

“Noelle, listen—!”

The two royals stopped short and frowned. Leopold’s was tired while Noelle’s was annoyed.

“Urgh… Ladies first?”

“Hmph! If you insist!” Noelle said haughtily with a flick of her hair. Her facade quickly dropped however and her gaze turned sorrowful. “I’ve been thinking… About the past.” She rubbed her arms and looked around at the environment. “And I wanted to say that… I’m sorry. For not staying friends with you. We lived so close to each other and yet we grew apart and acted like strangers the past few years. I’d give anything for a second chance.”

“I… I wanted to apologize too…” Leopold muttered. “We’re cousins and yet—”

“We’re not cousins. Can’t you read a family tree?”

“We’re basically cousins and yet—”

“Not even that. You really don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Can I finish saying sorry?” Leopold asked, halfway between annoyance and laughter. He took a deep breath. “As I was saying… I can’t act like I know everything you suffered and I can’t change the past. I’m sorry for not trying harder back then but I want to fix that now. I’m not a Black Bull but know that if you’re ever discouraged or distressed, you can turn to me!”

“Stupid.” Despite what she said, Noelle smiled warmly. “I already knew that. But thank you all the same.”

[star-spangledstud]

MIND GAMES - THREE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The team goes on a mission. You meet someone who might expose you. 

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence 

Note: Wanna be tagged in future chapters? Shoot me a message :) Sorry for being MIA for so long. I’ve been sad. Blegh. 

SERIES MASTERLIST.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

Over the few days that follow, you become increasingly paranoid. It’s your own fault, because you shouldn’t have lied to the people that have welcomed you into their homes with open arms, but lying is a survival skill that you were taught many years ago, and old habits die hard. You become shadowy, avoid team members in the hallways and common areas of the penthouse floor you all share, and stay in your room as much as possible without alarming anyone. Of course Natasha knows something is up, but Steve doesn’t, and he waves off her concern as you simply ‘needing more time to adjust, Nat’. You watch their body language during breakfast – one of two meals a day you simply cannot get out of without causing anyone’s alarm bells to start ringing – and engage in light conversation wherever possible to keep them out of your hair.

Guilt gnaws at your insides when you find yourself wandering the deserted wrap-around balcony at nearly 3 a.m., brain searching for a clue to any bad things that might happen. If any one of them figures out you’re ex-hydra you’re done for, that much you know, but the man with golden hair and twinkling azure eyes might just be your ticket to safety.

The thought alone sickens you, because you vowed never to mess with someone’s feelings to get what you need ever again. It’s a twisted thought, but the vines of its root wrap themselves around the stem of your brain nonetheless.

A month after first moving in, you’ve already figured out their routines. Steve’s the early riser of the bunch, getting up every morning at 6:30 a..m. sharp to go on a run around the city. On rare occasions, he manages to convince Sam to come along with him, but more often than not, he remains in his bed until at least 10 o’clock, when Steve’s already come back to shower and get dressed for the day. Tony and Bruce are in the lab 24/7, both of them constantly bickering about artificial intelligence and microbiology among other matters you can’t even begin to understand. As a result, you don’t see them around too often, a notion you don’t particularly mind. Clint left to be with his family two weeks ago and hasn’t been back since, and Natasha leaves all the time, sometimes for days at a time. You don’t dare to ask anyone where she goes when she disappears, but nobody seems surprised to find her seat at the dining table empty again.

It’s a gloomy day when you wake up to find the entire place void of all life. Not even Steve, who’s adamant about his morning coffee, is there to grace you with his presence when you walk into the kitchen that Saturday morning. The counter is clean, no empty coffee cups, half-eaten bowls of oatmeal or bread crumbs to indicate anyone’s eaten yet, and all of the chairs are still perfectly lined against the table.

Your pulse involuntarily quickens to an uncomfortable pace, and you bite the inside of your cheek until the metallic taste of blood is heavy on your tongue. With quick steps, you walk towards the common room, footsteps loud in your ears when you consider where they might be. As expected, there’s nobody there. The TV is switched off, there are no dents in the heavy fabric of the couch from where Steve usually sits, and again, no empty cups or bowls can be found on the coffee table. You have the jitters when you finally get to the library, which is again void of all life.

Black socks covered in small holes squeak across the wooden floors when you walk around the room. It’s not surprising to see the library vacant. You’re sure Avengers have more pressing matters to tend to than reading books on any given day, but it was your last hope nonetheless. With your head tilted to the side, you focus on scanning the titles that line the walls. You follow every shelf in the room until your eye finally catches something. You take the book with a sigh, flip through its tattered pages, and wonder for a moment which one of the Avengers has read the crap out of Pride and Prejudice. Definitely not Sam, judging by his internal monologue. That guy doesn’t appear to have an ounce of romanticism inside him.  

 “They’re out,” a gentle voice suddenly says behind you, “Steve didn’t want to wake you up this morning to tell you.”

You slap your hand over your heart in surprise, and inhale sharply, “Jesus Christ, doc. You scared the hell out of me.”

Bruce throws his hands up in the air and shrugs his shoulders, “Sorry, it’s just me.”

“Are they on a mission?” you ask, feeling your heart jump in your chest like a skippy ball.

“Yeah, they should be back in a few days. Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallow thickly, noticing all of a sudden how your mouth is dry like sandpaper, “you just spooked me, that’s all. What kind of mission is it?”

“Intel gathering, in an out. That’s why I didn’t come. They only bring me when they need the green guy,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” you reply slowly, “how’s he holding up?”

“Asleep,” Bruce smiles, then clears his throat, “for now, anyway. Would you like to get some breakfast?”

You follow Bruce through the rain, which started to gust from the grey sky just as you were getting dressed. You’d rather have said no, but you knew you couldn’t; it wouldn’t be polite to decline his offer. Besides, he’s oblivious, and for whatever reason, he trusts you. When he bites into his chocolate croissant, you know why – Steve’s let you in. This notion once more confirms the thoughts that have been occupying your mind for the last week; Steve is your one-way ticket to inclusivity.

You shudder at the thought and fake a smile before taking a large sip of coffee. The cafe is small, mostly empty, and your seat by the window gives you a perfect view of pedestrians struggling in the howling, icy wind. One year ago, you could never have imagined yourself sitting in a café with a cup of coffee clutched between your fingers, chatting with someone who you could potentially call a friend. The idea alone of being able to enjoy a warm mug filled with freshly brewed coffee would’ve sounded preposterous to you.

There was no warmth with HYDRA. Only cold.

It takes the team three days to return from their mission. Three long days, during which you spend most of your time with Bruce in his lab, perched on a desk-chair with a book in your hands while he works on – actually, you have no idea what he’s working on. You quickly grow to become fond of him, because he doesn’t feel the need to constantly fill the silence between you with empty words. His thoughts are coherent, focused on his project, and the lingo is too advanced for you to understand, which makes it easy to drown out. His inner monologue is quiet, except for a few angry words from the Hulk when Bruce becomes frustrated with his work, but that only happened on day two, and only for ten minutes.

Steve smells like gun powder and sweat when he hugs you softly against his chest after exiting the Quinjet. Natasha waves at you, and the smile that dons her dirt-caked face surprises you, but you return it nonetheless. Sam even ruffles your hair, causes a sound to escape your throat that you haven’t heard yourself make in over a decade; a strange combination of a snort and a chuckle that sounds like music to your own ears. Your heart pounds again, but in a good way this time, because for a small moment in time, you’ve managed to put the guilt on the back-burner. The roaring engine behind you falls silent at last, and nobody else visibly exits the plane before you make it inside.  

“You held up okay?” Steve asks as he follows you back inside the building.

You nod in response and shove your hands deep inside the pockets of your hoodie, “I’ve been helping Bruce with his research.”

“Oh, did you? How’s it coming?” he asks.

His eyes sparkle like two tiny stars even through the exhaustion that nearly forces them shut every time he blinks. He’s exhausted, you can tell, and you have to bite your tongue before you make a comment about the state he’s in.

“I mostly sat there while he did all the thinking. Turns out computer science isn’t really my thing after all.”

Steve fights a yawn that threatens to overcome him, and nods, “yeah, I feel you. I can barely get the damn things to start. I’ve given up on technology.”

He turns back to face you when he’s come to a halt in front of his room.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you where I went,” he tells you, meaning it as he says it, “we kinda left in a hurry, and you were still sleeping.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “I understand.”

He quickly retreats after that, leaving you once again with nothing to do. You go back to your room to grab the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice from your nightstand and, after plopping down on your bed, flip to the page where you last left off. You read for a while, before the idea to make some tea with warm milk and honey pops into your head, and you skip along the hallway to the kitchen with the book securely wrapped in your arms.

You’re surprised to hear Steve’s voice when you enter the common area, and a smile appears on his face the second his eyes fall on you. You raise one arm to wave at him, but a loud gasp and a large thud followed by the sound of breaking glass have you freezing on the spot before you can open your mouth to greet him at all.

Your head snaps towards the source of the sound, causing your neck to twist and crack painfully. Red, glowing eyes meet your large ones when you dare to look up at whoever made the noise, and the book in your hands falls to the ground with a loud bang that startles everyone in the room. You stumble backwards when you can feel the woman standing before you deep inside of your head, and you nearly trip over the rug when you instinctly try to get away from her. Frantically, you scramble to stop her from seeing more than she’s already seen. Still, by the time you manage to build up a mental barrier to keep her out of your head, it’s already too late.

You haven’t seen her before, and you can’t remember for the life of you if the image of her has popped up in any of the Avengers’ heads. Your brain is mushy, images hazy as you try to focus on keeping the woman from digging around deeper. You can see distant memories of your time with HYDRA flash before her eyes, and the images blur with the present in a spasm that makes your eyes water.

Wanda Maximoff lets out a shrill, piercing shriek, one that chills everyone to the bone. Thor, who you didn’t even know was there, is by her side before she can collapse onto the cold, hard floor, and Steve jumps up from his chair before you have time to register his movements. He grabs your arm and drags you out of the kitchen, fingers digging painfully in your tender flesh when he pulls you away from the scene. Sympathy fills Sam’s dark brown eyes when you turn back around to look at him, and guilt roils in your stomach when the redhead sinks to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

Your arms hang limply to your side when you watch Steve pace back and forth around his room. You’re waiting for him to yell at you, to tell you to get the fuck out of the compound and never return, but he remains awfully quiet. His silence confuses and unnerves you simultaneously.

His eyes, swimming with unimaginable depth, find your face while the scent of his cologne and pure testosterone invades your nostrils. Pressure clamps down on your chest, and the intensity of his gaze causes you to shiver. Never in your entire life have you wanted to read someone’s mind more. 

“Are you alright?” your head cocks to the side, mouth twitching while you try to find words. 

You nearly gave that woman an aneurysm, and he’s asking you if you’re okay?

“Yes,” you stammer, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Wanda is telepathic,” Steve says, “she has trouble controlling what she sees sometimes.” 

“Like I said, I’m so so-” 

A soft exhale leaves your lips when Steve’s hands find their way to your shoulders, and your voice dies down in your throat when he bends down slightly to meet your eyes. Calloused fingertips penetrate the thin material of your t-shirt, and the warmth of his hands creates a buzzing sensation just beneath your skin. 

“She was in Europe, scouting the location of the mission with Rhodey. She’s been in Eastern Europe for a while, that’s why you haven’t seen her. I should’ve told you about her.”

“Will she be okay?” you ask. You hardly recognize your own voice. 

“Sam’s got her. She’s stronger than she looks. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good.” 

You don’t know how to respond. You crave a cigarette all of a sudden, even though you don’t smoke. Alcohol then, maybe, to numb down the prickling sensation of firing synapses and goosebumps that line your bare arms. Yeah, a good couple of shots of whiskey will do the trick. Not vodka though, you hate that stuff. 

You bite your bow-shaped lips and inhale deeply. Steve is so close that you can feel his breath fanning across your face. It’s wrong, being so near him after what just happened. You’re on thin ice. It won’t be long before the entire team, undoubtedly informed by what Wanda just saw, comes barging into Steve’s room, ready to drag you away to prison or worse, put a bullet through your skull. You deserve it, you think, for what you used to do. For who you used to be. You almost want somebody to call you out on your shit, because then at least you wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. 

But seconds turn into minutes, and nobody comes. It’s quiet, except for the sound of Steve’s breathing and the steady beating of his heart, and you realize when he looks at you with sympathy and sincerity that you hate yourself for lying. It’s an ironic realization, because lying is like second nature to you. HYDRA spent so much time ingraining it into your brain that it’s become almost like a second language, a means of communication that flows so naturally that you don’t even have an accent anymore. It’s brought you many things, and ruined even more people.

Your hands are going numb from how hard you’re clenching them into fists. Steve’s thumbs are rubbing small circles on your shoulders, and it takes all of your effort not to shake them off. You’re disgusted with yourself, bile threatening to rise to the back of your throat while the sensation of his warm fingers on you is the only thing left for you to feel. The world is dark and cold, but the heat radiating from Steve’s hands is just enough to stop you from getting frostbite. The concern is evident on his face, from the deep crease between his brows to the thin line of his lips; he’s worried about you, someone he doesn’t even know. Someone he would kill if he’d met you under any other circumstances.

You want to go home, you think to yourself, but as soon as the thought appears do you smack it down with your fist. You don’t have a home, you scold yourself, just like the doctors would tell you when you cried and screamed on the dingey operating table in the early days, when they didn’t control you yet. When they still wore their special masks to stop you from controlling their minds so they could freely fuck with yours.

It’s an icy reality, one that rattles you to your core every time it makes an appearance. Steve’s eyes are still scanning your face, which is twisted and contorted into a painful scowl before you even realize what’s happening.

An inexplicable panic washes over you, heart jackhammering in your chest while your cheeks turn a sickly shade of pink. A bead of sweat rolls down your back, followed by cold shivers that envelop your skin in ice. The scent of laundry detergent and cologne hits you like a truck, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from gagging.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice melting and morphing into the sound of rain slamming against the window like gunfire.

“My head,” you cry out in a desperate whimper, “it hurts.”

Steve forces your body down onto his bed, and while you begin to writhe in pain that causes white spots to dance in front of your eyes, he closes the curtains to keep the light from coming in. His mother had head aches all the time, and she’d be in bed for days on end if they got bad enough. He remembers her clear as day, lying in bed with an empty bucket next to her on the floor in the dark, because the light hurt so bad it would make her vomit sometimes. He’d tiptoe around the house because the sound of his feet creaking across the floorboards would pain her. He recognizes her in you, lying on his bed with your hands clutching the sides of your head.

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” he says, quieting his voice, the incident with Wanda long forgotten as instinct takes over.  

Tears blur your vision at this point, and it takes every ounce of focus that you have left to keep yourself from screaming out in pain. Aspirin won’t help, but you don’t possess the capability to tell him not to bother. You’ve experienced this type of pain before, and have endured it without medicine each time. Many times actually; while you were forced to extract information from the people taken and captured by HYDRA with whatever means necessary. This time however, it’s come as a surprise and it’s caught you completely off-guard, although you suspect Wanda’s poking and prodding has something to do with it.

With all the strength you have left, you manage to pull the covers over your head, engulfing yourself in darkness and warmth to drown out your senses. The sudden darkness is disorienting, but you welcome it with open arms. Steve opens his mouth, but shuts it, and heads for the door without uttering another word.

All you hear when Steve exits the room is the sound of your former victims crying out in despair.

NEXT CHAPTER.

TAGLIST:

@foxyjwls007​ @littlegasps​ @hurricane-abigail​ @idk123906​ @ bubblicious-trashcan @wooya1224

[soniaxdixon]

The New World; Series Pt 2

Okay so this is my first time writing a fic and obviously will be my first series but I’ve just rewatched TWD for like the 17th time and my obsession with Daryl has reached new levels. I hope that it isn’t too shit and that you guys actually read/like it. Thank you in advance for baring with my average writing but I mean, how else will I learn? Anyway, enjoy!

Sonia x

Set pre to early season 1, back story for when the world ended.

Part 2 of ??

Summary: Y/N Grimes is Rick’s younger hot headed sister. When Rick gets shot and falls into a coma, Y/N’s world ends. Y/N Finds herself at a quarry near Atlanta with her nephew carl, sister in law Lori and her best friend Glenn where she meets her new family including the equally hot headed redneck Daryl Dixon. Over time Y/N and Daryl begin to form a friendship, finally allowing one another to open up to someone and maybe finding someone they can actually love.

Warnings! Slowish burn but the feels are there from the start, swearing, A little angst. 

Words; 1774

This part focuses more on Season 1 Episode 3 ‘Tell it to the frogs’ We have a little reunion and start to explore Daryl and y/n’s relationship a bit more. - Sorry in advance if there are any errors, I didn’t really edit it properly

Like every morning, you were woken up by the sounds of your friends talking outside and the morning light forcing your eyes open. You rose, got dressed and stepped out of your tent your heart jumping when a big figure grabbed your shoulder suddenly, without warning.

“Jesus fucking christ, Daryl. A little heads up that you’re behind me next time? Shit.”

The ends of his lips curled into a small smile that made your stomach flip with butterflies. The power this man had over you already was immense. “M’ goin’ huntin’, shouldn’t be too long. Let Merle know if he gets back.” And with that, he was gone, not even giving you a chance to respond, his crossbow over his shoulder, hastily making his way into the woods. You couldn’t help but stare until his figure finally disappeared among the trees.

You looked over and saw Carl getting his haircut by Lori. He locked eyes with you and mumbled a plea for help. You shook your head and laughed at his suffering face. Catching on to the end of their conversation, you sat down next to Shane who was cleaning his gun.

“Frogs, plural”

“Why do we need ‘Frogs, plural?’” Carl questioned

You zoned out for a second, looking off in the direction Daryl had headed. Your mind suddenly racing. What happens if he comes across a walker? What happens if he comes across lots of walkers. Did he have a gun or just his crossbow? Why did he go alone?

“What do you think, Y/N?” Shane’s voice broke you from your silent panic.

You just stared at him for a second and he read your confusion, he knew you had a habit of zoning out. “Cajun style kermit legs, what do you think?”

“Oh, gross. No thanks.” Your face contorted with the thought of eating frog legs cooked by Shane. “You can keep your frog legs, I’d rather eat dirt.”

Your conversation was halted by the sudden sound of a car alarm.

“What the fuck?” You questioned, your eyes focusing on Shane.

“Talk to me, Dale?” Shane leapt from his seat and made his way over to the RV

You stood next to Shane, your arms crossed protectively across your chest.

The car sped up the hill suddenly screeching to a halt, Glenn climbing out of the drivers seat instantly being hounded by questions and yelling.

“My sister, is she okay?” Amy asked glenn over and over.

“Yes, she’s fine, everybody is. Merle not so much.”

Your stomach dropped quickly at the thought of Merle not being okay. What would you tell Daryl?

You turned and shuffled quickly towards your tent, climbing inside and finding your water bottle. You sat down for a few minutes, taking steady drinks. Poor Daryl you thought to yourself. You knew what it was like to lose a brother. You were drawn from your thoughts by the sound of a truck pulling up. Exiting your tent again you made your way over to Lori and Carl, placing your hands on the boys shoulders.

Everyone was reuniting and for a second, everyone was happy. You felt Carl’s shoulders begin to shake as he started sobbing. Lori knelt down and comforted him as he cried again for his dad.

“How’d y’all get out of there anyway?” Shane asked

“New guy, he got us out”

“Hey helicopter boy, come say hello. Guy’s a cop, just like you.”

You looked up at Morales’s words and felt your knees turn in. Tears filled your eyes as he stood there in front of you.

“Holy shit” was all that came out of your mouth before you saw carl running past you

“Dad!”

You’ve never seen the boy run so fast as Rick pulled him to the ground in a hug. Picking him up and walking to Lori. Your heart swelling with love as he let go of them and his eyes found you.

“Oh my God.” He uttered as he grabbed you and you finally allowed your knees to drop. He held you up as he hugged you, tighter than you have ever hugged before. You had him back. The only thing that could keep you calm. Your big brother was alive.

That night you sat around a fire and listened to Rick talk about his experience. Waking up in the hospital only to find the world had fallen apart. They spoke about Merle, how he was handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta, how T-Dogg had dropped the key, how they would have to tell Daryl.

You couldn’t think about it anymore, you pushed yourself off he ground and leaned down, placing a kiss on Carl’s forehead and hugging your brother one more time for the day.

You walked over to your tent and went to sleep for the night. As usual, the only thing on your mind was Daryl but tonight, it wasn’t the usual thoughts of what it would be like if you were together. Tonight they were thoughts flooded with worry.

————

You scrambled for your clothes in the morning, pulling on some blue jeans and a black tee, pushing your way out of your tent and over to your group. The sudden sound of screaming had you running before you could even register what it was, pulling your knife from its sheath you sprinted towards the sound.

“Carl?” You yelled, Lori’s voice followed yours with the same question as she and rick ran behind you.

Lori grabbed him, “Nothing bit you, nothing scratched you?”

You ran with rick and the others to the source of the screaming. A lone walker feasting on a big deer. A deer with bolts in its side. The men began to beat the walker, forcing it to the ground before Dale cut its head off.

Sudden rustling drew you from your thoughts as you watched the bush intently.

“Son of a bitch, that’s my deer��� the southern drawl all too familiar. “Look at it all gnawed on by this, filthy, disease bearin’, motherless, poxy bastard.”

You followed him back into the camp as he yelled out for his brother, “Merle! Get your ugly ass out here, got us some squirrels”

“Daryl, slow up a bit, I need to talk to you” with the words that Shane said, your stomach began to churn.

“Bout what?”

“Bout Merle, there was a problem in Atlanta.”

“He dead?” Daryl asked, you could see the panic etching his face slowly.

“Not sure.” Shane answered

“He either is or he ain’t” obvious venom dripped from his words as he stared at Shane, waiting for his next answer.

Your eyes turned to Rick as he stepped in suddenly, “no easy way to say this so I’ll just say it.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Rick Grimes”

“Rick Grimes” Daryl mocked “You got something you wanna tell me?”

“Your brother was a danger to us all so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked to a piece of metal”

Before you knew it, things escalated. Daryl threw the squirrels and pulled out a knife.

Within seconds the knife was on the floor and Shane had daryl in a choke hold. You couldn’t control yourself and you threw yourself at Shane, hitting his back, “Let go of him” You were grabbing at his shirt trying to pull him off when Glenn grabbed your arms as you struggled against him.

“Fucking let him go Shane or I’ll cut your fucking hands off.” At this point Glenn was forcing his hand over your mouth to shut you up and you finally complied when Shane let Daryl out of the choke hold.

You stormed off to your tent so you wouldn’t react again. Thoughts raced through your head. Why the hell did you do that, what on earth possessed you? You and Daryl had hardly spoken and yet you were suddenly threatening one of your closest friends just so he would let him go. Get your head on straight Y/N, Daryl’s gonna think you’re a crazy bitch now.

About 30 minutes later, Rick headed over to your tent to check on you, you had calmed down at this point but you were still pissed at Shane.  “I’m taking, Daryl, Glenn and T-Dogg back into Atlanta to get Merle.”

“Okay, I’ll come.”

“No, I want you to stay here.”

You snapped “What the hell is with everyone thinking they have say in where I go.”

“I want you here in case something happens, You’ve taken care of Lori and Carl since the start and I need to know you will protect them while I’m gone.”

Your eyes softened as you shot him an apologetic look.  “Where’s Daryl?”

“He’s in his tent, packing his bag.”

You squeezed ricks shoulder and found yourself walking to the edge of your camp, to Daryl’s tent.

“Hey, are you okay? I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Why the hell would ya even care? Just leave me be” He was obviously hurt and his tone stung you.

“Geez okay, sorry for checking on you, prick.” You mumbled the last word walking away before his hand grabbed your shoulder, sending chills down your back as he quickly pulled away.

“M’ sorry. Thanks for checking.”

You just looked at him but your face eased out of the scowl you had before hand.

“Why’d ya jump on Shane like that before? I thought that asshole was your friend.”

“Yeah kinda. We grew up together, he Rick and I. He’s just kinda always been a part of my life ya know. When I thought I lost Rick, he became an even bigger part and I think seeing him dismiss your brother like he was nothing riled me up because I know what its like to lose a brother. I was just lucky enough that mine came back somehow.”

Daryl never broke eye contact with you, watching as slight tears stung your eyes when you thought about losing Rick. “You’re gonna find him. He’ll be fine and you’ll bring him back.” He just continued to look at you as his mind raced with thoughts. This was the longest that you two had spoken, you were actually telling him something about yourself and something in his chest felt like it was on fire. You reached out and he flinched slightly, you put your hand carefully on his shoulder. “He’ll be okay Daryl, You’ll be okay.” You gently squeezed as you turned around to head back towards your tent.

You heard him barely whisper “Thanks.”

“Come back in one piece please.” You whispered back, just loud enough that he could hear you and the fire in his chest grew.

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

I hope I can send this in. It’s an idea of something you could write one day .. like a blurb or something. idek. Bleh.

BUT I DIGRESS -

Flip and you are at a cabin in the woods. Y’all have traveled a great length and your cabin is lakeside. You two have plenty of pent up ‘energy’ so you put on your swimsuits and head out to the water. Eventually y’all are a tangled mess of limbs and you can’t tell who’s who, by the sounds you’re making, a nun would blush.

🖤

A/N: @preshprinceofstarkiller I really hope you enjoy this one! I poured as much smut as I could with a shit load of fluff wrapped around it because I love a sappy Flip/Reader dynamic!

Warnings: Married banter, lots of cuddles and kisses, FLUFF out the asshole, public sex, outdoor sex, public nudity, hair pulling, dirty talk, creampies, just all kinds of SMUT 

The sweet smell of a morning cup of brew, pine trees, and the crisp September air filled your senses as you sat on the wooden lawn chair on the deck of your lakefront cabin. Wrapped up in a wool blanket, in your favorite sweater, admiring the sounds of the lake crashing up on the beachfront, and the nature rustling about in the morning sun. It was perfect. The best idea you and Flip had decided to make in several months. 

He, being so burnt out on work, as usual with his large caseloads, wanted to get away for a few days. The two packs of smokes a day indicating he had just had it up to his forehead with Ron, Trapp, and Bridges reaching down his throat for answers. Flip had always been a naturally grouchy person, it was just something you’d gotten used to. But when he would get to point of being angry with you over idiotic matters, like for instance, the dishes not being rinsed out properly, then you knew it was just about time to head out of town. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” his sleep ridden voice ground out as he approached with his cup of coffee in a sweatshirt, and sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination. 

“Good morning to you too honey,” you craned your neck as he lowered his warm face to your lips, pecking it with the slightest effort. 

“Did you sleep, okay mountain man?” you asked as he cozied up to you, wrapping his body around yours in the straining chair. 

“Honestly, I slept better last night than I have in months,” he chuckled out into the air as you stroked the bedhead he’d given himself. 

“I know. I heard you snoring all night,” you giggled lowering to kiss his crown, “sounded like there was a bear in our bed all night.” 

“Psh,” he smirked burying himself more into your clothed body, “it wasn’t as loud as you howling my fuckin’ name last night I bet.” 

“Excuse me?” you tried to pry his large head up to get him to say that phrase again to your face, ultimately failing in the process as he gripped your waist even tighter at the sensation of your straining. 

“I didn’t say shit, sweetheart,” he murmured back into the mess of sweatshirts and blankets, “only that I love you, so much!” 

“Uh-huh… That’s what I fuckin’ thought,” you returned to grab your cup, taking a sip as you chuckled over his comments. 

“I love you too sweetie. I’m so glad we’re up here,” moving his curls to expose his ear, playing with the soft lobe. 

“Same here. I fuckin’ needed this,” nuzzling his face into you more and more, “I need something else though.” 

“And what is that my poor baby?” you asked in a pandering way to mimic his childlike form in front of you. 

He muttered something incoherent into the blankets, “honey, I can’t hear you,” leaning down to wrap your soft lips on his ear. 

“I said, I want to go skinny dipping… with you,” he looked up hair in all sorts of places, his sleepy face blinking the light back into his adjusting pupils. 

You giggled at the sight of him all discombobulated, “oh babe… I would hope you’d only want to do something like that with just me!” 

Grabbing his rosied cheeks, bringing him into another series of kisses, starting from pecking to a little more romantic, “of course it would be you, honey, who the fuck else would do it?” 

He smirked into your lips, “I don’t know, maybe a mistress of yours or somethin’,” egging on his sarcasm, “your mom did tell me at our wedding mind you, that you were hard to pin down.” 

He lifted himself off of you, “no she fuckin’ didn’t,” he looked shocked at the admission you made. 

“She honestly did,” you sipped back at your coffee, “but she countered it with the notion that she had never seen you as happy as you were with me,” so you can’t be mad at her. 

“Well I kinda am now,” he huffed, “I can’t believe she’d say that on our wedding day… holy shit mom. I’m gonna give her a good talkin’ to when we get home.” 

“No, you aren’t, grouch,” you asserted, “she didn’t mean anything by it. Now let’s go skinny dipping before I die of old age,” you punched his arm, “plus I wanna see that ass in the sunlight.” 

He smirked at your comment, getting up with a groan and helping you from your seat. As you started to walk in front of him he slapped your ass with all the force he had built up in him, “Jesus fuck Phil!” 

You turned around, “now I’m gonna have a handprint there!” you rubbed the sore cheek, wincing as your hand rubbed the area. 

“That’s the point babe,” I wanted to look at my ass with my handprint on it while I fuck ya on the beachside.” 

You blushed at the notion, hurrying in the house to remove any piece of clothing the both of you had been wearing. After your nakedness was revealed, you grasped your tits in your arm, “race ya down there, detective,” bolting in the direction of the back door, revealing your natural form to the sun and all of nature’s creatures as you bounded down the hill towards the beach.  

Little did you know, Flip was gaining on you in bounds, coming up behind your bouncing ass and scooping you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. 

“Oh my god honey!” you screamed, holding onto his back for dear life, “you’re gonna break something!” 

“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled back, “you know you’re lighter than air to me honey!” 

You groaned as he lowered you onto the warm beachfront, the sound of waves brushing the pebbles like a song. You both took an inventory of the sight around you, breathing in the mountain air, admiring every sound emanating from the scenery. 

Flip came up behind you, wrapping his large arms around you as you both rocked side to side with the ebbing and flowing of the waves. He kissed the top of your head, trailing down to your ear, whispering sweet nothings as his lips gnawed at the sensitive skin. Moving his hands to grasp onto your open tits, massaging the pillows with his large paws, eliciting a moan from your lips. 

“God I love you, Y/N,” he whispered moving down your neck, sucking little marks along the way as you found a hand in his thick hair, gripping it slightly at the pressure he applied to your neck. 

“I-I love you too, Phil,” you gasped out, feeling his hardening erection on your ass. Your hand snaked around to grip his dick, pumping it so you felt every angry vein bulging from it. Gathering the precum building up around his weeping head, rubbing it into the warm skin.  

Just then, he replaced your hand with his as he lined up with your wetness that had built up. Sliding his pulsing cock into your weeping entrance, “F-fuck honey,” he groaned out, “open up for me.” 

You bent forward, allowing his cock to penetrate you deeper and deeper. Your walls vibrating around him as he came closer to your cervix, “you are so fuckin’ tight, babe,” he thrust in hard, balls slapping, “no matter how many times I fuck this little cunt.” 

He moved a hand on your hip and wrapped another in your hair, pulling until your back was arched in the most magical way, “Ohm-my god honey,” you wailed, “t-that feels…” 

“Uhmm… feels good huh,” he thrust in a little faster, tightening the hold on your hip and hair. 

“God you look so fuckin’ beautiful right now,” his gyrations in full force as the sounds of slaps penetrated the mountainside. 

“So. Fuckin’. Perfect,” he pronounced as he reveled in your screams and cries for release. The more he pulled your gorgeous locks, the more your walls fluttered around him. 

“Phil,” you bawled out, “c-can I p-please c-cum.” 

“You wanna cum honey?” he growled out, keeping his pace steady and unwavering as he rearranged your guts in the best way he possibly could.

“Y-yes, please baby!” you relented writhing under his powerful strokes. He moved his hand from your hip to your aching clit, rubbing small, but fast circles, bringing you to the edge of an ear-shattering orgasm. 

“Mother f-fucker,” you groaned out, releasing your pent up frustrations into the wind, your cunt milking his cock the hardest it possibly could. 

“That’s it, honey, cum all over it,” he kept his thrusting up, becoming more erratic the more your walls clenched down on him. 

“Fuck honey,” he stammered out through his clenched teeth, pumping his cock a few more times into your vibrating hole, then releasing his hot sticky spend onto your walls, coating them in a donut glaze. 

“Jesus fuckin’,” he gasped out, pulsing the last of his spend as he pulled his softening erection from your pussy, watching the mixture pour out of your gaping hole. 

He ran his hands down the expanse of your back, rubbing your ass cheeks in a massage of sorts, watching and listening to the wetness seeping from your cunt, admiring the sight more than the nature surrounding the both of you. 

“Fuck you take my cum so well, honey,” he scooped the remainder dripping out to stuff it back in your overstimulated wetness. 

“Only for you baby,” you panted, lifting your back upright once again, and turning to your sweat sheened husband, to place your hands on his chest and look up at him in total bliss. 

“I love you, Phil,” you stroked him, leaning into a kiss. 

“I love you most,” he whispered out, “but can we please go swimming now? I’m so fuckin’ hot,” he laughed as you nodded up towards him. Taking your hand he led you into the cold embrace of the lake before you. 

The remainder of those few hours were spent swimming and fooling around like the both of you were in high school. Scaring each other in the water, him putting you on his shoulders, racing around the bay, and floating to admire the skyline that Tahoe provided for you. 

It was definitely a vacation much needed and well deserved. 

 _____________

GOD I LOVED READING THIS OVER AND OVER AGAIN... I THINK I COULD DO ANOTHER PART FOR SURE... MAYBE 👀

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

[fanfoolishness]

a world for the birds (2/10)

Andy DeMayo took up birding years ago, but his favorite hobby takes on new meaning when shared with his nephew Steven.

A series of looks at Andy and Steven’s growing family relationship.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

 ***

Chapter 2: complicated

Andy tried not to get his hopes up too much.  After all, Steven was a teenager, and Andy himself had been in his late twenties before he’d really started paying attention to birds.  Just wasn’t an activity you saw a lot of kids doing.  Most of the people he ran into on his travels with binoculars were older than he was.

He tried to prepare himself for the inevitability of Steven having lost interest since last month, for him to cheerfully admit he hadn’t cracked open the Sibley’s at all and would rather go to the arcade or hang out with his friends.  And that would be okay, the kid gave it a shot and he didn’t like it, and that was still pretty good, right?

He was utterly dumbfounded to walk up the steps to the beach house and see Steven sitting there, binoculars around his neck, the Sibley’s flipped open to hawks.  “Uncle Andy!  I’m glad you’re here.  Is that an osprey?”  Steven pulled off his binoculars and handed them to Andy, pointing out a ways beyond the surf.

It took him a moment to adjust Steven’s binoculars, but Andy grinned once he got the bird in sights.  The osprey hovered above the waves, white wings with black patches stretched wide, large keen eyes in a clever face watching for signs of fish below.  “Sure is.  You really been keeping up with this stuff?  I mean, you don’t have to if it’s not your thing.”

Steven smiled up at him.  “Well -- I mean, it’s something you really like, right?  And it’s something we can do together.  I dunno, I think that’s cool.  I love playing music with my dad, or helping the Gems build Little Homeschool, or training with Connie -- it’s something you and me can share.  And it’s fun.  I always thought animals were really cool, but I’m really getting into the life list thing.  Like collecting G.U.Y.S. and G.A.L.S. toys, but real.”

“Yeah, that makes sense, kid.  I think,” said Andy.  “Huh.  You’re a very positive person, you know that?”

Steven laughed.  “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“So what’s this Little Homeschool thing?  You guys building something?”

Steven looked guilty for a second, a furtive wince.  “You remember Garnet's wedding?"

"I remember runnin' for my life when a spaceship showed up," Andy snorted.  "Yeah."

"You know we lost the barn then, right?”

"Nah, I just got outta there as fast as I could.  Didn't get a chance to reconnect with your dad until weeks after that."  Andy sighed, gnawing on his bottom lip with his teeth.  “I did notice it wasn’t there the last few times I’ve flown out this way.  Meant to ask about it at the wedding, actually, but something distracted me... don't remember what...."

"Aw, come on, Uncle Andy," Steven said, raising his eyebrows.

"So what happened to it?  Some magic stuff?”

“Yeah… my friend Lapis kinda ran off with it to the moon, then she dropped it on one of my Mom’s relatives.   They're the ones who were attacking us at the wedding.  The barn didn’t make it,” said Steven, looking sheepish.

“I don’t even wanna know how she took it to the moon.  The actual moon?  I mean, I know your space family, y’know, comes from space, but I thought they used spaceships and stuff. Not barns.”  Andy shook his head.  He had to figure out how to stop being surprised by the stuff that came out of this kid’s mouth.

“She has water powers and can fly,” said Steven matter-of-factly.  “Gems don’t need to breathe in space, so all she had to do was surround the barn with water and fly it up there --”

“Yeah, when you put it like that, it sounds so easy,” Andy chuckled.

“I know it’s weird,” said Steven in a rush.  “Who just flies off with a barn to the moon, right?  But anyway, since the barn didn’t survive the fight we had with my mom’s relatives, the land was free.  There’s a lot more Gems living on Earth than there used to be -- I mean, it’s complicated, but that’s the gist of it -- and they needed somewhere to live.  So they’ve started building a little colony near Beach City.  Mayor Nanefua did some complicated government stuff to make it all legal and it’s going really well.  We could go on a tour, if you want --”

Andy didn’t know why his chest felt so heavy so suddenly.  He’d known the barn was gone for a few months, didn’t know what had happened, but knew it had to be something related to the blue and green ladies that lived there.  He’d already made his peace with that.  So why did Steven’s explanation make him feel a little bit like crap?  He thought of his mom and dad tinkering in the barn, the smell of grease and metal, summers with Greg and the other cousins running around in the fields, and he blinked hard.

“Are you okay, Uncle Andy?” asked Steven uncertainly.  “Maybe we should have asked you first--”

“Nah, it’s fine,” said Andy.  And it was, or at least, it would be.  “I don’t have a lotta time this visit, but maybe next time we could go check it out.”  He shrugged.  “Why are there more Gems now?”

“Oh!  Well, there actually were a lot of Gems on Earth, but they were corrupted -- jeez, how do I explain that -- they were sick and that made them act really weird and look like monsters.  They didn’t know who they were.  But the Diamonds and I -- my mom’s relatives -- we healed them.  They’re just like Garnet and Amethyst and Pearl now.”  He considered.  “Okay, maybe not exactly.  They still look a little different and they lost thousands of years of memories, but they’re trying the best they can to get back into a normal life…”  His voice trailed off.

Andy stared, raising an eyebrow.  “That sounds, uh, intense.”

Steven held his hands out, shrugging.  “I guess it kind of does.”

“Why’d your mom’s folks help you with that?  I thought you guys were fighting so bad you dropped the barn on them.”  Andy leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms.

“I mean, that was Lapis, not me,” said Steven, laughing, but the sound seemed forced.  “It’s, uh,  really complicated.  They didn’t know I had my mom’s gem yet, and then when they did they didn’t realize that I wasn’t her just shapeshifting, and we -- they -- um, the important thing is they came around.  Eventually.”  His hand dug into his shirt over his stomach, like it hurt him.  

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Andy admitted.  “But family’s complicated.  Sometimes it ain’t easy, dealing with them.  You know?”

“Yes,” Steven said in relief.  “Yeah, that, exactly.”  He let out a long, shaky breath, lowering his hand and resting it in his lap.

Andy gave the kid a worried look.  He didn’t like how he’d looked almost… scared, talking about his mom’s family like that.

“So,” he said brightly, changing the subject, “you still wanna check out some summer birds?  Thought maybe we could find some nests around the woods.  It’s a good time for it.”

“Sure!” said Steven.  He scrambled to his feet and leapt in the air over the edge of the deck, and before Andy could cry out, he floated gracefully to the ground.  Oh, yeah.  The floating thing.  Andy knocked a fist against his chest, trying to fight back against the burst of adrenaline that had flooded through him a second ago.  Phew.

He took the long way down, bringing Steven’s binoculars with him, holding the handrail down the stairs, careful not to slip.

***

“Uncle Andy!  What’s this little fella?” Steven asked in a whisper, staring hard at a bird a few feet away, perched boldly on a log in the open.

Andy glanced at the bird, neat gray body, jaunty black cap, rusty rump.  “Gray catbird,” he said softly.  “They’re close to mockingbirds.  Not nearly as good as mimicking as they are, but they do their best.  Mostly they just meow.  Mew, mew. ”  The catbird flicked its tail, cocking its head at them.

“That is adorable!” Steven squealed.  “Aww, hey there, little buddy.”  The bird hopped off of the log, strutting around in the loam, bold as you please.  “I like this one.”

“They’re pretty common.  You’ll see ‘em all over.  Even in cities and towns.  The only place you don’t really see ‘em is out west.”

They watched the catbird for a moment before it flew off into the trees.  “You said they can mimic things?”

“The mockingbird’s the best at it,” said Andy.  “How do you think it got the name?  The males’ll sing anything they think might get a female’s attention.  They can sound like hawks, jays, shoot, I’ve even heard them sing car alarm songs in Southland City.”

“It’s kind of like shapeshifting, but for birds,” said Steven.  “That’s pretty cool.”

“Steven,” said Andy seriously, “all birds are pretty cool.”

“Ha, of course, Uncle Andy.”

***

(Bird photos from the Cornell Lab's All About Birds site.)

[sirkkasnow]

06 Sleep With One Eye Open

Ao3 link

07/12/13-07/13/13 Friday - Saturday

There was no rest whatsoever, much less for the wicked, that night.

“Ford. For cryin’ out loud. I feel fine. She feels fine. Just let us go to sleep.” Stan nudged away the glass of water in front of him, chin propped in a cupped hand, supported in turn by the elbow propped on the kitchen table. He and Clary had changed into dry clothes and managed to get down a sandwich apiece, accompanied by fanciful flower-cut carrot slices, before Ford started hovering over them both like a broody hen.

“He’s got a point.” Clary was nursing her own glass of water - caffeine was forbidden for the time being. “There was a shockwave. We might be concussed. I don’t feel concussed, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t sustain some injury.”

“I’ve started analyzing that sample vial you brought, Stanley, and the dust has got at least a minor soporific component. You’re going to have to stay up all night for observation.” Both Stan and Clary groaned in protest, her head dipping to rest on her forearm.

“Can’t you wake us up every two hours?” she pleaded.

“I should take you to the hospital.” More groans. “My upstairs study isn’t too cluttered. We’ll set you two up on the couch, I’ll keep an eye on you for the night, and I can probably allow each of you to nap for an hour or so at a time. That’s the best I can do.”

“You’re not gonna give either of us a moment’s peace otherwise, are you.”

“No.” Ford folded his arms and frowned down at them both. “Go on, go get pillows. You can finish giving me the details about your encounter today.”

Clary shot Stan a fleeting, resigned smile, swallowed a long gulp of water and pushed back from the table. “See you in a few minutes.”

They reconvened at the study, the space cluttered as ever if less dusty. Clary rubbed her eyes as she looked around, tossing pillows and blankets on the couch and taking an armload of books off Ford’s hands. “How’s this going to work?”

“Short naps. I’ll wake you up every hour or so to check the pupils and ask some of the usual questions. Coherence checks, really.”

“Yeah, we might as well stay as awake as we can.” Stan finished locking in the legs of a card table in one corner and hauled up three mismatched chairs, then plunked a battery lantern in the middle. “Sixer, can she crash for a while? She did all the hard work out there today.”

“You’re no lightweight, Stan, but you are the one who got a snootful of glitter.”

“I did not. Just a little dusty.”

Clary dropped the books off at the foot of the filing cabinet, dragged a chair out with her heel and settled into it with a sigh. “Serious question, you two.” She reached out to flick on the lantern, getting little more out of it than a wan circle of pale yellow light on the table’s surface. “Are we going to talk about the fact that we were running for our lives from champagne bubbles of explosive death this afternoon?”

An awkward silence hung on the air. She blinked, sleepy and implacable, at Stan and then at Ford.

“I’m fairly sure it wouldn’t have killed you,” Ford said at length, squaring up a stack of books that Stan knew for certain had been crooked for years. “I’ll know better when I head out tomorrow to document the aftermath. Turned you into shambling crystalline abominations, maybe.” He paused, lifting his head with a faint frown. “Perhaps we should do the cinnamon-and-formaldehyde treatment. Just in case.”

“No,” said Clary and Stan in unison.

“It’s just a thought.”

Stan rummaged a deck of cards out of a drawer. “Like I said. Gravity Falls is weird. S’what got him out here in the first place.” He nodded to Ford as he dropped into the chair opposite Clary and began to absentmindedly shuffle. “If this changes things, offer still stands, we’ll rent you somethin’ to get you to Portland or whatever.” He meant it in all sincerity but let the cards snap together with a tiny bit more vehemence on the next pass. “If you’re gonna stay, though, stayin’ with us is the safest option, no doubt.”

She smiled a little, watching his hands. “Are you warning me that things could get even weirder?”

“‘Course not. Simply statin’ the facts.”

For a little while the soft slap-and-clatter of the deck was the only sound.

“I think,” Clary finally said, “that I’m still all right with staying until the car’s fixed. I want to be included as you’re analyzing that stuff, Ford. And if there’s anything else I ought to know about, I expect to be in the loop.”

“You’re not going to dismiss all of this as hallucinations from heat exhaustion or the like, then?” Ford kept his tone level, but Stan could hear the hopeful note in it.

She laid a hand over her brow and peeked up at Ford through splayed fingers. “I believe in evidence. I’m not so stubborn that I can’t accept what I’ve personally experienced. And I promise you, I was coherent through all of that mayhem.”

A quick, pleased smile plucked at a corner of Ford’s mouth. “Fair enough.” He took the third chair, setting down a notebook, a penlight, one of his favorite pens and Clary’s action camera. “If you’re not going to sleep right away, let’s review your afternoon. I know what your routes looked like, so it won’t be hard to track down the sites….”

Stan dealt himself a hand of solitaire and mostly listened, interjecting now and then when he could clarify a point. Ford had always been a thorough interrogator and Clary was a good witness, offering a clear timeline and careful descriptions which Ford kept cross-checking against her shaky video.

She was yawning more than she was talking by the time he was done. “Eyes,” said Ford, and Clary winced as he checked each pupil. “Sleep. I’ll get you up for another check in an hour or two.”

“Yes, Doctor Pines.” She shuffled over to the couch and stretched out under a blanket. Within two minutes her breathing went deep and even. Ford turned to Stan with bright, undimmed interest, and he gathered up the cards with a sigh.

“Okay, go on, pick my brain, but you’ve already got most of it.”

He lost track of time almost immediately once Ford let him get a quick snooze. The wee hours dragged by with alternating moments of consciousness and too-brief sleep interrupted by stupid questions.

“What’s the capital of South Dakota?” Ford asked somewhere around three-thirty.

Stan squinted up at Ford, rubbing at watering eyes. “Who cares?”

“I’ll take that as a correct answer.” One thumb tilted over towards the couch, where Clary was down for another shift. Ford’s voice lowered. “What’s your take on her?”

That was a more interesting question. Stan leaned back in his chair enough to make it creak. “What d’you mean? She’s sharp, sure, she’s been better company than I thought she’d be.”

“She didn’t panic today, and she’s taking the local weirdness in stride. Which of course might mean she’s a federal agent.”

Stan shook his head fractionally. “Gettin’ your magnet gun to malfunction at just the right moment would’ve been a neat trick. No, there’s a couple things she doesn’t wanna talk about, but not that.” He glanced over to Clary. “She’s still wearin’ her neckerchief.”

“I’m wearing turtlenecks in July. I’m sure she has her reasons. In any event, she’s quite adaptable, and we could use a lawyer - “

“No, no, no - “ Stan flapped a hand at Ford in frustration, struggling to keep his voice down. “What in the hell do we need a lawyer for?”

“You’re still legally dead, Stanley. I wouldn’t mind being able to fly again.”

“She’s a tax specialist!”

“She’s an experienced attorney, and don’t you think trustworthiness should trump everything else?” Stan glared. Ford sat back, fingertips tapping in sequence along the penlight’s barrel. “We’re not going to be out on that boat forever, you know.”

That shut him up, as Ford knew perfectly well it would. Stan tipped his tired head back and gnawed on his lower lip for a while. “When did the world get so damn small?” he muttered, a question that neither of them needed or much wanted an answer for.

Eventually Ford rose, nudging Clary awake with a careful hand on her shoulder to run her through another series of questions. “Pierre or Bismarck,” she murmured blearily, “I can’t remember which. What time is it?”

There were three clocks in immediate eyeshot, all of which read something different. Ford checked his watch. “Five fifteen.”

“Almost morning. Fantastic.” A faint glimmer of pre-dawn light was beginning to tint the sky, the room’s multicolored window marginally less dead-black than it had been. Clary pushed herself upright with a groan and shambled over to the card table. “Deal something out, Stan, we might as well stay up until breakfast.”

“I should keep checking on you until at least noon after that, but I can let you get a few hours in a row. You both seem to be fine.” Ford made himself at home in the third chair. Stan squared the deck, shuffled a couple of times, fished out the two of diamonds and dealt the rest out in three piles.

Stan felt himself fidgeting after two quick and uneventful hands. Sheer fatigue was wearing down his usually uncrackable poker face. The other two were unreadable anyway as the room slowly filled with the faint light of early morning, the lantern’s dim circle overwhelmed until Ford shut it off. Clary scooped up the cards of the current trick and stifled yet another yawn with the back of her hand. “At this rate none of us are gonna manage to come out ahead.”

“Well, we’re more or less evenly matched.” Ford set his fanned cards facedown, checked his watch again and jotted a note. “Eyes, Clary.”

She sighed and obligingly let Ford take her chin in his fingertips, angling her head so he could check each pupil with his penlight. “Of course we’re evenly matched. All three of us have been counting cards.”

Stan snorted in disbelief and slapped his cards on the table. Ford’s laugh was lower and rustier than usual - even he was starting to wear down. “You too? Really, Clary? Really? I expect that kinda crap from my own brother!”

“I majored in math, man, I specialized in statistics and data analysis. Of course I’m counting cards. You’re the one hellbent on cheating at hearts.”

They bickered for most of another hour as the stained glass went translucent and jewel-bright. Stan tried out a half dozen variations, trying to find some way to outfox the others, but anything they couldn’t count cards on he couldn’t count cards on, and he didn’t have the sleeves to hide anything. Clary kicked him in the shin after one particularly egregious attempt, the blow softened by her floppy sock and her low husky laughter. She left her foot resting against his slippered one which was all right he supposed.

Stan was showing off a couple of the simpler card-cutting tricks when the doorknob rattled, then turned, the door creaking open to reveal a startled Dipper and Mabel. All five stared at each other in confused silence.

Mabel clapped both hands to her face. “You had a slumber party and you didn’t tell us?!”

“Not quite a slumber party, I had to make sure they were both all right - “ Ford clambered to his feet, pink with embarrassment. Mabel pointed in accusation at the rumpled blankets and pillows on the couch.

“You three were up all night! Come on, Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, you have to let me host one now.”

That set off a quiet but intense argument. Mabel was doing a fine job of mustering a logical case in favor. Clary set down her cards, rubbed her eyes and curled a tired smile for Dipper at the doorway. “Breakfast?” She nudged Stan’s foot with a toe. “Make me a couple of pancakes, would you? I think I’ve earned those.”

“Deal, kid. Think we both have.”

tumblr: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Ao3: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

“Are we going to talk about the explosions?” Clary looks tired, but determined.

I’m pretty sure we were both seeing things.

Methane. It’s always methane.

Gravity Falls really is that weird.

[thecreativeangel]

Sorting (Peter Parker x Reader) Hogwarts AU

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Part one of the Improper series

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3* 

Summary: The Sorting is, as of now, one of the most stressful things you have been through in your entire life. It becomes even more problematic when you’re sorted into a house your parents specifically told you not to be in. 

Warnings: Cursing. Wizard racism, ‘cuz that’s a thing. 

Words: 2,038

Previous Chapter                                                            Next Chapter

You stood in the crowd of first years, legs actually shaking from fear. Most of the kids here were probably feeling the same, equally scared. It wasn’t even real fear, but a crippling sense anxiety that whatever house you will be put into will disappoint your parents.

Don’t be a Hufflepuff. Your father said sternly. Refuse to be in that house if you must. Don’t be a Gryffindor either. They’re a bunch of idiots going into dangerous situations just waiting to be killed. He grew silent for half a minute before continuing. In fact- only accept being in Ravenclaw. Slytherins are just a group of creepy little bastards that practice dark magic. You had frowned and crossed your arms, defending the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors and Slytherins as best you could.

Hufflepuffs are NOT useless morons, Gryffindors are NOT attention hogging idiots and Slytherins are definitely NOT creepy! Those are just stereotypes! And yes, Ravenclaws are very smart, but that doesn’t mean I want to be one! You had said, voice steadily rising from anger. Of course, you had still lost the argument. Parents were meant to be obeyed no matter what, at least that’s what yours said. So now as you were nudged and pushed by your fellow first years as they chatted and laughed, waiting for introduction, you tried to compress your body in a way that would help avoid all the contact, keeping your shoulders at an odd angle so people would get the hint and just stop touching you. Peter appeared by your side, stumbling over another kid’s feet and grabbed the sleeve of your robe to steady himself.

“Klutz.” You whispered in his ear. He stuck out his tongue and squished his face in a teasing expression. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall stepped up and placed the Sorting Hat on the old stool. She tapped her wand on the edge of her podium, signalling for everyone to quiet down. When the talking stopped, she took a long look around the Great Hall, seizing everyone up.

“A warm welcome to everyone, from our returning seventh years, to our newly arrived first years,” Professor McGonagall raised her hand in a sweeping gesture. “I would like to start by saying how glad we are at Hogwarts to have Professor Xu back from her exploration of potions from the Middle East. Professor Xu will have her position as Potions Master this year, and is overjoyed to have her daughter now attending the school as a first year.”

The tall girl next to you squeaked and shrunk back, attempting to hide behind you.

“I knew she’d do it.” She says softly, her ears turning pink. “Why does she always have to announce it like that?”

You laugh slightly, pulling her forward again. “Don’t worry-My parents aren’t perfect either.” You sooth, patting her on the back.

“But mom always tells everyone I’m her daughter,” She groans, putting her face in her hands. “It’s so embarrassing! I can’t walk into a room without someone asking ‘Hey, aren’t you Professor Xu’s kid?’”

“Calm down, I don’t think anyone noticed,” You say comfort her. “I’m (Name).”

“Abigail.” She mutters back. “I mean-my name is Abigail.”

“What house do you wanna be in?” You ask randomly, wanting to make a new friend.

“Oh, Slytherin, easy.” Abigail answers matter of factly. “My whole family’s split between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Good thing I kinda wanted to be in both. You?”

“No idea. Really. I have absolutely no clue.” You respond, completely lost and unsure. “My parents are both in Ravenclaw, but I don’t know if that’s what I want. Not like they’ve given me much of a choice.”

At first Abigail looked at you with sad eyes, but her features turn to a smile. “You know, you don’t have to tell them what house you’re in…” She suggests, grinning in a sly manner.

You tilted your head to the side, doubting her idea. “Yeah right, and what if they send me an owl? Or a howler?”

Abigail shrugs her shoulders. “Just kinda ignore it, I guess. Or hope that they don’t send anything.”

“Actually…” You say. “They’re usually busy with work. And they think howlers are ‘too uncivilized’ and ‘disrupt the surrounding environment’ and other crap.” Abigail smiles at you warmly, nods and turns back to McGonagall. Similarly, you tune back into her speech, finally hearing directions for first years.

Professor McGonagall looks down at the first years near the stage. “When I call your name step up and sit to be sorted-”

“Hey!”

You turn your head to see Peter biting the nail on his thumb. “What?” You ask impatiently and smack the hand that he was gnawing on. He raises an eyebrow at the action but doesn’t say anything.

“Nothing. I just wanted to talk. It calms my nerves I guess.” He says, giving you a small lopsided smile. “I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack.”

“Don’t go dying on me. If you die I’ll kill you.” You whisper, completely serious.

Peter was about to make a comeback but McGonagall called his name and he panicked, latching into your arm. He looked at you with desperate eyes, silently begging for you to allow him to run from the room. You mouthed the word ‘go’ and nudged him out of the crowd. The other first years quickly blocked him from your view.

“Gryffindor!” You hear the Sorting Hat shout. Peter runs past and sits at the Gryffindor table as they clap and cheer, the kids nearest to Peter patting him on the back. All the other names are a blur while you stand there, numb to the world. A cold stone settles in your stomach, a big contrast to the hot and nauseating feeling in your head. All noise is a distant buzzing until-

“(Last Name), (First Name)!”

Your legs move before you know what they’re doing, an automatic reaction that you practiced in your mind. Each stair leading to the Sorting Hat is easy to pass until you are almost to the stool. A headrush hits you hard and you freeze in place, if only for a half of a second. The world seems to be spinning but it clears fast enough for you to take the final step and sit rigidly on the stool, back straight and hands folded politely in your lap, clutching your robe. McGonagall places the Sorting Hat on your head and shuffles away.

“Ahh,” The Sorting Hat whispers in a gravely voice. “This family is quite interesting, isn’t it? A great mind, no doubt, no doubt. Very territorial aren’t you?” The hat gave a short and dry laugh.

“Protective, most definitely cunning… You seem to have a grudge against Ravenclaw, that is most curious, isn’t it?” The Sorting Hat declared, it’s voice now louder. “Well in that case...Gryffindor!”

The hat’s declaration rang through the Great Hall, almost making you fall off the stool. McGonagall took the Sorting Hat off your head and you sprang from your seat to wander to the Gryffindor table, whose occupants took no delay in whooping and hollering their approval. You took a seat next to Peter who hugged you the moment you sat down and you had the feeling that he was just as relieved to be in the same house. McGonagall walked to the podium and stool there until the Great Hall was quiet again, excusing a little Hufflepuff girl as she ran to join her table again.

“It has been brought to my attention,” McGonagall started, making a sheet of parchment appear out of thin air. “That our more modernized students wish to be given extra information. And so, the WiFi password for the Great Hall is…”

She put her glasses on the bridge of her nose and squinted at the paper. “Alohomora. With a capital ‘a’. Individual passwords will be given out by the Head Boy and Girl of each house.”

“What the bloody hell is a WiFi?” Peter asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, wrinkling his nose. “Sounds like something living under my bed.”

You snort and reach for a slice of pie. These. You decide. These are going to be the best school years of my life.

The History of Magic classroom was bursting with chatter which disappeared when Professor Binns floated through the chalkboard. You sat at a table with two other girls; a peppy Slytherin by the name of Erin and Abigail, who you had met at the sorting. Abigail did indeed become a Slytherin and you were sometimes judged for being friends with a Slytherin but dismissed the comments because it did not matter to you. The friendship was good for everyone. You and Abigail were the more defensive friends, encouraging Erin to be meaner to her bullies rather than ignore the taunting. In return, Erin kept the mood light with her bubbly personality and attempts to be funny. Most of your friends were Slytherin, not counting Peter and a few others, and this brought up slight conflict on both sides. The sides being the Gryffindors and the Slytherins.

Professor Binns began to speak in his usual monotone voice, not giving the students any time to take out their notes and start writing. “Today we will discuss the carnivorous tendencies of the Southeast Asian-”

You placed a new piece of parchment on the desk and took out your quill. It wasn’t a real quill-that would be very tiresome and old fashioned. You managed to create a machine  that hides a pen inside and uses very dark ink, making it look and write like a real quill. Quickly and neatly scribbling down most of the professor’s lesson, you were distracted by a paper airplane that hit you in the back. Your eyebrows scrunched together, wanting to concentrate on the class. Another plane hit you, the sharp tip jabbing your spine. You twist around in your chair, searching the room for the culprit of this disruption. Inigo Preta had his head on his desk, shoulders shaking from laughter. He looked up briefly, probably to see if he could throw another airplane but met your eyes. A wide smirk spread on his face and he tapped his friends on either side, pointing at you. Inigo said something and they sniggered, covering their mouths to keep from being loud.

Whipping your head back to face the front of the classroom, you let out a huff and picked up your quill to start writing again. Inigo Preta. God, just thinking his name got you irritated. Inigo was a first year Gryffindor like you, but he was so proud of being a Gryffindor it became unbearable. Constantly showing off, constantly bragging about something or other. Instead of having the stereotypical two back up goons he had at least twenty. Well-you called them his goons. Inigo called them his friends. Taking notes became harder and harder when he was around. You had already memorized his dyed white hair in case he came into the room so you could at least have a running head start. When the last paper airplane hit your head you lost what was left of your patience.

“Don’t forget to read chapters seven through nine and write a response to how the Southeast Asian merpeople handled their revolution.” Professor Binns reminded the students in a bored and uncommitted voice, already floating away. You rose from your seat and waited for most people to exit the room, giving your friends the excuse that you had to find a lost item. As Inigo and his gang were leaving you pulled your wand out of your pocket and hid it in your long sleeve.

“Langlock.” You muttered under your breath, pointing the wand at Inigo as you passed him in the flow of kids. Not waiting to see his reaction, you sped off into the halls, biting your lip to conceal a smile. Now that his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth maybe he’ll shut up. You think, turning into a deserted hallway to give an abrupt bark of laughter followed by wheezing as you tried to calm down. He probably knows it was me. You reasoned. Whatever, let Inigo do his worst. I’ll be ready.

Authors Note:

OK THIS IS IMPORTANT SO LISTEN UP.  To all those who got insulted/mad/disappointed that the reader is a Gryffindor, I’m sorry but believe it or not it is essential to the plot. Don’t want to spoil anything put it is very important that both the reader and Peter are Gryffindors. This is NOT because I favor Gryffindor, OK? And the reader is in that house because it is the house Peter is in, and I believe Peter would be a Gryffindor, and Tom Holland called himself a Gryffindor, and it ties perfectly in with the plot, etc... The point is, don’t hate me. I promise it’s for a good reason, and all the houses will have an equal part in this. Seriously. I’m planning for this fanfic to basically go beyond the Hogwarts House stereotypes. It’ll be good, trust me. Stay weird! 

- A