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yeaimsafiya · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER ONE back from rehab

SYNOPSIS the beginning of a teenage girl named y/n who is fresh out of rehab but doesn't intend to stay clean.

FROM THE WRITER AHH IM SORRY IM LATE GUYS!! This is the first chapter I'm ever writing, I took some inspo from episode 1 but I'm going to have to cut each episode into fourths because I really don't want to spend a whole week trying to finish a whole episode and school work. But I hope you guys really enjoy this chapter as much as I did - Love you guys, Sapiyah <3

WARNINGS Lots of unnecessary writing, female! reader, mentions of drugs and drinking, strong sexual content, nudity, violence, adult content, adult language, scenes might be uncomfortable for some, some scenes might include mentions of mental illness'

SERIES EUPHORIA

CHARACTERS INCLUDED members of the bakusquad & dekusquad, big three(?), some characters of class 1A

NOTES MDNI! Ageless blogs will be blocked or removed.

Readers discretion is advised

Suddenly, the whole world goes dark and nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You were once happy. Content.

Sloshing and swimming around your own private, primordial pool; Then one day, for reasons beyond your control, you were continuously and repeatedly crushed...

Over..and over.. again by the cervix of your mother, M/n.

You put up a good fight, but eventually lost, for the first time, but not the last.

You were born 3 days after 9/11, your mother and father spent two days in the hospital, holding you under the soft glow of the television, watching those towers fall over and over again, until the feeling of grief gave away to numbness.

And then, without warning, a middle-class childhood in the American suburbs.

You were sitting at the dinner table with your mother, M/n, and Father, F/n. But it appeared something else had gotten your attention, a set of numerous lights above the dinner table, in which you wanted to count.

"Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen.."

" What are you looking at y/n?"

"..."

"What are you doing? ..Y-y/n look at me."

"One, two, three, .."

"What are you doing Y/n?"

*cries*

"Id say she's suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder..."

Its not like you were physically abused..

"...attention deficit disorder..."

..Or had some type of clean water storage..

"..general anxiety disorder.."

..Or was molested by a family member.

"..and possibly bipolar disorder. But she's a little bit too young to tell."

So, explain this shit to me.

"Honey, it's just the way your brain was hardwired; Plenty of great, intelligent, funny, interesting and creative people have struggled with the same things you struggle with."

"Like who?"

"Vincent Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, and even Brittney Spears, your favorite!"

You haven't remembered much from the ages of eight to twelve. Just that the world moved fast, and your mind moved slow.

"Does anyone have an idea of what a perception might be?"

And every now and then, if you focused on the way you breathed...

You'd die.

"Slow down, just breathe"

Until every second of the day, you'd find yourself trying to outrun your anxiety.

"What's wrong Y/n?"

..And quite frankly..

"I'm just fucking exhausted"

Coming down to the kitchen, you could hear the small talk between your mother and younger sister, S/N.

"You said the doctor was in our network. How can he suddenly be out of network?"

"I can't afford it."

"Did you see that video of the girl who got acid thrown at her face?"

"What? No.."

"It's pretty fucked up.."

"Mom do you know where the tampons are?"

"In my bathroom, right under the sink."

And at one point, you'd make a choice of who you are and what you want.

"Alright Gia, let's go"

"Why do the co-payments cost $300?"

"Y/n did you eat breakfast?"

".."

"What's with the glasses?"

"What glasses?"

You just happened to show up one day, without a map or a compass..

"Attention students, we need to lockdown."

..Or to be honest, anyone capable of giving on iota of good fucking advice.

And I know it all seems sad but guess what? You did not build this system up, nor fuck it up yourself.

But then it happens. That moment where your breath starts to slow. And every time you breathe, you breathe out all the oxygen you have.

Then everything stops: Your heart, your lungs, then finally, your brain. And everything you feel, you wish, and want to forget, it all just sinks.

And then suddenly... you give it air again, give it life again.

You remember the first time it happened, where you were so scared you wanted to call 911. Go to the hospital and be kept alive by machines and apple juice. But you didn't want to look like an idiot, and you didn't want to fuck up everyone else's night.

And now overtime, that's all you've wanted.. those two seconds of nothingness.

You spent a good portion of summer before junior year in rehab. God granted you the serenity to accept things you cannot change, the courage to change the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

"Y/N," your sister yelled from afar, greeting you after your long leave. You smiled, and whilst running up to her, tried to continue the conversation with your younger sibling.

"Hey, Come here!"

"How are you?"

"Good, I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"Look at you, are you growing?"

"No."

Looking over, you see your mother standing by your family car.

"Hey," you yelled out to her, only to receive a small smile from her.

And with that. you knew it was your time to go.

"I'm very happy for you Y/n. You're about to start a brand-new chapter," Your mother says while driving you and your sister to school. You looked at her with a smile, then turned your attention back to the car window.

You had no intentions of staying clean. And yet, Jirou just moved into town.

"There's some new girl in town that I think you'll be friends with," Shoto said, with you standing beside him in his store.

"Who?"

"Shit, I don't know. She came in looking all punk rock and shit; So I'm thinking to myself, like, 'look like somebody Y/n would be friends with'."

Which was sort of a dead-on observation for Shoto, who's not normally revolving in the same direction as planet earth.

"So how long have you been back?" He asked.

"About five days."

"And how are you feeling?"

"I mean, ever since I gave my life over to my lord and savior Jesus Christ, things have been, like, really good."

"Word? That's what's up," You chuckled at his snarky remark, giving him a small smile.

"I'm fucking with you," you said whilst laughing, "It was a joke."

"Shit, hey, I don't judge," he defended, hands raising to just above his chest.

"But for real, is Deku in the back?"

"Are you serious?" Shoto questioned, seeming very disappointed in you.

"What, you think cause' I went to rehab I stayed clean?"

"I mean, ain't that the point?" he asks.

"Yeah, well, the world is coming to an end, and I haven't even graduated high school yet."

You gave Shoto one more smile before going to Deku, whilst Shoto stared at you the entire way there; There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, but since you were too busy looking for Deku, you didn't see.

You opened one of the doors of the refrigerators, leading you right to him with a bowl of fruit loops,"I thought your ass was dead," he said one he saw your appearance.

"And I thought you had Asperger's till I realized your just a prick," you barked back.

"This a fickle industry, y'all come and go. I'm just trying to stack my cash, pay off our mortgage," he said while pulling out a bunch of plastic bags out of a microwave.

"So what the fuck do you want?" You gave him a knowing look before he handed you needed.

"You sure you don't want to try something new?" He asks you.

"Like what?"

"2C-T-2, 2C-T-7, and 5-MeO-DIPT."

"I'm sorry I have no fucking idea of what you just said."

"It doesn't matter," he stated, "but this shit, is fucking lit."

"What is it?"

"N-diisopropyl-5-methoxytryptamine. It's a fast-acting psychedelic."

Got some similarities to LSD, but with, like, key differences. Not as visual as shit, but definitely a sense distorter.

"What's wrong?" That same dark purple hair girl questioned.

"I'm just so happy," you responded back.

"I don't know, this shits been going off in Tampa, and mad people like to fuck with this," Deku continued on with his descriptions with the drug.

"Okay. Yeah, why not."

"That'll be 120."

"Oh uh, Shoto said he'd spot me."

"Shoto doesn't spot nobody."

"Yeah, well, it's a post-rehab discount, so you should ask him."

"I will go ask him, cause' I know your full of shit."

Those were the last words he said before you walked out. Those were the last words you heard before you saw the same two boys in freshman year.

Bakugo and Kirishima.

TAGLIST: (send an ask or reply to add or remove) @urinejaeger, @saturxnn, @lv9su, @minnipe, @flamgosstuff, @lilrockzstar, @actfsgxcv, @lovebuggyboo, @russochild19, @iits-lexie, @mendez5657, @animatronicrat, @thirstygorl, @scrittynotfound, @pleaseleavemebelol, @thymebread, @cocojellie, @vxnanaaa-blog, @tn-johnson, @knotatwink, @hpttstears, @blackcatluna, @queennb-123, @nndntahg

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Do not steal, use or reupload my work without given permission or my consent. If so, you will either be blocked, removed, or reported.

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typewritingyip · 2 months ago

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First! Get better soon you awesomesauce typewriting fellar!! treat yourself with some warm tea and some rest!

also for the Q/A thingie i got a few question if it doesnt bother u much!

what inspired you to start writing and how did you get here? (as in writing bangers for the TF fandom we love you man)

For arcturus: do you have like an ending or story in mind? do you have scrapped ideas for the ending? (and may we peek??)

On the Arcturus 3 snippet we got the confimation that no texaid is taking place, however do you have other ships planned/ what are the pairings within arcturus? looking at u with googly eyes rn 🥺

ty for reading :3

Thank you so much!

Okay, let’s go in order!

What inspired me to start writing and how did I get here?

I started writing in middle school, not long after I had a major surgery and was in a dire need of an outlet. I mean back then I was writing on my index cards for class and just trying to escape the hell I was living in.

As for how I got here, I graduated from college back in May and sorta realized I hadn’t posted fanfiction in years, I have a few old pieces up on this blog but certainly nothing like Arcturus. I needed an outlet again cause I was spending 99% of my time studying for the LSAT. I never gave up writing, just gave up on posting it for whatever reason. So when this AU came along my sister and I were talking about it, then I started to write things down before it became my beloved Arcturus. If it weren’t for @keferon I probably wouldn’t have posted for another few months cause at the time I was working on a 10 chapter TFA Rock Star AU, which I’ll get back to at some point. This just was so inspiring.

For Arcturus: Do I have an ending or story in mind? Do I have scrapped ideas for the ending?

So, yes, I have an ending in mind. I’ve had this ending in mind for a bit honestly and love it so much, I just hope you all do too. As for scrapped ideas, well.. originally I wanted Red Alert to be human, then forgot and had him show up. I went back to my outline and just about cried. But it’s fine, I’ve made adjustments.

(As for peeking, mayhaps… I do a lot of stuff that I alter to a document in my commonplace book with other characters/my OC to get the ideas moving so maybe.)

Do I have other ships planned/what are my pairs in Arcturus?

Alright, I actually do have TexAid in this. So, the crew of Arcturus One does not know that First Aid is piloting suit 11, and the Arcturus universe of this AU, they’ve taken to calling that suit Vortex just cause he was such a famous pilot and they all know something isn’t quiet normal with that suit or those first generation pilots (they’d all be in their late 40’s early 50’s rn, so Swindle is maybe 46?). First Aid is pilot 3113, he was originally in Arcee’s spot for Arcturus 3 but I personally think that the eating the alien episode happened right before the announcement and things were moved around while he gets a psych evaluation done and the suit is cleaned. TexAid is canon to this AU even if I don’t know the characters well, I hope to understand them more by the time I write stuff for Arcturus 5.

Other ships? Now that’s where I’m having a blast. The obvious ones are Mirage/Hound, Knockout/Breakdown, Jazz/Prowl (they already are dating, just don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable), and Sunstreaker/Bluestreak for sure (maybe Sideswipe too but I’m still debating on how I want to do that/handle that.. idk yet.) We have background MegOp because it’s just a favorite of mine.

Then, we have Arcturus 3, Ratchet/Drift is just, *chefs kiss* to me, so that is happening but at the moment Deadlock is heavily pinning and Ratchet is oblivious. Honestly, most of Arcturus 3 is completely oblivious and I love that for them.

I plan to have other ships, but I think I’m going to hold those cards to my chest, for now.

Thank you so much for your questions! 💜

#tf mecha universe #tf mecha au #the arcturus missions #transformers #yip asks #Arcturus asks

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gabilunaar · 22 days ago

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My mind has been filled with one and only one fanfic, so I'm going to rant on this one. If you're looking for a post chapter 431 fic, this one is the thing, I guarantee.

The author of this fic used a lot of her life experience to write this and you can see that bc the characters are so human! It's a breath of fresh air really. I can see way someone could say a character in this fic seems ooc but honestly I don't think that happens, the author clearly knows the characters and cares about them, the driving plot of the fic is cheating and it's done in a way that I'M HOOKED.

To see that the war has affected this characters and that their trauma is in no way brushed off, is great. Izuku is always a personal favorite of mine when thinking about the ending, I know people don't like the changes of his character but in the bigger picture I can relate to giving up on your dream.

And I think is in chapter 12 that I realized how much this fic is amazing bc it show us a side of Izuku that not even Bakugou knows. Gosh they want each other so bad, if only humans were less complicated-

And the way the author writes Uraraka's character? Is something that I never see and done with so much care and respect, I cried with her and will fight for her at anytime!

The best part is that after you finish reading (even tho is not complete) think start to make sense and you understand the looks and the comments the characters thrown around, on my second read I was like "oooh so that's why he got so upset"

#I have to go out but I CAN TALK MORE!!#maybe I just like drama but more gosh this is good #and is so nice to see characters that are so alive and human #it makes me feel more human and less of a thing #I can't recomend this enough #bkdk #mha #izuku midoriya #bakudeku #bnha #bakugou katsuki #bkdk fic #fic rec #bkdk fic rec #dkbk #bkdkbk #character analysis #scorpio rising #scorpio rising by thefujodyke

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ebongawk · 3 months ago

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fun facts about every star in the sky that I didn't have time to include:

now that I've completed my st4 fix-it fic, every star in the sky (is taking aim) and it's been out for a while, I thought I'd go through a variety of small details I came up with through writing their journey that I either didn't have the time or the place to include in the original story.

(technically some spoilers below the line!!!)

from Eddie waking up on the 28th of February to Chrissy rushing her way into the Upside Down, the story takes place in its entirety over ten days. Eddie's hospital trip technically happens after midnight, dawning the eleventh day without the oppressive red thunderstorm hanging over their heads.

Prior to the accident, Fred's Vecna song would've been St. Elmo's Fire by John Parr. After the accident, he hadn't found another song that spoke to him in quite the same way, leaving him without the protection of a favorite song. Whether that would've mattered or made a difference is up for debate.

The uncle that taught Patrick archery was his dad's brother. He killed himself in 1982, which is when Pat's dad started getting significantly more violent.

Chrissy and Eddie's mom, Alice, share a birthday. February 26th.

In chapter 4, when Eddie gives Chrissy his phone number, he writes in on the back of a tampon receipt. I just thought it was funny.

On their first anniversary, which they decided is March 1st, Chrissy gifts Eddie with a stuffed elephant he dubs Sir Ears-A-Lot the Third. Sir Ears-A-Lot the First is in his mom's casket and the Second is the keychain that disappeared. It ends up becoming a staple, holding a place of honor in every home they live in after.

The first thing Eddie does once he has his cast off his book an appointment at a tattoo parlor. He gets the bats on his arm covered, replacing them instead with a large bouquet of black and pink dahlia flowers. Chrissy's favorite.

While Steve, Robin, and Argyle showed an interest in Kali (I mean who wouldn't), she actually only had eyes for one member of the Party.

Kali also takes off immediately after closing the gates with El, knowing she can't stay without risking getting caught, but she circles back a few months later. Part of the crowd when Eddie, Chrissy, Patrick, Nancy and Robin all graduate.

With Joyce going to find Hopper three-and-a-half weeks earlier than in the canon storyline, he wasn't on the verge of being sent off as Demogorgon fodder, so it was easier to break him out.

Patrick and Jason's friendship doesn't survive Battle of the Upside Down. Jason is far more upset about this than Patrick.

Andy entirely loses his ability to speak above a hoarse whisper as a result of his injuries, as well as some mobility. He is forced to retire from sports and, bitter and angry, refuses to go to college.

Coincidentally, Chrissy was accepted into the University of Massachusetts, Boston with a partial cheer scholarship, putting her only 15 minutes from Nancy at Emerson. They both scream when they realize, nearly blowing out Jonathan and Eddie's ear drums.

At some point while cleaning out a closet, Chrissy finds a box of framed photos tucked away. Each one of Alice, Wayne and Eddie all together in some capacity. She and Eddie pick one to put out on the coffee table, and Wayne cries (extremely manly, one-to-three tears) when he sees it. He admits that it was too hard to look at them before, and putting them away was his selfish need to keep her memory at arm's length. Eddie forgives him, of course. The next day, all of the other photos are out, too.

#hellcheer #eddissy #stranger things #hellcheer fic #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #wayne munson #patrick mckinney #nancy wheeler #kali prasad #fred benson #time travel au #every star in the sky (is taking aim)#most likely going to add more!! but this is all for now!

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aspoonofsugar · 5 months ago

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can I ask your thoughts on the direction oshi no ko has gone?

Hi!

I personally dislike it. It feels like tragedy for the sake of gloom rather than catharsis. It is an ending that de-powers everyone's arc really.

Aqua is the only one who gets a complete arc, even if negative. He has a tragic arc and fails to have a positive development. He literally dies idolizing Ruby in juxtaposition to Kamiki, who dies idolizing Ai. Narratively, it makes sense for him to die, as he kills his shadow (Kamiki), but I would argue it does not really work for the story as a whole. And that is because the overall themes and the other protagonists' character arcs are all sacrificed for this negative outcome.

Ruby does not get to solve her feelings for Sensei/Aqua and is stuck in yet another tragedy. I don't know how her arc will be solved. Probably in a bittersweet and yet positive way, but here comes the thing. I don't think it is believable psychologically speaking. Ruby grew a lot, but she is still defined by the loss of sensei and AI. Nothing in the narrative happened to make me believe she would not react very very badly to Aqua's death tbh. We'll see.

Akane failed her objective to help Aqua and repay him. As a result, her development up until this point does not get any catharsis nor resolution. It literally goes nowhere.

Kana is worse than ever. She did not get to properly convey her feelings for Aqua and she went from being the tritagonist to being a character, who quietly disappears in the background, in what is ironically an echo of her acting career.

Finally, Ai's death finds no thematic resolution and her two final wishes are not fulfilled. Not only her children do not manage to save Hikaru, but one of them even dies himself.

All in all it feels like the story set up a plot with specific roles for each character to fulfill and then decided not to have them fulfill them for the sake of drama, rather than theme. I also personally disliked we spent so much time in Aqua's head as he arrived about a self-realization about his identity and that the climax was all about it... That was never truly the point of his character nor the series. The focus of the story isn't if Aqua and Ruby are Aqua and Ruby or Goro and Sarina. The point is that they get a second chance at living, so they can solve their complexes. Aqua even lampshades this, before the climax.

Now, I like well written tragedies, but I don't think the series is written as a tragedy really. The structure sets up positive arcs until the end of the movie arc, where you can see the author started changing the order of things, so that it could end in tragedy. So, there was the fake good ending, which was positive, but very weak. And then, there was a twist, so that a more powerful, but negative ending could be delivered. Except, I would have preferred the positive ending with the struggle of the tragic one :''') Especially because I really think it would have been the most powerful one possible for this series.

Anyway, there are still a couple of chapters left, I think. So, we will see the denouement. That said, I think the series lost its power in the final arc, which is a pity cause up until that point it was excellent. Like, the Dark Ruby's arc is one of my favorite arcs ever. I reread it some weeks ago and I cried a lot. That is the kind of power I was expecting in the finale, but instead we got a theme attached on the story at the last minute and a forced twist. It isn't one of the worst ending ever (especially if you read the series and the chapters all together probably), but it is definitely below the level of writing this story had. These are just my two cents of course :)

#oshi no ko #oshi no ko spoilers #onk spoilers #asksfullofsugar #anonymous

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we-stan-the-stans-27 · 2 months ago

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Dead Asleep AU?

Okay, so I kind of wanted to write another part/version of that sleeping beauty AU from the other week. But this time, Stanley is the one who gets too suffer! HAHAH!

So, here is part two. Also, I posted both parts up on my Ao3 account and I'll link it here if you want to save it for later or whatever.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62066953/chapters/158737552#main

And of course, I'm going to @sixerstanley again! Because this was their idea. Now. Let's get into being evil. Heheh.

(I had most of this done on the tenth, but then I basically died and couldn't finish. So, enjoy. That live stream was like crack or something. Idk guys.) (P.P.S. Gonna post this on its own now because I don't think anyone saw it when I reposted it attached to the old post. Rightfully so. That shit was long as hell.)

Truth be told all of Stan Pines favorite and happiest memories took place on a boat. It didn't matter if it was on some crappy litter scattered beach.

It was theirs and nothing could soil those memories. Back then all that mattered was the hot burning sand, maybe the stings of glass cuts across a sole, and tumbling along getting hurt, hand in hand.

Sure, it took forty damn years to get back there, but he's anything if not stubborn. And it paid off.

What's that saying? 'Most gamblers call it quits right before striking it big?'

Good thing he never stopped betting with higher and higher stakes then, right?

The future is much brighter because of it. The deck of the ship has a sharp bite to it now. From one extreme to the next. A hot infected wound, now soothed by a cold compress.

The arctic Ocean.

There isn't a lot in the area for fishing, but there is still plenty of wildlife to watch from the top deck if your patient.

Late at night the sky lights up with the northern lights, or 'Aurora Borealis' if you speak blabbering scientist. It's beautiful and a new flavor of Ford's favorite activity, Stargazing.

Out at sea there is no better place for it without any light pollution. Just them, the universe, and the expansive inky blackness below.

Sitting out on the deck, fish watching with a pair of binoculars, the world is practically blinding this time of the afternoon. The white overcast clouds mixed with the occasional chunk of ice covered in snow lights up the world like being inside a light bulb.

That's not what pulls Stanley's attention from the endless water he's been looking at all morning though. Finally, he sees something!

Off the starboard side from where they've been anchored a group of Narwhals is swimming by, long tusks poking out of the water and interrupting the sleek outline of the waves.

"Sixer, get the hell up here!" He knows his brother won't be nearly as excited about seeing this marvel as he is, but Stan still wants to share it with him anyway.

Just because Ford saw a million different impossible things through the portal doesn't mean whales aren't interesting too. Sure, not what they're hanging out waiting for, but who cares?

When Stanley can't hear Ford immediately running up the stairs, no big surprise if stuck in a book, he stomps on the floor of the deck without looking away from the water. Grinning like an idiot.

"Stanford Pines, get up here! I'm having a heart attack!" Okay, yeah. It's not funny. But that never fails to get him top side no matter what he's in the middle of.

'Boy who cried wolf' Yack! Yack! Whatever. If it works, why fix it?

There are at least ten different Narwhals intermittently breaching for air but the sight is incredibly short lived before they dive again on another breath hold, disappearing from sight below the grey waves.

"Awe, too slow! You missed it!" His booming voice is the only sound on the ship and it makes Stan finally drop the glasses and get up out of his chair with a crack from both knees.

He stomps, again, and then listens with a little more attention to the ship.

There is the lapping of the waves against the side, the slight breeze blowing the fresh smell of sea salt over the vessel, but otherwise its quiet.

Hmm. He could stay up here, maybe even pretend to fall over and really scare his brother. Except the last time he did that Ford almost threw him overboard into the freezing cold water.

Still. It is a little weird that Ford didn't at least yell a few foreign curse words up through the ship.

"Alright, fine. You want to prank me back? I'll bite." It comes out in a mutter and Stan makes his way across the deck after one more glance around at the water.

Through the wheel house, down the steep steps, and around the corner into the room dubbed 'the office' only in the name on the door. It's a glorified science lab that Stan gets to store a shelf of books inside of.

Pushing open the door is a little challenging, like something is blocking it but after a minute of shoving he's able to get enough room to squeeze through to get a look around.

Yep. This is 100% a prank.

The thing blocking the door? Ford, leaning back and looking pretty limp. Stan has got to hand it to him, this is a really convincing look.

"Nice try genius, laying around on the floor isn't going to convince me. Come on, up we go." It takes a lot more work than it should to move Ford from the floor up into the single chair in here.

The only real dead bodies Stan has ever seen have been bloody from being murdered or covered in vomit thanks to overdosing on something. Lots of blood, bruises, stomach acid and empty eyes stained with their last moments.

Ford's open, blank ones, do cause a little bit of alarm, but. It's how damn cold his body is that brings the first real taste of concern to the forefront of his mind.

"I thought I told you to turn on the space heater periodically. You have bad enough circulation as is, you idiot." Ford is very cold, and limp just like a dead body, and his eyes-

To humor Ford, and to reassure himself, Stan does a big show of rolling his eyes and then putting two fingers to Ford's wrist. You can't hide having a pulse, genius.

"................................................................................................................"

Okay. Maybe you can hide a pulse on one arm, if you cut off circulation. Whatever, big whoop?

Stan shifts over to check the other wrist and lets out a tisk of annoyance before raising those same fingers up to Ford's neck.

Same result.

Huh.

Now that's a neat trick.

Ford is doing a really good job pretending not to breathe too.

A really really good job.

That's bad.

"Alright Sixer, good one. I've learned my lesson here, you can undo whatever witchcraft you used to manage this." His confidence that this is a joke is cracking with every second Ford doesn't hop up and start lecturing him.

That's what should be happening. Another long rant about how pretending to be injured or sick isn't funny, not a good way to get attention, and unnecessary.

Yeah. Stan knows all that.

Ford does come topside, eventually, whenever he yells. It's just-

Sometimes Ford gets a little too caught up in his work and needs to be reminded the rest of the world exists. Extremes are the easiest way to do that.

And, yeah. Stanley can admit in the safety of his own head that he enjoys the fretting Ford does, despite knowing it’s a false alarm. It's been a long time since someone cared about him enough for something like that.

Or maybe those memories are what decided not to come back. Eh, his life seems pretty sad. Makes sense.

What doesn't, however, is why Ford is doing this for so long.

Plain and simple, he wouldn't.

But, that would mean something so terrible that his mind still won't accept it.

Because Ford can't be dead. That's not possible. They had this conversation.

Before leaving Gravity Falls, they had a really long and difficult talk about health issues. Ford came up with game plans for emergencies, Stanley had to own up to his numerous health issues, and how does Stanley know with complete certainty his brother can't be dead?

Bill said so.

Ford isn't supposed to die until he's ninety-two of a heart attack.

Now, Stan doesn't trust that demon on much. Or anything. Except this.

Because Bill liked Ford to an uncomfortable degree, otherwise he'd be dead right now. Or, would have at some point during the apocalypse.

So. The devil must have been telling the truth on this one thing, right?

Ford had seemed pretty sure that he wasn't going to be the one needing healthcare at sea, solidifying the belief in Stan's own mind. If Ford wasn't worried, why should he? He's a genius!

But-

What if Bill did lie? Tricking them into a false sense of security only for Ford to drop dead one day. Honestly? That does sound more his style.

Except, it can't be today.

It just can't.

Because if Ford is dead-

That's not a possibility Stanley Pines has ever considered for so much as a millisecond.

Not when Ford went through the portal.

Not for thirty years during the rebuilding process.

Not even prior to rescuing him from Bill and saving the world.

Because he can't imagine a world without Stanford Pines.

Sure, he's been gone before. Missing, but he came back from the portal and they eventually fixed things. They're okay now.

That was six weeks ago.

And, yeah, they still fight, but that's normal. Expected, living so closely after so long apart.

Stan has found himself frozen standing next to the chair simply staring down at Ford waiting for-

The joke to end? The camera crew to jump out? Ford himself to come in from the other room telling him this is a dummy or clone?

That spurs him back into action, rushing out of the room. "You aren't funny, Stanford Filbrick Pines! When I find you, I'm going to give you the worst wedgie in the multiverse!"

There are really only four places Ford could be hiding, given his size. Their bedroom underneath the bunk beds, the bathroom, the tiny kitchen pantry, or the engine room.

The kitchen pantry is bare, as expected. It’s a pretty shitty hiding spot.

Looking underneath the bed is tricky, but he isn't under there either.

The bathroom shower is clear too and he leaves the lights on, doors open, as he yanks the tiny half-sized door to peer into the almost crawlspace-sized room-

Empty.

For good measure Stanley does a second, and third, lap of the ship from the deck all the way back through leaving no chance for his brother to be sneaking around hiding.

In the end he still lands back in the office, leaning against the wall, looking at his brother's freezing cold and lifeless body.

Dead, body-

Nope, nope, nope! Ford can't be dead, he can't be.

Instead of looking at 'Ford' Stan looks around the room at anything else in search of answers. There's a stack of books and some science doohickey on the desk, but that's not all.

When first entering the room, Ford was laying on the floor back against the door. The chair was sideways, almost like he'd fallen out of it.

Down on the floor is a small collection of scattered papers.

It certainly looks like-

"Nope. Not happening." I'm not going to entertain it, not going to think about it. Ford is cold and being an idiot.

Stan busies himself with gathering up the scattered papers off the floor and organizing them on the desk and-

Ford's phone.

Before leaving port they'd both gone out and bought one at the behest of Dipper and Mabel. For taking pictures, calling, texting, and use of the internet.

They have this thing called a 'hot spot' that allows them to use the internet on their laptop for video calls and such. Ford usually sets that up and Stan gets the call going.

Neither of them knows the full process, so they have to work together.

Finding it discarded on the floor fits with the scene Ford has laid out trying to play dead. It's all very convincing, really.

But all that panic and worry remains buried deep, because what else is there?

Losing Ford would probably give him a heart attack, for real, right about now.

So. It's pretty concerning to see the phone open, wasting the battery, to their text chain.

It looks like Ford tried sending him a text up above deck.

'Stanley, I require medical assistance, follow protocol 32-C. Thank you. -Stanford Pines'

Except the text never went through, that red bubble with the exclamation mark 'Not delivered' is obvious enough for even Stanley to see.

Okay. There isn't any ignoring that.

Why? Ford was right here, why didn't he yell or come upstairs, or knock on the ceiling for fucks sake?

Except it does look like Ford might have tried to leave the room-

Real, honest panic claws its way up into the center of his chest from where he's kneeling on the floor looking at the text that didn't go through.

Maybe it was never a heart attack, could've been a stroke-

This text is pretty long and lacking spelling mistakes though, like all the other messages Ford has ever written.

His last words.

"Stanford..." It comes out broken and he ignored the complaints of the floor in the rush to get up, still clutching the phone, and across the room to his brother.

Idiot! Stupid, God damn idiot!

Instead of helping him for one fucking second you decided to play hide and seek!

Nope, we aren't going to cry. Not now, nope. Doesn't matter that there isn't anyone around to-

Nope!

Pulling Ford down onto the floor to assess him is easy with how limp he is and Stan makes quick work of pulling off his gloves in search of-

Something.

There still isn't a pulse, but the skin along each wrist and the neck feels colder than it did earlier. Stan's hands are shaking like he's going through withdrawals, trembling.

Focus.

Despite what his brother might think, he did in fact take the time to review the procedures stored in their extensive first aid kits. Not because any of them are helpful here though.

Ford put that together with Stan exclusively in mind.

What to do in the case of a heart attack, stroke, aneurysms, seizures, and all the small things too. Stuff for stitches, concussions, burns, and there is one small pamphlet on amputations.

The reason he took the time to review them was to put together his own plans, just in case.

If this is a heart attack he can't use to stupid paddles on Ford because of his metal plate. Besides, who knows what kind of effects that might have if it is a stroke-

He's already dead-

"Shut up! Just, shut up. He isn't, not until I say so!" The yell echoes back inside the claustrophobic room. The boat has never felt so painfully small-

CPR it is then.

Thirty-two C is essentially an undefined chest pain. Aspirin, monitoring, and high tailing it to the closest port.

Hard to do any of that when Ford can't breathe, much less swallow. And, you know, being three hours from the closest dock doesn't help either.

Stan has wasted too much time fussing and being useless as is. He knows how to do this. Where the hands go, the rhythm needed and the right amount of pressure to apply. How often to force Ford to take air.

This gives his hands something useful to do, his mind something to focus on instead of pure white-hot panic.

Because that's what he feels.

There is only one thing he could never protect Ford from, himself.

Sickness, and eventually death fall into that same category because the body does those things without considering what you want. Old age would come for his brother someday, regardless of how anyone feels about it.

Stanley had always assumed- no, made damn sure -that he wouldn't outlive his brother.

Because he can't be the one to carry on. That is a world he wants no part in.

He realizes, a while into doing compressions, that he should have consulted a clock before starting to try and keep track of how long he's been doing this.

Whatever, like it really matters.

Stanley continues anyway, long past when his arms started to burn and past hearing two different ribs crack.

What makes him stop is when he physically can't catch his own air enough to continue.

He is, understandably, a mess.

Snot smeared between both faces, tears across the front of Ford's shirt and cheeks, and Stanley himself can't breathe, chest tight and wracked with sobs.

Even if Ford did have a heartbeat Stanley knows he wouldn't be able to feel it because of how badly his hands are trembling and how fast blood is rushing in his own ears.

Six god damn weeks. Is that really all we got? All that time, all those mistakes? So much wasted all because I couldn't control myself for five fucking seconds!

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry Stanford." It comes out choked, barely real words around his chests arguing efforts to sound like a dying animal and take in enough oxygen to avoid meeting his own end.

The pile of regrets is immeasurable, but not so much about the past.

They've done that song and dance, so those aren't the thoughts that tear into him now.

So many things missed that still need to be made up for.

Christmas. New Years. Drunk nights out. Their birthday for fucks sake!

Now they'll never get to share that, ever again. Forever Seventeen.

Just-

Being together again.

Joking together.

Together!

Not apart.

Haven't they had enough of that? Wasn't four cursed decades of loneliness plenty?

Guess time has a funny sense of humor.

Or the world just hates him specifically.

Stanley Pines isn't allowed to be happy, hopefully everyone got the memo!

He can't remember ever crying so hard or for nearly as long ever in his whole life. Countless nights spent breaking down in the basement, slumped over the desk in the upstairs office, or camped out in some slum across the back seat of the car are nothing in comparison.

Lying across Ford's chest feels unnatural. It's too cold, too still-

Wrong.

It's like someone just broke one of the fundamental laws of physics here in their office and Stanley can't handle it.

When he finally manages to pull away a crazed laugh bubbles up and out into the room without permission.

There is nothing funny about this, but it seems to have a mind of its own, running away with his vocal cords.

What the hell else is he supposed to do? His whole world just died. Ford might as well of snuffed out the sun, causing the whole universe to go out with it. All that's left are stars.

Memories.

That's not fair. None of this is, and he knows that life ain't fair. Why would it be now? Of course it wouldn't, but-

"Why?! Why now, huh?! You couldn't of waited ten fucking minutes? At least let me be here with you? I could of done something useful for once! But no, I always have to fail! It's the only thing I'm good at!"

The humor vanishes, the hysterics of it washed away by anger and grief.

He ends up sitting back on his ass with knees drawn up with both arms wrapped around them, just like when they were kids.

What is he supposed to do?

Ford's dead. Stanford is dead. Sixer is dead. My twin brother is dead-

Repeating the same thought doesn't make him feel any better. If anything, it makes the shaking ten times worse. Unsteady hands, trembling shoulders-

He's shivering all over, goosebumps caused by something other than the cold.

"God, i really am a failure. Can't argue with me now, huh? You died, fifteen feet away from me and-" He can't look at Ford like this anymore, so he brings up a hand to cover his face while trying to regulate his own awful breathing.

Who cares? Why does it matter? Why bother calming down if Ford's dead?

As much as he'd like to give up, because it would be incredibly easy to do so, Stan knows he can't. Not now.

Okay. Deep even breathes.

In. One, two, three, four, five.

Out. One, two, three, four five.

It takes several tries to manage getting past two, but it gets a little easier to stop feeling so light headed the more he focuses on it

He can't give up, because like it or not-

Why not?

Because of the kids? Because of Soos? How exactly would they feel to find out both of us were brought into port dead by the coast guard? Two funerals to attend.

Although they would probably do them together-

That's a nice thought.

Nope, we aren't encouraging that!

"Alright, come on. Get it together. You know what to do..." That doesn't make it easier.

Back up. First onto both knees, then both feet.

Unlike moving Ford into the chair, dragging him around, Stanley takes more care lifting Ford up over one shoulder to carry him from the office across the boat into the bedroom.

Laying him out on the bottom bunk, tucked into the blankets, it looks like he's just sleeping.

Despite barely doing anything Stanley is exhausted already. Arms sore, his back is going to be killing him tomorrow from picking up all that dead weight, so he settles on the edge of the mattress. Just for a minute.

There was once a day when the gun would, metaphorically, already be in his hand.

The world hadn't exactly been kind to him. Not growing up. Not on the road. Not even fully in Gravity Falls. Sure, it was home, but the basement was its own form of torture and suffering.

All of that was supposed to stay off the boat.

Land was pain, the ocean was perfect.

Or at least he'd thought so. If death was going to come for them, taking them into the ranks of lives lost at sea, they were supposed to go down together.

It's tempting. More tempting than ever before.

"I'm sorry." He can't turn and look at Ford, but the presence of his body is comforting in a weird way. Just don't think about how-

"I know you keep telling me I don't need to be, and that we're all good, but I really am. I'm the reason we lost so much time, so maybe it’s just that I have to live with that until my heart gives out." These are the kinds of things he'd never say if Ford was really here.

Or in front of anyone, but what's the harm now? Might as well get it out now before heading back.

From there Ford will be carted off to the closest morgue, body probably cremated, leaving Stanley to bring the ash remains home.

"Maybe I was a damn fool to think I could have it all. Should have known it was too good to be true. I can't-" He has to stop to take several deep full breaths before pushing on.

"I can't do this. Thirty years, forty, all alone. Ruined, and now-"

Things were good, fantastic, for fucks sake!

Having someone to cook and clean with. To get annoyed at when they hog the bathroom. Pointless arguments, bickering, but always getting over it.

It was domestic in a way he'd always wanted but never allowed himself. Always afraid anyone who got close would leave.

In a way, Ford did. Not intentionally, but he did walk right back out the door just like everyone else. Who knows, maybe it would have happened sooner or later anyway.

"I-I know I wasn't great to live with. I'm a pain in the ass screw-up and I guess that's all I'll ever be." Failing to notice something was seriously wrong sooner, not hearing any noises his brother might have made, not getting that text-

Overshadows saving the world. It doesn't matter if the sun keeps rising if his brother isn't here to see it.

He doesn't really know what's considered 'normal behavior' around a corpse. It might be incredibly weird of him to decide to sit up against the wall at the head of the bunk and get Ford situated laying back against his chest, repositioning the blankets.

Stan finds he doesn't care either way. If his brother is dead, the love of his life, he's going to sit with him for a little while before his body gets all stiff and gross and corpsey.

It'll take about two hours, give or take, before then.

Other than the bed being cold it’s not hard to pretend things are okay. Stan's own breathing moves Ford with each inhale and exhale in the otherwise quiet room.

They're both to old to be cuddling, but who's around to judge him? The next closest human is miles away and Ford...

He doesn't really get a say anymore.

Stan lets out a sad and exhausted chuckle, shaking his head and tucking his face down into Ford's hair while keeping both arms tight across his brother’s chest.

It smells of sweat, sea salt, and something chemically that makes his nose burn a little. He needs a shower, gross bastard.

"You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you, Sixer. No fucking clue how much I love you."

Never, ever, would Stan dare be so open in front of anyone, much less his equally emotionally constipated brother. But it’s not like he's going to be able to say all this stuff in front of people.

Not when he heads back to Gravity Falls, tail between his legs. Much less at the funeral.

"I mean, you had to know. One person doesn't dedicate a lifetime to fixing a mistake like that if they don't give a shit. But, well, you know."

He's a corpse Stan, he doesn't know anything. Not anymore.

"It was never the boat. I didn't care that you wanted to go to school. I didn't care about taking the journal. I didn't even care about you being a pretentious asshole. Okay, maybe I did care about that last one a little." It's the first genuine laugh Stan's let out since finding Ford.

"It was the separation I had a problem with. We could have been enlisted in the military for all I cared, as long as we did it together. Talk about codependent, am I right?"

His arms are tired from doing compressions so instead of continuing to hug Ford in a vice grip he settles for holding one of his hands instead.

Cuddling, weird but not outside of things they've done before. Usually after or because of nightmares.

Hugging is practically a daily occurrence at this point, sometimes multiple times depending on the itinerary Ford's always got in his stupid head.

But this, holding hands, isn't something they've done since they were kids.

Hopefully, Filbrick found a special space in hell for yelling at them until they stopped. He was right, socially, of course. But Stan can't help holding a grudge regardless. As if Ford needed more negative press about his perfect hands.

They're cold but Stan pointedly ignores that in favor of savoring the moment.

"It was good we spent time apart, in its own stupid way. Not because either of us had a good time or anything, but we finally grew up. Eventually. Just took the world ending for you to get your ego checked." It's nice having Ford lying back against his chest, their hands intertwined over Ford's cold one under the blanket.

It's sad, and temporary, but better than nothing at all.

You take what you get and you don't throw a fit.

"But hey, it wasn't all bad." Looking around the room the proof is right here. "We did it, eventually. We had some fun, stole some treasure. Never did get any babes though, but-"

The wall closest to the door is covered in a large cork board covered in pictures from the camera Soos gifted them as a housewarming present before leaving port. Original pictures of them back in Jersey pinned at the top with their adventures detailed in the ones below, picking up decades later.

He sighs, bringing up his free hand to straighten out Ford's hair. It's always a rat’s nest. "I was never as worried about that part as I probably should have been, because I-"

Dead or not, is this really the kind of thing he should be saying out loud?

The things he's saying aren't really for Ford, they're for Stanley's own benefit anyway. "Well, heh. You see, about that...I, uh. Really only had interest in getting one babe on board." He squeezes Ford's hand for emphasis, like he's listening.

But even Stan can't help bursting out into laughter at his awful joke, managing to avoid letting out more than a couple tears. "Oh god, that's terrible. I'm terrible, I know. But, you never had to worry about that. You being here is more then I could've asked for. No sense betting it on the bonus word and getting left at a dock when things where good as is."

There. It's out there, in the room, shared with someone who can never tell his worst secret. That wasn't so bad now, was it?

"As it was, I guess. Still can't believe you're gone and our adventure is over before it really got started." It's a somber thought, but he leaves it at that.

What else is there to say?

Time passes, only marked by the slight darkening of the clouds outside the boat and the ticking of Stanley's watch.

He keeps saying 'five more minutes' but that started up about two hours ago. It's been nearly three since settling into bed. His back hurts from staying in the same position, fingers cramped, but he still doesn't want to get up.

That means letting go. He isn't ready for that.

Probably never will be either.

It must be the cold keeping Ford from getting all stiff like dead people should because he's still just as limp and relaxed as when he first died. That thought makes him wince.

"Alright. As fun as this is, I should probably get up and bring us back to port before it gets dark." He says it like Ford will be able to encourage him to do so, like the corpse is going to hold him accountable.

Except, it can't.

Stan finds the willpower to get up and off the bed anyway, leaving Ford tucked in, and heading out into the hallway that is the kitchen and dining room.

Next step is getting back to port, calling the local authorities, and explaining what the hell happened. That won't be fun. None of this is.

He only gets as far as the kitchen before having to sit down.

Who is he kidding? This is impossible. How the hell is he supposed to do any of this?

No matter how hard he tries to cling to the fact that he has other family, because Stanley knows full well how much the kids and Soos care for him, that doesn't make the suddenly unbearable weight on both shoulders any lighter.

The boat is suffocating, cold, and it’s only going to get worse.

When Ford had gone through the portal it was easy enough to rationalize his feelings of hopelessness away using pure denial. Can't be sure Ford is dead if you can't see him.

And yeah, he'd been right, though on all accounts he shouldn't have been.

Stan can't do that here because Ford is very clearly dead and gone.

All those years he'd already been through the first several stages of grief periodically. Denial, anger, and bargaining but had always gotten stuck in the second to last step. Depression.

If people can get past that one, they usually reach acceptance and from there, it’s all about finding a way to live with it.

I can't do that.

How on earth am I supposed to after everything? So many mistakes, miscommunications, lost time, and for what? For it to end here?

What the hell am I supposed to do? Pack it up, return to Gravity Falls, and drink myself to death?

That's probably what he would have done if Ford hadn't been able to make it home. If he'd actually been dead for thirty years and all that effort was for nothing.

It doesn't take much to make up his mind. It’s only a matter of when, not a matter of if.

The painful silence of the ship is interrupted by his watch beeping at him several times, indicating it’s time for his blood pressure medications.

This watch is considerably uglier than his gold one, but its water proof and has some fancy alarm and timer settings.

Ford set it up to remind him.

He all but collapses in on himself with tears escaping easier than before in the office.

This was all he ever wanted, for someone to give a damn about him and now the only person who ever did is gone!

No more bickering about who used all the hot water. Complaining about who's turn it is to handle the laundry. Doing dishes together.

No more laughing, cracking jokes, or arguing over what to have for dinner.

"I can't do this, I'm not strong enough for that." His voice is choked, barely above a whisper.

His own feet bring him to the first aid kit fastened to the wall above the toilet in the bathroom. It's where any medications they might need are kept from ibuprofen to some other more questionable alien junk of Ford's.

Nutrition pills are not a substitute for real food, even when you’re sick of fish Stanford.

Down on the bottom shelf right next to the Aspirin and Tylenol is where his stupid medication is to take-

Except currently there is a small and simple letter propped up on the shelf blocking the several bottles there with 'For Stanley Pines' on the front in neat and actually legible cursive handwriting.

He looks around the bathroom, almost comically, because he really has lost it.

Maybe he actually had his own medical problem while trying to do chest compressions and now he's a ghost or something?

Because this looks like Ford left him a letter right inside their medicine cabinet.

Except he's dead in the other room.

After picking up the letter, and taking his stupid meds, Stan goes back to the bedroom to double-check that the corpse hasn't managed to go anywhere in the last ten minutes.

Nope. Still there.

Okay.... Well, might as well read it then?

He closes the bedroom door first and goes about straightening up the million open doors and all the unnecessary lights left on this whole time, settling against one of the kitchen counters and tearing the envelope open with his pocket knife.

'To Stanley,

If you are reading this letter then you must be in the throes of panic at the moment. As I know well, it’s not very fun to have a brother who continues to terrify you with health scares. I have tried discussing this with you several times, but clearly, you don't fully understand.

Perhaps this spook, over a supposed 'blocked blood vessel', will set the record straight. I do not find your jokes about 'keeling over' to be amusing. Waking me up purposefully drooping one half of your body also isn't funny.

It is for these many reasons I've devised a plan to scare you, briefly. The serum I gave myself to cause the presentation of symptoms should have no permanent or ill health effects. However, it does eventually result in a loss of consciousness, so you will need to administer the antidote.

It is tapped to the roof of our fridge and kept at the appropriate cool temperature until it is ready to be used, with the dosage already measured out in a previously prepared needle. Any vein will do, though it may take some time to circulate and take-"

Stanley doesn't bother finishing the stupid list of instructions Ford may have left him filling out the rest of the letter. In fact, he can't even bring himself to be mad right this second about Ford torturing him like this.

He's alive. That's all that matters.

It’s a rush of slamming open doors, making a mess of the top shelf of the fridge, before Stan is able to find the supposed needle right where the letter said it would be. Back to the bedroom he yanks on the light, tearing off the blanket.

"I knew it, I fucking knew it-"

Or at least he hopes this is real and not some hallucination caused by grief. Seems a little too good to be true, but he'd be willing to gamble on giving Ford sulfuric acid if he left a note saying so right about now.

Sure enough, by the time Stanley is able to yank Ford's closer sleeve up he can see a big X drawn with a sharpie over the vein along the interior of the arm where you'd have blood taken. Or shoot up heroin.

How long does he have to give the antidote? Could it be too late? That letter was probably supposed to be opened hours ago.

Whatever.

No time like the present.

He's done this plenty of times on himself, so it’s not hard.

Using one of Ford's ties out of the closet (a ridiculous thing to bring on a boat) he's able to create a tourniquet without having to go back to the bathroom.

The cap gets removed with his teeth and once the vein is visible, he carefully presses the needle in under the skin before pushing down the plunger and injecting whatever the weird black medication is.

Only after putting the needle aside does he run off to get dressings and gauze to patch up the injection sight and stop the bleeding. The same amount you'd expect from a live body.

A weird sense of euphoria takes hold in the time it takes to secure the gauze over the injection site with some medical tape.

And a little bit of hope.

Rightfully, he should be beyond pissed. What the hell was Ford thinking in the first place? Okay, yeah. They suck at talking, and he hadn't been the most open to Ford's previous complaints about his 'death jokes' and such.

Dark humor. But he hadn't expected Ford to do something this extreme in retaliation.

Talk about a prank war getting out of hand.

This is worse than when they got into a closet territory war in high school and it had ended with them both getting yelled at, and grounded, when some itching powder accidentally ended up in the wrong laundry.

Later he can be upset, but right now Ford will probably be waking up in enough pain over his own stupid choices. Being given CPR is a rather violent experience, his chest is going to hurt considerably for a long while.

That's revenge enough, and-

Okay, maybe you could consider this lesson learned.

Stanley is left to wait, with bated breath, for Ford to wake up.

It's pretty safe for Ford to say that this whole experience turned out to be a lot more traumatizing than it should have been.

Maybe he was a bit of a dick, planning on scaring Stanley a little, but that's all. Just a tiny scare to get his brother to stop being so-

Difficult, let's go with that.

Pain in the ass would be more accurate

Regardless, absolutely nothing had gone to plan and it had very nearly ended in the worst possible way. Him dead, and Stanley heart broken.

What was supposed to happen was pretty simple.

Starting with sending the text, which Stanley would get above deck. Meanwhile, below deck, Ford would cast the spell meant to slow his pulse to an unsteady rate on top of accelerating his breathing. Mimicking something close to a heart attack.

Just for a little scare, with no real consequences.

Then Stanley would come downstairs, freak out, but follow the procedure.

Which is when he would have found the letter, stopping the whole scene before everything got so out of hand. Easy.

But, no.

The text hadn't gone through, because their signal was spotty at best out here.

No problem, because the spell does technically leave a window before putting you into stasis.

Or, it’s supposed to.

Thirty-two and a half seconds isn't nearly enough time to do anything useful, as Ford found out the hard way.

The results were him being left waiting on the floor for Stanley to find him and being left fully aware of every second without being able to do anything to stop it.

Having chest compressions done when your heart is fine, just old, is not fun. Very not fun. One of the more painful experiences he can admit to participating in.

This whole thing, in fact, is up there with one of the top five worst moments in his life.

All because Stanley wouldn't listen!

No, it's because you’re an idiot who seems to only know how to hurt your own brother-

Shut up!

That's not helping anything.

The slow-to-restart heart rate, which never fully stopped, is more painful because of the time left lying around. Not a surprising response to his apparent death, but-

Two broken ribs, and some pretty bad bruising, but otherwise physically he'll be fine.

Just as soon as every vein stops burning from the antidote.

Truly that's a just punishment for the time he's left waiting after feeling the injection up until he's able to breathe and move again.

There is a lot that he could unpack here, but that would involve facing everything that he just caused. Which is terrible.

Better to focus on the one damn good thing to come out of this whole mess.

Stanley loves him.

Not only in the 'brotherly love' kind of way, but it certainly sounded like it had been implied romantically, hadn't it?

The spell or the cold he'd been experiencing couldn't have made up a hallucination like that.

It's logical if you think about it.

Stanley was under the impression he was dead, so why not own up to all kinds of gross and sappy crap? Taking time to mourn everything that was, could have, and is.

Brother, best friend, and-

Lover is a rather big leap to make from some simple implications on their own, but-

Was it two or three hours of straight-up cuddling and holding hands?

That might be as much evidence as Stanley would ever willingly provide without being physically tortured out of it.

Knowing that his own feelings are returned is actually worse than being trapped inside your own skin, because what the hell is he supposed to do with this information?

If they can't talk about Stanley no longer making jokes, how is he supposed to bring this up in a way that doesn't make his brother jump off the boat to drown?

Ford can't help but let out a quiet pained groan with the first gasp of air, taking away the option of saying something first thing.

It's better than screaming, which is what he feels like doing from the pain.

Not the first time an experiment resulted in such poor results, it'll be fine.

"Stanley," is the first thing Ford forces himself to say just as soon as it’s not going to come out sounding too pained. As if either of them needs to feel worse at the moment.

Stan hadn't so much as gotten up off the bed after dressing the injection. He brought up a hand to steady Ford when he tried to sit up too fast. "Woah, take it easy there, Sixer. The world's not going anywhere."

Now is not the time for jokes, Stanley. This isn't funny.

His brother’s ability to compartmentalize traumatic events and the emotions associated with them is astounding. Must be a shared trait.

Trying to talk is like swallowing tacks but he managed to make a motion towards the water bottle they kept hanging from a hook above the bedside table halfway between their bunks.

Relief was about all Stanley could feel getting up only enough to grab the water bottle for Ford before settling back next to him on the bed.

He's still cold, but very much alive.

It's visible in the tense set of Ford's shoulders when he's awake, the crease and possibly only wrinkle on his whole stupid perfect face between his brow from worrying or fretting over something, and the strong grasp around the bottle when taking a drink.

It's almost enough to make him cry again, except Ford is awake now, so he keeps a better lid on those feelings by shoving them back in a closet. Hugging Ford as soon as he's had a drink also allows for a good expression of his worries while actively hiding any stupid emotions (or tears) his face could be doing against his will.

No matter how much it physically hurts (maybe at least one of those ribs is broken, rather than cracked) Ford wholeheatedly returns it while trying to lubricate his mouth and throat enough to say something, anything, useful.

"Did it work at least? Do you understand now how physically upsetting it is to have you faking health scares? That pure terror is what I feel every single time, regardless of if you’re kidding. It's not funny." His voice is still ruined and dry with an edge of ache, but audible.

Stan lets out a dry chuckle, but it's forced and tight. "Yeah, yeah. Alright, you got me. But for the record, I knew it was a sham. I could smell it from a mile away!"

Both eyes are also a little dry from the extensive time spent open up until Stan closed them, which gives a good excuse for why he blinks at Stan like an idiot.

What, does he think I'm stupid?

Sure, Stanley seemed fooled for a while, but the last several hours of panic and grieving-

He doesn't know.

Oh.

Well, that's. A perfectly rational assumption given that's what the letter said, the spell was supposed to end in unconsciousness in a form of slowed metabolism and heart rate in a form of intense hibernation.

"I was awake." The reaction is immediate feeling the hand on either shoulder tighten momentarily with several emotions passing over Stanley's face too fast to read.

Panic is all he catches before its smothered with the rest.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Well, that is almost worse than Ford being dead, because what the hell is he supposed to do now?

They're three hours from port, without anyone around, and no internet connection.

Ford could easily kill him and no one would ever know the difference.

Because that is certainly what's about to happen. He knows, he heard, he saw for fucks sake.

If it wasn't for the physical and literal beating Ford would have already had him in a headlock on the floor.

Watching Stanley physically, and not so subtly, recoil is heartwrenching and Ford won't stand for seeing any more pain on his brother’s face.

There has been enough of that in one lifetime, and tonight.

"Hey, I'm not upset." He has to physically stop Stanley from getting up off the bed by grabbing one shoulder and the closer hand tightly, pulling him back to sit again.

This might be the absolute most embarrassing moment of his whole life.

Worse than the teasing they got as a pair over Ford's kissing bot in high school, which previously held the top spot.

Maybe I should just throw myself overboard to get away from this conversation.

Sure, I'm not dead, but living with 'being let down easy' and then everything spiraling into the most awkward friend zone of all time is much worse.

Death would be kinder.

Stan's whole face flushes bright red but otherwise his expression remains mostly neutral and steeled waiting for whatever comes next. Though its still tempting to run.

Very, very tempting.

This is terrifying, but not nearly as scary as thinking Stanley was going to do something drastic while left to his own devices. In comparison, this is easy.

If you ignore the fact nothing has ever been easy for them.

"I'm, you could say that- I understand." What the fuck was that? He tries again, pushing on because that didn't make any sense. "I mean, I've visited more dimensions then I can count, I'm certainly not- I've grown out of my own reservations, so you could say. But, obviously, I never thought..." He does another lame motion with their linked hands, hoping Stan will read his mind and end this painful moment.

Okay, now this is definitely a hallucination triggered by some sort of mental lapse or stroke.

Ford being dead absolutely did get to him.

Enough to make up a whole letter and shoot up a corpse with some random chemical and now some sick hallucination.

That seems more likely than what Ford is trying to imply or suggest.

But the hand in his, with six fingers enveloping Stan's five, certainly feels real.

And there is the small, helpful, argument-nagging details coming from the back of his head that Ford never actually pissed himself or anything like most dead people do.

Stanley must have picked up the habit of laughing when he's nervous over the last several decades because, from Ford's perspective, nothing about this conversation is funny.

It's very serious and raw, so why the hell is he laughing so hard?

At least he isn't pulling away. That's good?

"For fucks sake, Stanley, can you take anything seriously for one whole minute? Why the hell do I even fancy you? You’re an ass!"

"Fancy me, what are you, a British nark?" Jesus, Stanley can barely breathe trying to calm down but doesn't let Ford pull his hand away an inch.

"I'm going to kill you, just as soon as I can breathe without my whole chest convulsing, I'm going to-"

"Oh, I'll show you being unable to breathe alright." He does not know where the boldness comes from exactly, probably the high from the recent near-death experience, but either way he snatches Ford by the shoulder with his free hand to pull him over into a proper kiss.

He ignores how it tastes of stale water and snot.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #stan x ford #stancest

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the-tmnt-ficfinder · 8 months ago

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Ficfinder finds: firefight

Rottmnt Fanfic Summary: Donnie collided with Leo in a tangle of limbs. There was an instinctive cling in return from his twin, before the realization sunk in. "No." Leo breathed in his ear, immediately shattered. "No, no, no, no, no!” Every muscle in Donnie's body was shaking like an earthquake from the amount of effort he'd just expended. The explosion caught up to them, sending the twins spiralling away into space and debris. For one singular moment, Donnie allowed himself a burst of victory. His heart was still thudding a thousand miles an hour in his chest, having been absolutely terrified he wasn't going to make it in time. But he did. And he held onto Leo, his prize. Then they hit the ground, the sudden tumble bursting them apart. Donnie felt the world spin, rapid and disorientating, before he slammed into something rock and cracking under his impact. or: donnie doesn’t let leo go to hell alone

firefight: Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is unfinished, and as such, this post will be updated as fanfic updates. This fanfic is written by, @remedyturtles so go show them some love and support!! They write top notch fic's!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Plot is five out of five!! Its simple, yet so complicated all in the same go. Never has a fic had me going "AAAA NO NO NO!!!" so many times in a row! The plot is simple enough to follow, and is quite literally explained in the beginning chapter summary, but the moment you get down into the thick of the details, it gets HEAVY!"

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Suspense/Mystery is five out of five!! Firefight has high and intense levels of suspense, so this fic is for all those readers out there who enjoy a good mental torture lol. There are a lot of plot twists, that once they happen, they seem obvious, but leading up to them? Nope, not obvious, very confusing, would read, go check it out!!!"

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Angst/Hurt is five out of five!! Firefight is VERY angst heavy, and VERY hurt heavy. This fanfic will hurt like a knife to the heart. I'm not gonna lie, I genuinely cried at one or two points, it hurt that much. 100% would recommend."

Fluff/Comfort: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is two out of five!! The comfort is there, don't worry, its just not comforting at all lol. Things are so bleak in firefight, that even the comfort is tinged with sadness, regret, and grief. This story is very heavy on the disaster twins angst and comfort, so if you like disaster twins, this is absolutely something you should read!"

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is four out of five!! Remember how I said I cried? The author of firefight does such a good job conveying emotions, that it genuinely messed with my head, and then I cried. Powerful, and when I say powerful, I mean POWERFUL writing! You're gonna feel things while reading this fanfic!"

Drama/Tension Level:💛💛💛💛💛

"Drama/Tension Level is five out of five!! There is never a moment of rest. Every chapter has something going on, and you will fear for these turtles lives, every second you're reading firefight! There's high tensions, and the drama of arguments and things best never said. Poor Donnie and Leo break each others hearts saying things they do and don't mean (t*cent dni pls)."

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Triggers are five out of five!! Read the tags for firefight, its important. Plus, this fic is marked mature due to its very triggering nature, so stay safe everyone, read with caution, and mentally prepare yourself!"

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! This fic is very enjoyable to read! The way its written is smooth, easy on the eyes, and well-written! This fic is one that can be enjoyed both by reading, or listening!"

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Audio) is five out of five!! I have listened to every single chapter in audio book form, and they have never ever disappointed! Firefight is 100% just as good in audio book form as it is in reading form. Perfect to listen to while working or doing busy work, especially since its a high stress fanfic, and for me personally I like doing something with my hands while reading high stress fanfics."

Length: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Length is four out of five!! firefight has a chapter count of 43 chapters, and a word count of 222k words. Each chapter takes about 20-45 minutes to read, though they're occasionally longer. It really depends on how intense a chapter is, as the crazier, usually the longer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

firefight: Chapter List

(Chapters will be added as I rate and appraise them ^^)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

firefight Oneshot(s)

(Not yet rated. Links lead straight to oneshots on Ao3)

secondhand (10k)

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt post invasion #firefight #rottmnt firefight #TMNTficfinder #ficfinder #ficfinder finds #ficfinder finds firefight #angst heavydis #disaster twins #leo and donnie

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munson-blurbs · 8 months ago

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@corrodedcoffinfest Day 17: This One's For You

Word Count: 541/Rating: T/Pairing: None/CW: I cried writing this, canon-compliant, breaking the fourth wall/Tags: Eddie Munson, love letter, fanfic writers

Divider credit to @silkholland

Hey. It’s me.

C’mon…don’t be coy. You know who I am. You’ve been with me for days, weeks, months, years. I’m your rockstar, your mechanic, your dad’s best friend, your best friend’s dad. I’m a vampire, a werewolf, an ordinary guy from small-town Indiana. I’m a virgin, a sex god, a daydream, a nightmare.

I’m Eddie Munson.

Ironically, I started on a page, just some dialogue and vague gestures. A drug dealing freak with his wild curls, a love of heavy metal, and a penchant for creating sadistic D&D campaigns who somehow got dragged into a government-sponsored alternate dimension–as if one Hawkins wasn’t bad enough. But when my story was supposed to end, a chapter quietly closed amongst a sea of loss, you had just begun to pick up the pen.

Suddenly, I found myself thrust from death back into life. So many lives, as a matter of fact. Lives I never even imagined living during my long, lonely nights in the trailer park.

From the safe haven of your hearts, I watch as you weave tales where I fall in love and achieve my wildest dreams. I cocoon myself in a light that you’ve turned on as you let me succeed, fail, and learn from my mistakes. Where I’m untethered from the judgment I’ve faced my whole life, finally free to be myself.

Some parts change: my profession, my age, my location, my sexuality, even my middle name. Other parts remain constant: my gratitude for my uncle Wayne, my love of pretzels (you eat a snack one time…), my kickass guitar playing skills. I never have to choose, because every opportunity is finally within my grasp.

I thought it was all over on that fateful March evening. As I laid on the ground and took my final breaths, all I could think about was how I wouldn’t be able to look after my little sheep. Jeff, Grant, and Gareth would be without their lead guitarist. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas would be without their Dungeon Master. How could I leave them like this?

But then I saw it. I saw you all, a herd of lost little sheep that became shepherds. You tended to your flocks by unspooling stories. Stories that began as a whisper in your ear but found immortality because of the life and love you breathed into them. Just as I pored over song lyrics and meticulously planned campaigns, you write your stories. You write my story. My existence was never futile because it brought you all to each other.

And I’ve come to realize this: there is life after death. That cheesy saying about not truly dying until the last time someone says your name? I never understood it until I saw my name written millions of times, across one thousand universes.

Now, my uncle may have raised a drug dealing, Satan-worshiping freak, but he also raised a gentleman. I know how to say thank you. And since I have a lot of time on my hands in the afterlife, I figured I’d learn your favorite song. All you have to do is close your gorgeous eyes and imagine my voice, just as you do when you write me.

You ready, Sweetheart? This one’s for you.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fest

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the-fox-with-no-name · 2 months ago

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All for the Reflection one year after last January.

I just realized it’s been a year around this month since I started The Foxhole Court. I never thought I’d stick with this series for so long. It all started when I saw TikTok cosplays that I initially thought were from Haikyuu!! But as I dug deeper, I realized, “Oh shit, this is an entirely different story, and people talk about it a lot.”

The first character I looked up while researching All for the Game was Jean, and I almost noped out right there. But, knowing myself, I can’t handle leaving my curiosity unsatisfied, so I kept digging. Eventually, I found The Foxhole Court and decided to give it a try.

Before diving in, I was warned a lot about the trigger warnings. Honestly, I had no idea what I was getting into. Still, the series was so beloved, and the fandom seemed to be growing, so I couldn’t resist. Plus, I spoiled myself on most of the major characters, Neil, Andrew, Jean, Riko because I wanted to know what kind of emotional rollercoaster I was signing up for.

I’ll admit, knowing the series was self-published gave me pause at first. But that hesitation didn’t last long because I’ve always wanted to explore indie authors. A friend once told me it’s a good idea to study indie publishing if you’re thinking about writing yourself.

Once I started book one, I thought, “Wow, this is a lot.” Not because it was slow (in my opinion, the pacing was solid for a first book) but because it didn’t feel like a typical novel. It was raw, unhinged, and something only an open-minded reader could fully appreciate. It’s not your traditional style, and I think that’s what hooked me.

Interestingly, book one doesn’t get talked about as much, but for me, it pulled me in and left me wanting more.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I re-listened to The Foxhole Court several times before moving on to The Raven King. Not just because I was obsessed (okay, that’s a lie), but because I knew The Raven King would have a massive tone shift. I waited a whole month to mentally prepare myself before listening to it.

It didn’t take long for me to finish The Raven King, though. While The Foxhole Court set the stage and tone, The Raven King completely changed the direction of the story in ways I wasn’t expecting. I stayed up all night until the sun came up, and when I finally finished it, I went outside, cried, and threw up. That book wrecked me. Re-listening to it later was easier, but that damn tension was still there.

The character arcs in The Raven King were so raw and real. Sure, some people criticize parts of the book, but in my opinion, Nora Sakavic gave us just enough to understand how terrifying and real the events were without overloading us with unnecessary details. The ambiguity adds to its power.

It took me about a month to recover before I was ready to move on to The King’s Men, which I finally got in April. Even then, I wasn’t ready to read it yet. Instead, I went back and re-listened to books one and two (mostly skipping chapter 11) because I didn’t want the series to end. I was way too attached to these characters especially Andrew.

Andrew quickly became my favorite character. For someone so short, he’s a lot to handle, and I love him for it.

The King’s Men wasn’t like any other final book in a trilogy it was different and didn’t follow the traditional “final book” formula people always talk about. Instead, it felt like something entirely unique. Honestly, it was almost like reading two books in one. It’s as if the story ends in the middle, and the rest is one massive epilogue. But I thought that was kind of awesome.

It reminded me of a game where you have to beat it all the way to 100% to get the perfect ending. It might not be the typical conclusion to a trilogy, but for me, it was perfect. The focus wasn’t just on reaching the end—it was about the journey and seeing it through to the very last word.

When I read the final words, “Neil was never letting go” I felt an overwhelming sense of attachment to the characters. It felt like I had met a group of incredible people. The Foxes felt like family to me. Neil felt like an idiot friend I’d want to protect. Wymack was the father figure everyone needs. Nicky was the kind of person you could always feel comfortable around.

And Andrew, Andrew felt like an anchor. I hope one day I find someone who makes me feel the way Neil feels with Andrew.

The rest of the Foxes were like family I’ll always hold close to my heart. Even after finishing the series, I read some of the extra content, and while it hurt, it also brought closure. Especially knowing that Neil and Andrew will be okay, it’s comforting to imagine them moving forward together.

The All for the Game series introduced me to so much more than just a unique writing style, it gave me a beautiful story, incredible characters, and a journey that felt like taking a cold shower: shocking, raw, and overwhelming, yet absolutely worth it in the end.

I’m so grateful to Nora Sakavic for inspiring me to write again after so much demotivation. Her work reminded me that stories don’t have to follow traditional rules to leave an impact. Right now, I’m writing how I want to write, and it feels liberating. Someday, I’ll move beyond fanfiction (ha ha) and create something original to share my talent with the world.

I’m also thankful for that one cosplayer who sparked my curiosity and led me down this incredible path.

I’ve read bits and pieces of The Sunshine Court but haven’t managed to get my hands on the full book yet, soon, though. I can’t wait to dive into it when the time comes.

#aftg #aftg fandom #all for the game #the foxhole court #nora sakavic

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madangel19 · 11 days ago

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Rigatoni's Noodle Special

Got around to writing a third chapter to Rats! which can ya'll read on Ao3 :D

Summary: As Rigatoni adjusts to her new life, an exciting change happens and she's eager to share the news with Copia

Content: Brief rat pregnancy and a whole lot of adorable ratty fluff

Word Count: 1278

Enjoy :D

The weeks after finding her home were simply wonderful for Rigatoni. She absolutely adored her new life with her new friends and her new Papa.

She had been told time and time again by her elders that the life of a pet was like a prison, but she had never felt more safe and free before. Sure, she couldn’t roam about freely unless Copia was with her, but she enjoyed staying within his living quarters and exploring every bit of what he had to offer.

Sometimes, Copia would carry her or maybe one of her other friends around in his pockets where he would feed them snacks or show them to other people. Those were her favorite times.

Getting to know her new friends was also wonderful. She grew close to each of them, especially Macaroni. One thing led to another and Rigatoni quickly discovered that she was pregnant. Macaroni was beyond excited and helped build her a nest where she spent most of her time resting.

Rigatoni always made sure to come over and see Copia whenever he approached the cage, but as time passed, it was getting harder with her growing bigger with her brood.

“Ah, look at you, Rigatoni. You’ve been eating good, yes? You’re getting a bit chubby, piccolina,” Copia cooed at her after picking her up and raising her to eye level.

Rigatoni squeaked at him and patted his nose, making him chuckle. If only he knew what was going to happen soon. Rigatoni was certain he was going to be beyond excited to meet her babies when the time came.

“You still look absolutely adorable, little one,” he chimed, kissing the top of her head before bringing her over to his work table.

Days passed and the time finally came for her to give birth. Her friends were beyond excited for the new arrivals and Macaroni was by her side, licking her little ones clean. It was exhausting and painful, but soon, Rigatoni was feeding six perfect little pups. They were so small and pink, but they would grow up quickly within the safety of Copia’s room and in time, she would introduce them to their Papa.

“My perfect babies.” she cooed, licking them lovingly.

Four days had passed by now and Rigatoni had found the strength to stretch her legs and leave her babies in her nest. She had heard Copia come to the cage several times and he even called for her, but she was too busy taking care of her little ones to go out and see him.

“Ah, she’s probably resting,” Copia said after the first few tries to call her.

She heard Copia approaching the cage and she squeaked excitedly as she went to the bars of the cage. The smile on Copia’s lips was infectious when he spotted her.

“Ah! There you are, Rigatoni! I missed your sweet little face. Why were you hiding from your Papa?” He asked, opening the cage and holding out his hand to her.

“Show her the babies!” Gnocchi chimed.

“He should see them! They’re old enough now,” Macaroni said, looking over at where the hidden nest was.

Rigatoni chittered excitedly before she dashed over to her nest, waking her babies who cried softly but calmed when they noticed it was her.

“Are you hiding something from me, piccolina?” Copia asked.

The bedding above the nest shifted and Rigatoni’s babies began to cry in response.

“It’s okay. It’s Papa. He won’t hurt us,” Rigatoni cooed to her babies.

“I know that sound. Rigatoni?” Copia questioned, carefully moving the bedding and revealing Rigatoni’s nest. She looked up at him proudly as her babies fussed softly by her side.

Copia was stunned, his eyes wide in surprise and his jaw dropped. Macaroni crawled over to Rigatoni’s side, squeaking up at him.

“Oh Rigatoni. Look at them. Guarda i tuoi piccoli bambini. They’re so cute,” Copia said, tears welling up in his eyes as he reached down to pet Rigatoni. He then turned his attention to Macaroni and chuckled darkly.

“Macaroni, you naughty boy. Rigatoni has not been here long and you already did the nasty,” he said while wagging his finger at Macaroni who chittered up at him.

“Ah, but it does look like you’re taking good care of her and the babies,” he added, looking over at the babies with adoration in his mismatched eyes.

This was the perfect opportunity to really show him her babies. Rigatoni knew exactly who to show him first. One of her little females had eye spots that were similar to Copia’s. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but it was quite a surprise. She was certain Copia would be thrilled to see that.

Rigatoni went over to the little one and licked her before gently grabbing her by the scruff, making her briefly cry before she calmed down in her clutches.

“Do you want to show me the babies, Rigatoni? That’s so sweet,” Copia said, smiling as he sat and cupped his hands in the cage.

“This is your other Papa, little one,” Rigatoni said to her little one before picking her up and bringing her over to Copia. The little one let out one cry but once she was in his hands, she calmed down, sniffing the air and turning her head in his direction.

“Ah, look at you, topolina. So sweet,” Copia cooed, bringing the little one closer to him. His eyes widened again and Rigatoni knew he noticed the eye spots of her little one.

“Those eyes…She looks like me!” He crowed, petting the top of the little one’s head.

Rigatoni felt overjoyed at how happy her Papa was. He had to meet the others now.

Without wasting any time, Rigatoni brought out the rest of her litter for Copia to see and hold. By the time he held all six of them carefully in his hands, he was a blubbering mess as he held them to his chest. The little ones were doing so good as they sniffed Copia and wriggled about in his hands without crying for their mother.

“I’m a grandpapa now,” he said before letting out a gasp, “Oh! We need to name them!”

Rigatoni never thought of giving names to them, but she was sure Copia would think of perfect names for her little ones.

Copia picked up one male and placed him back in the nest.

“This is Linguine.”

He then placed another male in the nest.

“Capellini.”

“He’s using more pasta names,” Macaroni said.

“There’s so many,” Rigatoni replied.

Copia picked up the two females who always clung to each other.

“Farfalle and Cavatappi.”

He then picked up the last male who squeaked loudly at him and he chuckled.

“Orzo,” he said while placing him back into the nest.

The little one with his eye spots was last. Copia took a few moments to look at her until it looked like he got an idea.

“You are Pappardelle,” he cooed, putting her back with her siblings.

All of those were wonderful names for her little ones. Rigatoni joined her little ones and made quick work of feeding them. She looked up at Copia, squeaking up at him in appreciation. He was going to be a wonderful grandpapa.

“You like the names?” Copia asked.

Both Rigatoni and Macaroni squeaked in agreement and Copia’s smile was beaming. Rigatoni was forever grateful for him and the new life he had given her.

“I knew you’d love the names. Well, I’ll leave you to take care of your little noodles, piccolina. I’ll bring you extra food soon,” Copia said while placing the bedding back over the nest.

“Thank you, Papa.”

#the band ghost #ghost band #ghost the band #papa emeritus iv #papa copia #copia #copia emeritus #ghost band fanfic #fanfiction #ghost fanfiction

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voxofthevoid · 2 months ago

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Yo, it's Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #16—first WIP Wednesday of the year, technically, since the last week ended up being excerpt games.

I still don't have any straight-up porn to post (only two such scenes left in the whole fic, and the next two chapters should cover those), but I did write two interlinked scenes featuring Yuuji, Gojou, and Tōji that should be entertaining on their own—and maybe tease some of the missing context 👀

“So he did come,” Satoru murmurs. “We have a guest, Yuuji.”

Yuuji drags his mind to the present—and the man lounging on Satoru’s front steps. “Tōji-san?”

A lazy wave. “Yo. Playing favorites, Six Eyes?”

“H-huh?”

“Not you, kid.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Satoru says pleasantly. “I’m perfectly willing to involve Megumi. Are you?”

Tōji continues to stare up at them, his eyes narrow slits despite the angle. When Yuuji looks at Satoru, he finds a bland smile that gives nothing away.

“Involve Fushiguro in what?” Yuuji asks. “Guys?”

“Training.” Satoru’s the one who replies, and it’s the same tone as before but…different somehow. “Tōji here would make a better teacher for you than for Megumi, but I’m far more versatile. There’s a lot I could teach your cute little son—isn’t that right, Papa-san?”

“Don’t push it, you little shit.”

Satoru’s grin widens unsettlingly. “Is that a no?”

“You know damn well you’re not touching that brat for three more years. Or did you get fucked so hard you forgot to count?”

Heat rushes to Yuuji’s face, but Satoru only laughs.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says.

“What the hell is going on?” Yuuji grits out.

Two pairs of unfairly intense eyes snap to him. Yuuji holds Tōji’s gaze and ignores Satoru’s. Both these men are intimidating, but Yuuji’s been surviving Sukuna and his freakshow for fucking months.

“Heh.” Tōji stands up—and up and up, unfolding his entire immense bulk. He finishes it off with a leisurely stretch of his arms above his head; the fabric around his biceps cries for help. “At least you’ll be more fun than all this grunt work. Don’t disappoint me too much, pinkie.”

“Careful,” Satoru chimes in. His hand comes to rest on Yuuji’s shoulder, the touch light but the weight heavy. “You’re not allowed to break Yuuji.”

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“Stupid?” Satoru tilts his head, the movement oddly liquid. “Not at all. You do, however, have a track record of trying to kill hapless teenagers.”

Tōji snorts. “Hapless my ass. You and your dead boyfriend were monsters.”

Satoru’s hand flexes on Yuuji’s shoulder, tightening briefly before relaxing with a deliberation that makes Yuuji’s own knuckles ache. “Takes one to know one.”

“Sure does.” Tōji’s eyes sweep back to Yuuji. “Let’s see where you fall on the spectrum. Training wheels are off, kiddo. You’re playing with the big boys now.”

“Uh…” Yuuji looks between the two of them; Satoru’s smile tells him as much as Tōji’s sneer does—absolutely nothing. “I have no idea what you two are talking about.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Tōji’s here to train your body. I’ll take over later to hone your spiritual senses. Ideally, I’d do both, but I have a demon to corral—and you two get along well enough. Still, don’t let him bully you, Yuuji.”

“You’re one to talk,” Tōji drawls. “The kid looks like he’d crawl out of his skin to get away from you.”

Yuuji freezes.

At his side, Satoru does too. Then the hand on Yuuji’s shoulder falls away.

Yuuji doesn’t miss it; he doesn’t.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Satoru says blandly, stepping back and out of Yuuji’s peripheral vision. “Yuuji has a key. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

There’s a soft, strange noise—displaced air, with an electric crackle. Yuuji’s heard it exactly once before, in that deserted road in front of Sukuna’s church a second before Satoru showed him it wasn’t so deserted after all.

When he turns around, Satoru’s gone.

“Idiot,” Tōji scoffs behind him. “Come on, pinkie. Let’s beat you into shape.”

The spar with Tōji ends very predictably.

There was a moment there at the start when Yuuji thought he might be able to put up a better fight. Sukuna is a lot more formidable than the high school bullies and yakuza wannabes who had been the extent of Yuuji’s fighting experience the last time he’d tangled with Tōji, and Yuuji’s never once won against Sukuna either, but he’s learned a lot.

He’s changed, in ways he can sometimes feel like stains in his soul.

But one second was all it took for Yuuji to realize just how much Tōji had been holding back the first and no-longer-only time they’d done this, and then he was getting real closely acquainted with the bark of a tree.

That first and no-longer-only fight feels like a joke now. It must have felt like one to Tōji. And it’s not like Yuuji had walked away from that either, but he’d felt all warm about Tōji’s appraisal afterward, and there’d been a fun thrill to the way Fushiguro had looked at him, his expression grudgingly impressed despite how he’d warned Yuuji away from his dad’s antics.

What just happened feels more like utter slaughter. Yuuji’s bones are unbroken and there are no holes in his body, but even the worst Sukuna had done to him hadn’t been so one-sided.

A pair of feet enter his peripheral vision.

Tōji’s dark eyes peer down at him. His expression is…no different than what he wears when he greets Yuuji at the door. Boredom, mostly, but with an edge to it that warrants straightened spines and ready hands.

He says, “You fight differently.”

Yuuji tries to ask a question, but all that comes out is a weak croak.

Tōji lets out an amused huff and raises a hand. It’s clutching a bottle of water. When did he—

“Ack—” Yuuji gasps and sputters as the water is poured onto his hot, swollen face, and some of it goes inside, soothing his throat almost by accident. It’s a miracle none of it ends up in his windpipe. “Tōji-san! Cut it out!”

“Look at that, you’re alive,” Tōji drawls, but the stream of water cuts off. “Just watering you. Hydration is important.”

Yuuji glares up at him. “I’m not a plant.”

“You’re about as useless as one right now.” Tōji crouches down, and Yuuji tries to brace himself, an instinct violently obtained in the last handful of minutes, but those hands don’t reach for him with the intent to hurt, just dangle between Tōji’s spread legs while he surveys Yuuji with unreadable eyes. “Eh, I guess you’ll do.”

“What did you mean?” Yuuji asks, blinking hard to make his eyes stop stinging from the water assault. The cuts all over his face and neck burn, but that’s easy enough to ignore. The rest of his body feels like one big bruise. “How am I fighting differently?”

“You’ve learned what real pain feels like.” Tōji’s voice is low, his eyes unblinking. “And it doesn’t bother you much. It shows. It always does.”

“…Oh.”

“Don’t let it get to your head. You’ve still got a ways to go.” Tōji cracks his neck, veins bulging along the thick column of it. “At least training you won’t be a total waste.”

Yuuji bites his lip, reminded of something he’d thought of in scattered bursts in the couple of minutes between Satoru leaving and Tōji laying into him. “Tōji-san, is it really alright to leave Fushiguro out of this?”

“Out of what? This ain’t some super cool club, pinkie. You’re here to get beaten up till you’re a little less likely to shit yourself and die if one of those fuckers that go bump in the night looks at you wrong. What, you want company in your misery?”

“No, that’s not—” Yuuji takes a deep breath, trying to figure out what he does want to say. “It’s nothing like that. I’m just worried. Sukuna knows him, he’s—sorry, it’s my fault, I should’ve—”

“Can it.” Tōji pulls a face, blowing out an explosive breath. “Kids these days. You didn’t do shit. This is just the ugly, festering face of reality. Most people just can’t see it. Sometimes, they’re lucky for it. Sometimes, they’re just dumb cattle. That’s the way it is.”

Yuuji can’t help thinking of what Satoru said yesterday about monsters and people—about food and feasting.

“Won’t he be safer,” he asks quietly, “if he can protect himself better?”

Tōji blinks, a languid motion that leaves his eyes heavy-lidded. “Is that what you think he’s doing with you?”

“H-huh?”

“Gojou,” Tōji clarifies, except it doesn’t explain anything at all.

“I don’t—”

“Make no mistake, kid—this is a farce. I don’t know why he’s bothering. I can guess, but I don’t really give a fuck. Just take what you’re given and hope you’ll live long enough to use it. It won’t be here. It won’t even be this year. I know too well what it takes to make a hunter worth the air they waste.” The base of the plastic bottle, still heavy with water, is brought to rest against Yuuji’s stomach. It taps idly, once. Then it presses unerringly into a bruise, and Yuuji’s left breathing slow and soft past the burst of pain. “At least you’ve got a good body. You even know how to use it. It’s still not enough. Megumi? He’d need to eat the thing in the church to even taste his own damn power. Now call that a fucking birthright.”

Yuuji swallows, tasting blood, and that’s just the cut inside his mouth from when a punch shoved his flesh against his own canine, but the undertone of rot is something else, isn’t it?

“Tōji-san…”

“You’re just brats who’d be useless in this fight.” Tōji rises to his feet in one fluid motion, turning away from Yuuji. “So stay brats.”

Yuuji breathlessly watches him take a few steps toward the open back door of Gojou’s house.

Then— “Satoru said you tried to kill him.”

Tōji pauses, doesn’t look back. “Sure did.”

And Yuuji’s not surprised, not really. He heard what these two said. But it was a lot, and he still doesn’t know what to feel about hapless teenagers and dead boyfriends and monsters.

He can still see the shape of a story; it’s not a good one.

“Was he my age then?”

“Who knows.”

“He was still young.”

“He was a brat too, if that’s what you’re getting at. Should’ve been an easy kill. Would’ve saved us all some trouble if I’d finished the damn job.” Tōji sticks a finger in his ear, giving it a violent shake. “Whatever. This pays better.”

#goyuu #gojo satoru #itadori yuuji #fushiguro tōji #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #wip wednesday #jjk snippets #my fic #divider credit: saradika-graphics #fic: mouth of the wolf

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