Tony blinked down at them slowly, then began picking them up. They were purple, a deep, rich hue, and each feather was as long as his forearm. He took a moment to be very, very glad that his parents were on trips and that Jarvis and Ana were out shopping, because he’d never be able to explain these.
There was a trail of them. Tony followed them, stooping to pick up each feather, because it wouldn’t do to for someone to stumble over any of them. It was… an awful lot of feathers. Like an alarming amount of feathers. He could probably make a suit of them.
They led to one of the guest rooms.
Tony should probably call someone. He remembered when Natasha had come into the mansion, how dangerous it had been. Natasha had told him that the only reason it had worked out so well for him was because he’d surprised her. Still, he was eighteen now. He should be able to handle it.
The feathers led to the closet.
Tony was never going to understand why these guys liked closets so much. Bucky and Steve had tried to explain it but he didn’t get it. Natasha hadn’t even bothered trying, just shrugged and said “I like it there.” He’d understood that a lot better than anything Steve and Bucky had said.
Tony stopped halfway into the guestroom, calling out, “Hello?”
There was a shuffling sound behind the door, but then silence.
He took another step closer. “He–llo! I heard you moving in there!”
The shuffling sound came again, then a noise like claws on wood.
Tony swallowed thickly, clutching the bundle of feathers to his chest. “…I’m not leaving until you come out!”
The door burst open so fast that he only had time to scream before whatever had been in it was on top of him.
Bucky and Steve fell out of the closet, scrabbling at the floor and leaving gouges in the wood. When they skidded out into the hallway they saw a giant black spider crawling across the wall, the red hourglass on its belly shining ominously as it leapt over doorways.
Bucky and Steve caught up to her a few seconds later, skidding over the floors. It was worrying, that they’d only heard that one scream. What if Tony couldn’t scream again? What if he–what if Tony was–
They crashed through the doorway, tearing the door off its hinges.
“Help,” Tony sobbed, hands bleeding around the barbed chain he was clutching. “Help! It’s hurting him!”
They stopped in shock. The hulking feathered figure in front of the human was trembling, one wing forced straight up by the chain, the other pinned against its side. Half of the feathers on the extended wing were just… shaved off. Some feathers were even cut in half, and the barbed chain was digging into the flesh hard enough that blood was starting to rise beneath it. It took a lot to pierce a monster’s skin.
Natasha swept over to him, form shifting so she had hands, one pair grabbing at the chain while the other carefully but firmly peeled Tony’s free. “Let go,
Котенок. It’s hurting you, too.”
“Natasha help!” Tony exclaimed, sobbing again.
“I’m helping, Котенок. You need to move.”
Steve slithered over to wrap his arms around the brunet as Bucky leapt forward to help Natasha, tail wrapping around his legs so he couldn’t lunge forward again. “Shhh. Tony, let them work.”
Tony turned so he could cry into his chest. “He couldn’t even ask me for help! He made–he made this terrible sound, Steve, it was awful–”
“It’s not–we’re going to tear his fucking wing off,” Bucky muttered, hands shifting, tugging lightly along the chain.
Natasha hissed quietly in sympathy as the feathered mass let out a long whine, wing shuddering. “We might just have to let it happen. This is a Death Chain. Maybe sacrificing a wing would be better.”
“No!” Tony exclaimed, pulling back and wiping his eyes. “I can–I’ll go get bolt cutters! We can cut it off!”
The monsters looked at each other before Bucky asked, “Will that work?”
Natasha shrugged. “I’ve never seen it, but then I’ve never had a human care.”
“I’ll go get bolt cutters,” Tony repeated, determined, and ran from the room.
Steve slithered over and gently curled his fingers under the chain as well. “You said you’ve seen these before?”
“Not everyone thinks monsters in the closet are an adorable fairy tale to soothe their children about,” Natasha answered coldly. “This isn’t the worst I’ve seen.”
The monster let out another whine, other wing trying to shove out from under the chain and shaving off a few feathers.
“Whoa, buddy!” Bucky exclaimed, reaching out to shove his wing back down. “Calm down! We’re trying to help you!”
Tony came running back into the room. “I brought two!”
Steve grabbed one of them from his arms and flipped it around. “Just tell me where to cut.”
“Um–uh–” Tony circled the monster anxiously, fingers trailing over the chain. “Here? Here. Steve, here!”
Steve lifted the bolt cutters and Tony helped him slide them into place. It took more effort than the human had expected, and one of the handles broke off. Tony started to hand him the second bolt cutter, but Steve just grabbed the blades and squeezed them together with his hand.
Tony would have gaped, but he was too busy trying to pull the broken link of chain out. Once it was free he said, “Okay, okay, you can pull–”
“Do not pull,” Natasha ordered immediately. “We need to pick the barbs out or we’ll do just as much damage.”
“Okay,” Tony answered, voice small, and obediently began picking the barbs out of the monster’s skin.
It took a while, but eventually Bucky picked out the last barb and the chain fell to the ground with a dull clank. Then Natasha carefully pulled the feathers on the monster’s head back, away from his face.
“…Thanks,” he managed to grit out, voice gravely.
“Are you okay?” Tony asked, reaching out to push more of his feathers back.
The monster’s wings shifted, and then a pair of talon-tipped hands appeared out of the feathers, catching his wrists. “Blood is very hard to get out without water,” he croaked, then reached out to cup the human’s cheeks. “I scared you. I’m sorry.”
Tony sniffled quietly. “It’s okay.”
His name was Clint. He’d escaped from a circus and he’d meant to keep running but the chains had gotten too tight, and the mansion was so close. He hadn’t meant to come bursting out of the door so fast, he’d just tripped and flapping his one good wing had been the only thing he could do to keep from falling and tightening the chains further.
“I was supposed to scare children,” Clint said, voice much less gravely now that he’d had time to breathe properly and they’d given him water and a can of sardines. “I don’t like to do that.”
Natasha didn’t look up from winding bandages around Tony’s bruised and lacerated hands. “How does that feel?”
“Hurts,” Tony admitted quietly.
“You’re lucky a barb didn’t go right through your hand,” Bucky muttered, peering through fridge. “Steak?”
“I haven’t had beef in… decades. So maybe not,” Clint answered. He gave Tony a long, appraising look. “Most humans wouldn’t start trying to pull a barbed chain off something after it basically attacked them.”
Steve snorted from where he was carefully pulling the other man’s feathers so they were facing the right way. “Most humans don’t walk up to a monster and offer them soup when she could easily eat him.” He paused at the man’s wing, where most of his feathers had been cut off, before quietly asking, “Will they grow back?”
“…Probably,” Clint said after a bit too long. He looked back at Tony. He looked like a person that hadn’t been scared as a child. “If I could just have a few days to rest, I can get out of your hair.”
“You don’t need to go,” Tony hurried to say. “The mansion’s big! You can pick any room!”
Bucky sighed loudly. “You won’t be happy until you’ve adopted every monster you can, will you?”
“He’s hurt,” Tony exclaimed indignantly. “And whoever might still be chasing him! They can’t get to him here!”
“Let it go, Buck,” Steve muttered, smoothing his hands down the feathers on Clint’s back. “You know Tony.”
Bucky sighed again, quieter, but he did know Tony. He was a fixer. “How about meatballs?”
“That sounds awful,” Clint admitted. “But I’m so hungry that I don’t actually care. It’s better than anything I’ve eaten anyway, probably.”
“I’ll cook them so it’s easier on your stomach.”
Clint nodded, humming quietly, and then extended his wings. He’d basically been clipped. He wouldn’t be able to fly anyway. So maybe he’d stay a little longer than a few days.
“Oh! The feathers!” Tony gasped, standing abruptly. “I need to pick them up before Jarvis and Ana get home!”
Clint watched him go. “Should probably go help him. The feathers that were cut will have really sharp edges.”
Steve made a startled noise and hurried after him. With his scales, he was extra impervious to injury. And it would be just their luck that Tony would slice his arm open.
“He’s going to keep you,” Natasha decided, leaning her elbow on the table and her chin on her fist. “He does that.”
Clint shrugged. Steve, Bucky, and Natasha seemed to be doing pretty well for themselves. It wasn’t like it could be any worse than the circus.
If he had to give a specific time, Stanford would have guessed it started the day after the apocalypse ended. It started off as a small voice at the back of his head, something that was easily ignored and brushed off. Over time, however, it developed. What had started as a stray thought caused by a nightmare slowly grew into something worse. Ford could still vividly remember what the nightmare had been about. It had been the first of many variations of the same dream: he had been standing out in the woods, watching as the sky above him was torn open and all sorts of unholy monstrosities came flooding out, their ringleader being none other than Bill himself. Once the demon had gained a physical form, Ford knew the world was doomed.
The demon had the horrifying ability to manipulate time, matter, the universe itself, something he had taken great pleasure in. Heck, he had disassembled each individual molecule in Ford’s body, shot them across the room and reassembled them in perfect order on the opposite side of the penthouse suite. The demon had repaired Ford to almost perfect health on several occasions, only to slowly beat him down again.
In the dream, it hadn’t been Ford being beaten to a pulp. No, it had been the kids. Bill had the twins chained up as he slashed them, hit them, burned them, drowned them, beat them, crushed them and suffocated them. Ford had been locked into place by tight chains, his head forcibly turned towards the kids at all times. Bill had made him watch as he tortured the children. Ford had screamed and screamed, constantly trying to sacrifice himself to save the children. He knew exactly what the dream meant: the kids were almost tortured and it was all Ford’s fault.
Ford still remembered the utter dread that shot through him when Bill suggested torturing the kids to get the information he wanted. Ford had been terrified, his cry of horror being cut short as Bill turned his body into solid gold. Dear God had Ford been relieved, when he’d been unfrozen, to see the children alive and almost unharmed. He remembered hugging them, and then hugging his old college partner Fiddleford. Ford felt a twinge of guilt as he realised he’d never hugged his brother Stanley. He had barely paid any attention to his brother during the apocalypse. He’d refused to thank Stanley for saving his life until the world depended on it. Even then, he’d had to point out the grammatical mistake in what his brother had said, which resulted in he and Stan having a fight. The whole plan to defeat Bill was ruined. Ford had made a mistake and the plan was thrown out the window.
Ford seemed to have made a lot of mistakes.
As time went on, Ford seemed to dwell more and more on all of the mistakes he’d made in the past. The most catastrophic one seemed to be building the portal. He’d endangered the universe with that thing, and yet he had still refused to listen to reason. Fiddleford had warned him time and time again about the dangers of such a machine, but Ford, blinded by his own selfish desires of fame and fortune, had ignored him. The guilt in the pit of his stomach swelled the more he thought about all of his transgressions.
Eventually, Ford stopped turning up in the kitchen whenever the rest of the Pines family were eating. For a while he’d forced himself to eat, even though he was only eating small portions. As he thought more and more about his past, he recounted all the times Stanley had paid for his mistakes, in a monetary sense or otherwise. He couldn’t bring himself to eat the food Stan was providing, knowing it was just costing his brother more money. He was a grown adult - he had no excuse to live off his brother’s earnings. The children had an excuse - they’d been staying at the Shack for months and were too young to be employed. They’d helped out at Stanley’s gift shop, anyway, which had more than earned their keep. What had Ford done to earn his? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He’d spent the majority of the time before Weirdmageddon in the basement, working and dismantling the portal. He’d done nothing but make his brother’s life more difficult. And then, to top it all off, Ford had the sheer audacity to tell Stanley to hit the road as soon as summer was over. He’d never apologised for that, and the guilt continued to eat him away.
As the guilt continued to press down on him, he’d been having nightmares more frequently. He’d barely slept in weeks - not since the kids had gone home. He’d barely seen his brother since then. For the first few days, he’d worked up the courage to get something to eat and sit down in the kitchen with Stan. Then he’d been reduced to getting food and, if he was alone, sitting down to eat or, if Stan was there, taking his food back to his room to eat by himself. He’d only been able to keep that up for two days, after which he’d only get food in the middle of the night, when he knew his brother was asleep. One night, Ford had accidentally tripped and dropped a plate, causing a loud crash. Stanley had been woken up and burst into the kitchen with a shotgun, pointing it at the man he thought was an intruder. The look of sheer irritation on Stan’s face after having been woken up was enough to stop Ford getting food even when Stanley was asleep. He couldn’t risk causing his brother to lose any more sleep.
By now, it had been a week since Ford had last eaten anything and the hunger was starting to become unbearable. It gnawed away at him constantly, making him feel nauseous and lightheaded. It prevented him from getting any sleep. Ford rolled over on the couch and checked his watch. 2:11 A.M. Surely Stanley couldn’t be awake at this hour of the night? It couldn’t hurt just to get a little something to eat, could it? Part of Ford’s mind told him to stay in bed, where he couldn’t make any noise to wake his brother up. His stomach growled furiously, demanding that Ford get out of bed and get something to eat. Despite the guilt still pressing down heavily on his shoulders, Ford swung his legs over the edge of the bed, put his glasses on and forced himself to his feet. The floorboards creaked underneath his weight and the man froze. He waited. Waited for any sign of movement upstairs, indicating his brother was awake. After a solid three minutes, Ford determined that the sound had gone unnoticed and he took a slow, gentle step towards his bedroom door. He was dressed in a red turtleneck and dark brown trousers - he didn’t have any sensible night clothes. As he got to the door, he slipped his boots back on.
Reaching out a hand for the doorknob, Ford paused, his hand outstretched in front of him. In the moonlight streaming in through the window, his six fingers were almost underneath a spotlight. He held his hand closer to his face and spread his fingers out. He counted them over and over again. He’d done this so many times throughout his childhood and adolescent years, always with the slightest hope that he had normal hands. Every time he counted, there were always six. There had always been six and there would always be six. Ford remembered that, as a young child, he had sometimes had dreams where his hands only had five fingers. In these dreams, he was not bullied at school. He was not pitied by the teachers. He was not given any sort of the special treatment that one might give to a child with a learning difficulty or a mental disability. He was treated just as a normal child. Those dreams had been wonderful. He finally fit in at school. He was popular, even. All of the kids who used to pick on him were suddenly his friends and he was happy. Those dreams always ended, however, and Ford was forced back to face the cold reality of his birth defect. He’d eventually come to realise and accept the fact that he was never going to be normal, no matter how hard he prayed.
Ford bit his lip and shook the thoughts from his head, reaching out and turning the doorknob. The door swung open with a creak, one Ford was sure his brother had heard. Again, he paused and waited for any indication that his brother had heard him. Nothing. The house was utterly silent. Releasing a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, he stepped forward into the hallway. Occasionally, a floorboard groaned quietly beneath his feet, but it wasn’t anything loud enough to warrant any concern. Soon, he turned a corner and entered the kitchen, nearly tripping up on a stray empty can of Pitt cola. Ford rolled his eyes. Even now, aged sixty-something, Stan still couldn’t be bothered to throw his rubbish in the bin. The man knelt down and picked the can up, gently placing it into the recycling bin by the door.
Ford tiptoed over to the fridge and pulled the door open. The bottles of milk, ketchup and soda rattled in the door loudly. He cringed and bit his lip. After a minute, when he’d heard nothing from upstairs, he quickly grabbed a slice of bread and the butter and closed the fridge. Getting a blunt knife out of the drawer and a plate from the cupboard, Ford set the bread down on the plate and started spreading it with butter. He cut the slice in half and pressed the two buttered halves together. He didn’t want to put anything between the halves of the slice - he didn’t want to use up too much of whatever food Stanley had left. Taking a bite of the bread, Ford only just then realised the extent of his hunger. Within a minute, the slice was gone and Ford was debating taking another. He shook his head and scolded himself.
You can’t waste any more, the voice in the back of his mind told him. He’s already given up so much for you. Don’t make him hate you even more.
With a quiet sigh, Ford put the butter back in the fridge and turned to put his plate in the dishwasher. His hand knocked against it and it was knocked from the counter. A loud crash echoed through the otherwise silent house and Ford swore. Damnit. He’d done it again. As he was bending down to pick up the pieces of broken plate, he heard someone else enter the kitchen. He froze in place, feeling the barrel of a gun being placed against his temple.
“Get up.” His brother barked.
Ford did as he was told, horror flooding his mind. His brother was having another memory lapse and seemed to have forgotten that he had a twin brother. This meant that there was a strong possibility Stan would shoot him if he made any wrong moves. Slowly getting to his feet and putting his hands up where Stanley could easily see them, he chewed his lip.
His brother cocked the gun. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
Ford took a deep breath, his hands shaking. “Stanley, I’m your brother, Ford. Don’t… don’t you remember me?”
Stanley only narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have a brother. Stanley Pines died in a car crash thirty years ago. I’m Stanford.”
Ford flinched. Hearing his brother call himself by that name never got any easier. “No, y-you’re not. You’re Stanley. You took your brother’s name - my name - when I went missing. You’re Stanley. You faked your own death.”
Stanley scoffed and pressed the barrel of the gun against Ford’s chest. “Yeah, right. What sort of bullshit are you making up?”
“It’s not bullshit!” Ford exclaimed. He flinched and inhaled a sharp breath as Stanley pressed the gun harder against his chest.
“Yes it is.” Stan snapped. “Now, I want you to leave my property and never come back, otherwise I’m going to shoot you. Do I make myself clear?”
Ford swallowed hard. “B-but-”
In a flash, Stan fired a warning shot at Ford’s left shoulder. The bullet clipped the top of his shoulder, leaving a small wound in his flesh. Ford let out a sharp cry and clamped his right hand down on the wound, stumbling backwards. He looked up to see the barrel of the gun pointed directly at his face. “I said, do I make myself clear?” Stanley growled.
Ford nodded quickly. Stanley grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the back door to the house. He unlocked the door and shoved Ford outside. Ford stumbled and nearly fell over. He turned around just in time to see Stanley slam the door shut and lock it behind him. Ford felt a lump in his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. He saw Stanley in the window and quickly rushed off into the woods before his brother had the idea to shoot him again.
Ford didn’t get very far, maybe half a mile, before it became too difficult for him to breathe. His shoulder throbbed in agony and the cold night air was making him shiver. He sat down beneath a particularly large pine tree and carefully pulled his hand away from his shoulder. His palm was red and slick with blood. Hands trembling violently, Ford slowly began to tear the bloodied sleeve from his turtleneck. He tied the sleeve around his shoulder as well as he could, letting out a sharp hiss of pain as the wound made contact with the fabric. Gritting his teeth, Ford pulled the fabric tight against the wound and tied a knot with the two loose ends. He leaned back against the tree, taking deep breaths. The effects of the blood loss were starting to get to him. He felt tired and lightheaded. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just take a quick nap?
Ford dismissed the thought and forced himself to get back up, his head spinning wildly. He groaned, placing his right hand against the trunk of the tree to stop himself toppling over. Taking shuddering breaths, he continued towards the main road. Maybe he could walk up the road to find a phone to call a doctor, since he’d never quite got to grips with those ‘cell phone’ things. As he walked, however, his breath became more and more laboured, his vision beginning to swim. His feet began to trip and stumble over the rough earth.
His left foot got caught amongst some particularly large tree roots and he lost his balance. Ford toppled to the ground, his hands barely cushioning his fall. He tried in vain to get back up. His strength left him. Ford lay on the cold, damp earth, breathing ragged and the occasional cough making him shudder. He couldn’t find it within him to get up. He was far too tired. Stanley didn’t remember him, he couldn’t go into town - everyone there still resented him after what he’d done - and he could barely get off the ground.
The lump in his throat returned and Ford choked on a sob. He couldn’t help but feel as though he deserved this. All he’d ever done was make mistakes and hurt people. It was his own fault that Stanley didn’t remember him. He’d erased his brother’s mind to defeat that demon. He figured he deserved to be kicked out. He deserved this treatment. He screwed his eyes shut and gave in to the fatigue. Darkness clouded his mind and his whole body relaxed as sleep took over.
Stanley grunted, locking the gun back up in the cabinet in his room. He muttered under his breath. He eased himself down onto his bed, his back cracking and popping. He was about to lay down again when a photo in a wooden frame on his nightstand caught his attention. It was a photo of himself as a teenager, wearing boxing gloves and playfully punching someone else. The other person in the photo bore a strong resemblance to both himself and the man he’d kicked out of the house a moment ago. Picking up the photo, Stan looked over it. The photo was old and faded, but still clear. He was getting some serious déjà vu vibes just from looking at it.
The words the man had said earlier rang through his mind.
“Stanley, I’m your brother, Ford. Don’t… don’t you remember me?”
Something akin to a bolt of lightning shot through his mind and he gasped. His brother! That was his brother in the photo. His brother… the same brother who had been in the kitchen a moment ago. The same brother he’d …
“Ford!” Stanley leapt up from the bed and wrenched some shoes onto his feet. He tugged a jacket on and grabbed a torch before rushing downstairs and out of the back door. He turned the torch on and ran into the woods. He waved the light around, looking for any sign of his brother. The air outside was freezing, and if Ford had been shot … Stan had to hurry.
“FORD!” Stan called again, his eyes frantically scanning for any sign of Ford. “STANFORD!”
Something glistened against the bark of a tree and Stan shone the light at it. His stomach churned as he instantly recognised the slick, red substance. Blood. That was bad. Picking up the pace and wheezing, Stan kept running. “FORD!!”
A few hundred yards ahead, he came across something lying in the grass. Once the light was on it and he approached, Stan could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat. His brother was lying face down in the dirt, practically motionless. Stan rushed over. “FORD!”
Stan fell to his knees by his brother’s side, rolling him onto his back. His eyes widened as he saw the blood soaking through the makeshift bandage on his brother’s shoulder. Ford was out cold. Stan’s hands were shaking. “F-Ford…?” He put two fingers to Ford’s neck, searching for a pulse. He breathed a small sigh of relief finding that his brother’s heart was still beating. It was slightly weaker and slower than normal, but it was there. Stan shook Ford’s shoulder, trying to rouse him. “Ford, c’mon, wake up!”
Ford only twitched slightly. Stan swallowed, noticing how horrifically pale his brother looked. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his brother up off the ground and carried him bridal-style back towards the house as fast as he could. He was surprised at how light Ford was - he’d expected his brother to weigh more than that. Part of him wondered if he was underweight, but right now that was a blessing in disguise. It made it easier for Stanley to carry him - meaning he could therefore get him to the hospital faster. Ford’s head lay against Stan’s shoulder, the older twin’s mouth open slightly and his glasses resting crooked on his face. His breathing was getting shallower by the minute.
After what seemed like an eternity, Stan arrived back at the house. He set Ford down on the ground beside his car and rushed inside to get his keys. Car keys in hand, he ran back outside and unlocked the car, before heaving Ford up into the passenger seat. Clipping the belt on around his brother, Stan jumped into the driver’s side and jammed the keys into the ignition. He pulled his own seatbelt on with one hand and steered the car with the other, driving out onto the main road and heading towards the hospital.
Ford was met with bright lights the next time he opened his eyes. At first, he thought he was dead. There could have been no other explanation for the sheer whiteness of everything around him. As his senses began to come back into focus, however, he became aware of a repetitive, steady beeping sound emanating from somewhere above his left shoulder. He also became aware of the fact that the area where he’d been shot was rather numb. His head was throbbing slightly and felt as though it was full of cotton wool. He wiggled his toes, managing to regain some of the sensation back into his legs. Something was pricking the inside of his right elbow. He felt as though he were laying down in a bed somewhere. He gripped the blankets, rubbing the soft fabric between his fingertips.
“Ngh…” Ford fought to keep his eyes open, his hands clenching the blankets. He realised that his glasses were no longer on his face - his surroundings were blurred out of focus. “W-who…?”
A grey and pink shape moved into his field of vision. “Ford? You with me bro?” It was his brother, Stanley.
Ford squinted, trying to get his eyes to focus. “S-Stan…?”
He felt his brother hold Ford’s hand between both of his own. “Yeah, I’m right here Poindexter. How do you feel?”
Ford avoided his brother’s gaze, turning his head away. “‘M fine… why are you here?”
Stanley frowned. “What do you mean, ‘why am I here’? You were injured, Stanford, where else would I be?”
Ford shrugged, wincing slightly as he shifted his injured shoulder. “Anywhere else. There’s a hundred places better to be than here, with … with me…”
Stan ran a hand through his hair. “Ford, what on Earth is bugging you so much? You’ve barely talked to me in weeks. You never said goodbye to the kids, you avoid Soos and Wendy like they’re the plague, heck, you won’t even look at me. What’s eatin’ ya?”
Ford tensed up, clenching his eyes shut. “It’s nothing important, Stanley. You have a shack to run, customers to sell merchandise to, don’t worry about me.”
“Soos is watching the Shack,” Stan waved a hand around. “I’m not going anywhere. Now, seriously, tell me what’s wrong?”
Ford was silent for a moment, before letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. “What isn’t wrong? Half the town’s still a wreck, a good few people were severely injured, you lost your memories and it’s all my fault. I ruined everything.”
Stan frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Ford laughed again, his voice full of self-loathing. “I ruined the whole summer. I ruined the kids’ lives. I ruined Fiddleford’s life. I ruined your life, Stanley.” Ford’s voice cracked, tears stinging his eyes. “I just wrecked everything. I always thought that you were the screw-up twin, when it was me all along.”
“Ford, you’re not a screw-up,”
“Stanley,” Ford heaved a sigh. “All I’ve ever done is hurt people and use others for my own benefit. I summoned a dangerous monster just so I could built a portal that would make me famous. I guess Dad was always wrong about who the worthless twin was. It was never you. It was me, they just never realised it.”
“Ford!” Stanley grabbed his brother’s hand. “Cut it out! I didn’t bring you back just for you to beat yourself up!”
“You shouldn’t have brought me back at all!” Ford snapped, tears slowly forcing their way from the corner of his eyes. “I’m nothing but a monster. I caused the apocalypse! I’ve hurt people! Bill should have just killed me while he had the chance. It would have been better for everyone.”
“Stanford Filbrick Pines you stop right there!” Stan shouted. “You are not worthless. You are not a monster. You are not better off dead!”
“Give me one reason why I’m not!” Ford spat. “Give me one good reason as to why I’m not a worthless piece of shit!”
Stan felt his heart skip a beat. Did… did Ford really think all this about himself? “Ford, listen to me. You are not a worthless piece of shit, you understand? You know why? Because even though you messed up, you tried to fix it. You tried to correct the mistakes you made. You helped us defeat Bill. We would have all died if it hadn’t been for you.”
“I brought Bill to Gravity Falls in the first place,” Ford muttered, turning his head away. “I made the biggest mistake of my life and the whole world nearly paid the price.”
“Ford.” Stan’s voice was stern. He gripped his brother’s hand in both of his own. “You didn’t know what Bill was, or what he was capable of.”
“I should have seen him for what he was!” Ford cried “I was an idiot! Anyone with half a brain could have seen that he was lying! I was too blinded by my own selfishness to see that.”
Stan’s brow knitted together, his gaze softening. “Oh, Poindexter.”
Ford let out a quiet, choked sob. “I’m so sorry Stanley…I never wanted to hurt you. Please, just go. Go home, before I hurt you again,”
Stanley briefly considered getting up and leaving, but shook the thought away as soon as it appeared. “No, I’m not going anywhere. You wanna know what really hurts me? Seeing my brother, my twin, beat himself up and tear himself down like this. Yeah, you made mistakes, we all have, but that’s no reason to believe you’re worthless, Stanford.”
Ford bit his lip and cursed himself, feeling tears trickle down his face and drop onto the pillow beneath his head. “Then why did I make so many mistakes? Why did I turn my back on you when you got kicked out? Why did I ignore you for ten years? Why did I punch you after you wasted thirty damn years bringing me back?”
“Wasted? Ford, you’re my twin brother, there was no way in Hell I was gonna leave you in there,” Stanley ran his thumb back and forth across the back of Ford’s hand. “You didn’t deserve to suffer like that,”
Ford turned his head around to look at his brother, attempting to lift his free hand to wipe the tears away. Pain flared up in his shoulder and he let out a sharp hiss. Stanley pulled his own sleeve down and wiped the fabric across Ford’s eyes, drying the tears from them. Ford’s eyes flickered away, but he kept his head turned towards his brother. He felt Stanley run his fingers through his hair soothingly. Ford couldn’t help but shut his eyes. It was calming - it relieved some of the pressure from his throbbing head. He must have looked downright pathetic - a sixty-something year old man being coddled and comforted like a young child - but right now he couldn’t care less. He was tired and in pain.
Stanley couldn’t keep the soft smile off his face. “I love you, ya know that, right? I know you must think I hate you, but I don’t, honest.”
Ford swallowed and opened his eyes. ‘I love you’ was not something anyone had said to him in decades. Well, aside from the twins, of course. He looked at his brother, studying his expression. There was no hint of mockery behind his eyes. Stanley was being genuine. Ford let a soft smile of his own play onto his face. “I love you too, you knucklehead,”
Stan grinned and ruffled Ford’s hair lightly. “That’s better. Now, will you try and get some damn sleep? That bullet did a real number on you,”
Ford’s gaze shifted from his brother’s face to the wound on his shoulder, the smile dropping. “I guess it did, yeah,”
Stanley frowned. “Ford, I’m really sorry,”
Ford waved the concern off, turning back to look at him. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean it. You were having a memory lapse and had no idea who I was. I understand it must have been rather shocking for you,”
Stanley ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but still, I shot you, Ford.”
“It’s okay, I’ve endured far worse with no hospital treatment whatsoever.” Ford took hold of his brother’s hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright, Lee,”
Stan grinned at the nickname. “Alright, if you say so. Seriously, though, would you please get some sleep? You look like crap.”
“Gee, thanks,” Ford deadpanned, a playful smirk on his face.
Stanley snorted. “Just saying it like it is, Poindexter. Get some sleep, it’ll do you good.”
“‘M not tired,” Ford said. He bit back a yawn, although he was sure Stan noticed.
Evidently he did, as the younger twin crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Well, then, why not just shut your eyes for a bit? These damn lights must be hurting them.”
Ford allowed his eyes to slide shut, trying to focus on the sounds and sensations around him to keep him awake. After a short while, everything began to blur together and he felt himself drifting off. He didn’t bother fighting it. His whole body relaxed as he succumbed to unconsciousness. His facial features relaxed, making him look much younger. The heart monitor continued to beep steadily above his head.
Stanley rolled his eyes. Ford had barely had his eyes shut a minute before falling asleep. He made a move to get up from the uncomfortable plastic chair he’d been sitting in, but stopped. He didn’t want to leave Ford alone, not yet. Not while his state of mind was still rather unstable. And, if he was honest with himself, Stan didn’t want to leave. Ford was hurt and his brotherly instincts were kicking in, making him want to stay by his brother’s side until he recovered. Stan settled back into the chair, already knowing he’d wake up with terrible back ache, before he too allowed himself to fall asleep. Not once did he release his gentle, yet firm grip on his brother’s hand.
Another fic for @skaleigha ‘s Guilty Ford AU. I can’t get this idea out of my head! This one’s probably more angst-y than it should be, but I guess I got carried away
My other Guilty Ford fic, Forgiveness, can be found here.
Plot holes, typos, errors, blah blah blah. Let me know and I’ll fix ‘em.
bit of angst and comfort, somehow turned into show canon or what i’d love to see
light from the livingroom is greeting Magnus as he steps through the
front door, the tingle in his nape letting him know he’s
here. His heart pounds that much faster, but stops for a moment as he
walks inside and takes in the view before him.
man’s sitting on the couch, unmoving, bent slightly forward into
himself, his shoulders slumped, a glass of wine,
he most likely hasn’t taken one sip from, in his hand, his
eyes dull, staring ahead. He looks broken in a way Magnus has seen,
has experienced. A way that has him feel the flares of screaming pain
which will not be silenced deep in his gut. He takes a moment to
collect himself before he steps closer carefully, his body speaking
of caution, like nearing a wounded wild animal.
crouches down before the Shadowhunter, a hand hovering next to Alec’s
holding the glass, the other just above his knee. “Alec?”
He says as softly as possible, trying to get his attention, wanting
those eyes to look at him to know he’s really here with him.
Alec looks up, their eyes connecting, Magnus feels a wave of relief
which is short-lived, however, by the torment reflected in the hazel
depths. Magnus takes the glass from him, puts it on the table behind
them and takes Alec’s hands gently into his as he moves to sit down
next to him. He needn’t ask if something’s wrong. He just hopes Alec
knows he can tell him, that he trusts him enough. All Magnus wants is
to make it better, whatever it is, seeing this determined, strong,
wonderful man who has so much to give, so much to find out about
himself, so small and hurt is causing a storm of agony inside
"Lance, I ACTUALLY fought off a dozen bounty hunters for you a month ago, and nearly lost an arm to that freaking pet dinosaur-thing of theirs," Well THAT must've been a fun adventure XDD
I feel like y’all are baiting me, and I keep falling for the bait :D *hugs* Okay, well, since you’re curious, and since I’m all done with getting poked and prodded at the clinic (a huge thank you to those who sent me get-well messages, and thanks for everyone’s patience in general :D) — here ya go.
That Time Keith Saved Lance From A Dozen Bounty Hunters and Their Pet Dinosaur:
Lance is tied to a tree, again, and it’s not funny … Well, it’s a bit funny. But Keith isn’t laughing when he stealthily creeps in closer, rolling his eyes when Lance spots him and then immediately tries to act casual — casually widening his eyes and proclaiming, “Hey dudes, I think I heard some kind of loud giant Lion coming from that direction. Blue should be on his way. Wanna go catch him?”
Keith is tempted to throw a rock at Lance’s head, but as he does actually care about his boyfriend, and he definitely wants him back in one piece, he refrains. Barely.
The bounty hunters laugh at him, one large butch alien hollering, “Eh, boy, why don’t you keep your loud mouth shut and let us eat our dinner in peace, yeah?”
“You won’t be getting any leftovers if you don’t learn some manners,” chimed in a thin, leather-clad female, her hand stroking over the scaled skin of what looked like a baby T-Rex. But with wings. And arms that were not ridiculously short.
Considering that Lance was in this predicament because he’d wandered outside of the city limits —precisely what they were told not to do by the Supreme Governor of the planet — Keith is tempted to let Lance sweat it out until everyone is asleep and they can escape under cover of night.
But as he closes the distance between himself and Lance, he takes in the brutally tight chains wrapped around his boyfriend, the cut on his forehead, the bruise on his cheek, his split lip … And suddenly, Keith finds himself unsheathing his bayard, gritting his teeth as he glares out towards the crew of bounty hunters.
He counts them clinically, staring with narrowed eyes — twelve armed aliens, and their winged dinosaur mascot thing … No problem.
Keith had found Lance’s bayard tangled in some vines a mile back. He manages to sneak his way to the Blue Paladin’s tree, leaning behind it, out of sight, as he soundlessly picks the lock on the chains.
Lance goes completely still, hardly daring to move. And when Keith gets the lock off, thereby enabling him to loosen the chains, Lance lets out a long, quiet breath. Keith squeezes the hands restrained behind the tree gently. When Lance grips him in return, Keith pulls back and wraps Lance’s fingers around his blue bayard.
“Wait until I’ve got about half of them down — then move.” Keith tries to whisper this near silently, and so he’s not one hundred percent sure Lance hears him — but the Blue Paladin will figure it out soon enough.
Keith sneaks back around to the other side of the camp, and then situates himself behind one of the small ATV-looking vehicles. He moves fast, turning on the engine and gunning it right into the middle of the dining bounty hunters.
There’s screaming and guns firing as he launches himself off his improvised ride, knocking out two guys with one blow. He turns to cross blades with a female alien nearly twice his size, and by the time he’s knocked out his fifth bounty hunter, he suddenly remembers the dinosaur.
Too late, because the beast has roared and plunged its teeth straight through Keith’s left arm. His shield disappears as he screams in pain — and then there’s more laser fire as Lance starts unleashing a wave of blasts that find their targets in joints and hands and feet. Keith has beaten off the dinosaur and takes care of the last few bounty hunters with one hand.
Silence falls in the woods.
Until Lance whoops and hollers, “Holy crow, Keith that was freaking amazing. I barely — oh my god, your arm!”
“Lance, it’s fine,” Keith says through gritted teeth, even as Lance rushes over, his face pale.
“Uh, no, you are bleeding all over the damn place. I think I can see bone! Oh my god, oh my —”
Keith uses his good arm, the one that has just sheathed his bayard, to grab his boyfriend by the collar of his armour, and yank him into a kiss. This gets Keith some blessed quiet, and also reassures him that Lance is more or less okay. He was able to get up and fight with no problem, ramble without breathing, and is currently pressing his mouth to Keith’s like they’re every action couple in every cheesy explosion-filled movie that Lance adores … So, yes, Lance is fine.
Keith pulls back and Lance rests his forehead against Keith’s temple. “Okay. Point made. But you need some time in the cryo-pod, like stat.”
“Probably,” Keith says, avoiding looking down at his arm, which has gone alarmingly numb. “But first we have to get back to the city. You know, the city we were not supposed to set foot out of?”
Lance grins sheepishly. “So I heard a rumour that there was a gorgeous beach just a short walk through the woods —”
Keith groans. “No, don’t want to hear it. Just drive us back into town so I can watch with great satisfaction as Allura and Shiro chew you out. And then as Hunk is all nice to you and makes you feel as guilty as you should be.”
Lance swoops in to steal one last kiss before helping Keith onto the ATV and then swinging up onto it. Keith wraps his uninjured arm around Lance’s waist, and murmurs into the Blue Paladin’s ear, “If you try any fancy tricks —”
“Listen, sugar pie, I’ve got precious cargo on here,” Lance says gravely, and doesn’t flinch when Keith tries to knee him in the back. “So you best believe I’ll be smooth as butter with my stellar driving.”
Keith snorts, but holds back an insult as Lance revs the engine and begins a swift and uneventful journey back to town.
In the end, they both get lectured — Lance for leaving the city limits, Keith for going after him without back-up — but the Supreme Governor somehow feels responsible for Keith almost losing an arm, so he arranges a full day at the beach Lance had heard about. Keith gets to watch Lance swim and frolic in the sun. He gets to be pulled into crystalline waters, kissed beneath the waves, and fall asleep with Lance’s head on his chest, far-too-soft sand between his toes.
So maybe he’s not nearly as annoyed as he pretends to be later, but letting out his faux-irritation gets Lance teasing him, catering to him hand and foot, cooing over his no-longer injured arm … All in all, it actually turns out to be a pretty damn awesome week for the Red Paladin, even with the dozen bounty hunters and dinosaur that almost ate him. He’ll cling to his wins whenever he gets them. Which is probably why he’s never letting Lance go, idiot trips to alien beaches and all.
Once again, all the fluff, unleashed! I’m still a bit sleepy, so hopefully this makes some kind of sense. And I hope I answered your unspoken question ;D *many hugs* Thanks again to all you amazing people :)
Request: A part of my wants to read ravenous and rough Logan x reader smut and another part of me wants fluffy. Could you maybe write a Logan smut where it’s super fluffy? Or you can do some rough sex. I’m such a hopeless romantic how embarrassing. Thank youuuuuu :-)
A/N: Ah, I got really sappy during the ending. Okay, well I didn’t add fluffy smut per say, and I’m sorry about that, but I did add loads of fluff at the end. I hope you enjoy!
Of all the bad days you’ve had in your life, mind you there
have been a lot; this had to take the cake. Your wrists were aching from the
constant chuff of the too-tight chains rubbing up against them. The constant
clank of chain hitting concrete was the only sound breaking the silence that
had fallen over the cell. If looks could kill, Logan would be playing poker
with the devil right now. His eyes stayed steadfastly forward, ignoring your
seething. You watched his stiff form in the moonlight, almost as if you were
trying to mentally send him your anger. Finally, fed up with keeping your anger
inside, exhausted with constantly getting the shit end of the stick, and
hopelessly annoyed with the man who had landed you here in the first place, you
“(Y/N), trust me, I know what I’m doing. (Y/N), what will
they do, chain us up and leave us to die? (Y/N), I’m the one with fighting
experience. (Y/N), I ca-,”
“Enough,” Logan growled, interrupting your ranting. You didn’t
even flinch, your anger outweighing any other emotion.
“If you would’ve listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this
mess.” You hissed, your hands shaking against the chains in show. You couldn’t
even care that the loud banging hurt your ears or the metal scraping your skin
was aching, too busy trying to prove a point to care.
“If I would’ve listened to you, we would be dead.” He snarled
back at you.
“If your plan is as solid as you think, how do you suggest
we get out of here, captain?” You mocked, attempting to salute as best you
could from your position. Your legs were aching with the strain of keeping
yourself up high enough so your arms weren’t pulled from their sockets, your
muscles groaning in protest. You were frustrated and you needed somebody to
blame it on. Considering there was only one other person in the room, you vented
all your hate out on him.
“Are you trying to say you can’t get out of these chains?”
He raised a brow. You scowled at him, your eyes burning with anger.
“Because I’m the one that got us into this mess so obviously
I’m the one that has to get us out,” you muttered sarcastically, your entire
body morphing into a cat, causing the chains to thud to the ground. Your hypersensitive
ears were ringing, a hiss making its way past your bared teeth.
“Relax,” Logan shushed, removing his own chains from his
wrist. You stretched your muscles, returning to human form in the process. “A
cat? Out of everything?” You shrugged.
“Don’t act like you’re any better there kitty claws,” you
gave his retracted claws a pointed look, prompting him to return them to their
“Let’s go.” He stated, cutting his way through the barred
window. “Do you have anything big enough to fl-,” he was cut off, your oversized
talons digging into his shoulders as you lifted him off the ground. “Just
great,” he muffled, an annoyed glower marring his features. You flapped your
wide wings, loving the feeling of the cool wind rustling your auburn feathers.
Flying was one of your favorite things to do; it had a way of making you feel
alive. Your beady eyes looked down at Logan, gauging his expression. He was
annoyed. You could live with that. You’d been angry at him for hours. Your
relationship with Logan had always been, to put it simply, complicated. The two
of you were normally overly flirty with each other, stealing every chance you
can to just put your hands on the other. However, when the two of you got
angry, World War Three was about to start. The both of you had flaring tempers,
causing everyone to leave the two of you alone when you were fighting. You
couldn’t help it; sometimes he could just be so frustrating. Of course,
whenever you went down that alley you’d always been torn between wanting to
strangle the man to death and wanting to jump on top of him and fuck him. Your
mind always betrayed your angry thoughts, providing you with little facts about
how kissable his lips looked or how he might feel with his strong arms wrapped
around you, his body thrusting into you. The heated feeling of arousal that you’d
become used to pooled in the bottom of your belly, infuriating you to no end.
You felt like your body and your mind were betraying you. With a howl, you
dropped yourself and Logan by one of the many warehouses that Charles had kept
around the world. Logan wasted no time, heading for the door as soon as he was
back on his feet. You spread your wings one more time, letting the breeze cool
down your heated body, before morphing back into your normal self.
“How bad is it?” You asked, walking into the small,
one-bedroomed warehouse. After you and Logan had started your mission to take
down the anti-mutant groups, he’d been adamant about buying places to keep the
two of you safe once you’d finish a task.
“Not terrible.” Logan replied curtly. You nodded stiffly,
hating this part of the fights. It would always either get super awkward or the
two of you would just end up blowing up at each other again. “Your wrists are
injured,” he stated, his eyes catching on to the red skin covering your wrists.
“Yeah,” you answered, “from the cuffs.”
“Obviously,” Logan muttered. You looked at him unimpressed,
your (Y/E/C) eyes shining in something akin to annoyance. It wasn’t nearly as
bad as you had been staring at him earlier but it seemed enough to push his
exhausted mind over the edge. “Don’t even try blaming that on me. We escaped
out of there no problem.”
“We shouldn’t have got caught in the first place,” you pointed
out moodily, your sleep-deprived mind causing everything to be much more
“No, we shouldn’t have been there in the first place.” Your
“Are you suggesting we left that little girl to die?”
“I’m saying we should have made a plan before diving in
blind like that.” You took a step towards him, Logan taking his own step
“Oh, the one time you actually want to use your head before
jumping into a fight,” you argued.
“I know which fights actually require thought and which ones
don’t,” Logan sneered, his body moving ever closer to your own.
“You are so frustrating.” You yelled, your hands pulling at
your (Y/H/C) locks.
“And you’re so maddening.” He yelled back, his body
practically pressed against your own.
“Dick.” You muttered, your eyes narrowing at him. There was
a second of silence; no breathing, no speaking, no movement. And then, with the
speed of a cheetah, Logan was pulling you into his muscular body, his tongue
invading your mouth. You wrapped your legs tightly around him, your anger
flaring into arousal. One hand gripped your ass while the other was tugging
your hair mercilessly. He all but threw you on the edge of the bed, pulling you
back towards his center with a bruising grip on your thighs. You knew this wasn’t
going to be loving, wasn’t going to be sweet. No, this was going to be rough,
animalistic, and feral. With a low snarl in your throat, you ripped Logan’s suit
off his chest, not caring where it landed. He returned the favor, a single claw
retracting just long enough to tear the fabric of your outfit, leaving your
chest bare to him. He let out an animalistic growl, his teeth biting all over
your exposed chest. A throaty yowl worked its way out of your throat, your
hands dropping to Logan’s pants in a blinding surge of want. His bites faltered
when your hands brushed over his confined erection, a pant coming from his open
mouth. You were trying, and failing, to remove his pants. He seemed to notice
your struggle, shredding them off his body with a smug ease. He did a similar
action to your own pants, only feeling satisfied once the two of you were
completely bare. The need came slamming back down, causing your vision to spin
for a second. Nothing else in your life could ever be as important as having
him right this instant. With a ferocious roar, you dug your teeth into his
neck. He howled, his hands gripping your thighs roughly. Without so much as a
second thought, he pushed his hardened length into your awaiting heat. You dug
your teeth in his neck further, inflicting as much pain on his neck as his
hands were on your thighs. He didn’t give you time to adjust to his size, slamming
his body into your own over and over again. You met him thrust for thrust, your
nails raking over his back and your mouth still attached to his neck, drawing
blood. Inhuman noises were being torn from his throat, his entire body pushing
into your own with a speed too fast to be human. You could feel the pleasure
building deep within your stomach, your own lunges speeding up. Your insides
clenched impossibly tight, the feeling so, so close. He lifted your leg just a
little bit higher, sending his full length careening even further into your
slick warmth. Stars exploded, the sun expanded, and the world came crashing
down. Your orgasm wracked your entire body, a scream sounding so feral you
almost couldn’t believe it was coming from you. Logan’s thrusts sped up for a
few more seconds, his body pounding ruthlessly into yours. With a savage howl, he
came, his seed warming your insides. His head dropped to your shoulder, his heavy
pants heating your skin. You were both too exhausted to care, your bodies
dropping back onto the bed effortlessly. Logan pulled you closer to him, your
head resting on his chest as your eyes drifted shut. You closed off reality,
calling it a day.
Your mind seemed to register the slight tickling sensation
on your forehead before anything. You groaned, willing it to go away with your
mind. Growling to yourself, you opened your eyes. The second thing your mind
noticed was that you were sore in places you didn’t even know you had. Finally,
your brain caught on to the fact that you were snuggled into a certain someone’s
“Uh, Logan.” You greeted awkwardly, pulling out of his arms.
Now that your head was free of lust and your mind was clear, you felt awkward.
“Good morning, (Y/N),” his lips lifted up in a half smile.
You watched him uncertainly for a moment. “(Y/N)?” He asked softly.
“Logan,” you repeated, not entirely sure what to do with
yourself. He leaned himself on his elbows, watching you curiously.
“Something the matter?” He inquired.
“We…” You breathed. “You and I… We… Last night… This morning…”
You quirked an eyebrow, an amused little smile gracing his face.
“We did,” he confirmed what you already knew.
“So what do we do now?” You asked, fidgeting under the
blankets. He lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment before placing it on your
“We do what you want,” he replied, his eyes searching your
“What do you want?”
“You,” his answer was soft as he watched you. “I,” he
paused, “I love you.” Your mouth fell open, gaping at him. “(Y/N)?” He asked tentatively
after the silence stretched on for a moment. A blanket at warmth cocooned you
at his words.
“I love you too.” You replied, moving closer to his side. He
pulled you down on top of him, kissing your lips with a sweetness that had not
been present last night. As you moved against his rapidly-hardening erection,
you realized you needed this just as much. This time when he kissed you, there
was a promise behind it. When he entered you with slow strokes, there was a
meaning to it. And when he finally came, the whisper of your name on his lips,
there was a devotion to it. The two of you were lustful creatures by nature,
but sometimes lust wasn’t enough. Sometimes you needed love to feel whole
It was never easy telling someone their ‘perfect little angel’ was a bit of a monster. Especially when said ‘angel’ was likely this way due to improper parenting.
I knew this would be the case the moment I brought up Rachel’s behavioral issues to her mother, Eliza Jane.
Eliza was the daughter of a wealthy recluse, their family had been involved in medical business for apparently the last century. They owned several hospitals and even helped design some of the newest state of the art equipment. Things that could create the absolute smallest incisions with no scarring.
But with wealth can come pride. Entitlement.
“This isn’t a laughing matter, ma’am. We need to talk about your daughter’s behavior towards others.”
It’s like being trapped at dawn, never full daylight. Sitting on your shoulders with my legs dangling by your side, you reach up on your tiptoes high enough that if I extend my arms out and up I can almost touch the sky, but it’s not high enough…I never reach the light; stuck on the edge of darkness, this limbo got me feeling dizzy, head’s spinning, clouded with “What do you do to me?” Too afraid to climb down, I want to tap your shoulders, reach down and beg you to bring me back to earth but this feeling of flying has me in a trance and I know inside I’m trapped. You got the chains tight around my wrists and ankles, prisoner to your pull, games, lies, my mouth opens but no words come out, I want to scream for someone to pinch me and wake me from this nightma…
Inspiration for this came from @riadovoidostoevsky’s first sentence during one of our beautiful conversations.
Okayyyy I read your rfa reaction to witch MC and omg YES IT WAS FUCKING EVERYTHING PERFECT 10/10 would you be able to do one focusing on crystal healing specifically please? (Btw the sevens part in the bath oh my gods yes just yes)
For starters: I am so so sorry because I’m pretty sure you sent this after my first HC which was the Witchy MC on which must have been like 2 months ago and and and basically I’m so sorry for the wait
When I first read this prompt I was like “Oh man gotta research my crystal stuff” Cause I just know all the go-tos like the Quartz family, and Hematite and such and I wanted to look into and find more unique ones but I haven’t and ahhhhhh
Anyways, I was out with a few witches tonight and we made cute little gem charms for love and I was like “It’s a sign. Time to write the fic, Jackass” So here we are
Anon, if you see this please let me know because I’m gonna feel really bad if you never got to see it (TᨓT)
RFA + Crystals
You made him a charm, he could decide to put it on his phone or bag, or anything really
Actually you could have even made him a hair clip oops
Anyways, you had put a bunch of Tiger’s Eye stones on a wire and bent it into the shape of a star before adding a little strap to it
His eyes lit up when you gave it to him
“Whaaaa? For me?” He clenched it tight in his hand and pulled you into a hug. “Mc you’re too nice to me!?!?”
You chuckled as he pulled away, his eyes looked wet like he was about to cry
“It’s Tiger’s Eye!” You began to explain as he tied the strap to his phone case “It’s for motivation and success! So I figured it’d help you with school and with LOLOL.”
His eyes shot back to you again, even wetter.
“Y-Yoosung you don’t have to cr-”
It was too late
He pulled you into another tight hug “I’M DATING THE MOST THOUGHTFUL PERSON EVER” He wailed as he squeezed the living daylights out of you.
“Yoo…sung…pls” You swear you saw your soul leave your body
The blonde boy just smiled as he pulled back, only to dart in for a quick but deep kiss on your lips.
“Jaehee! Hold your hand out I have a surprise for you!”
She just stared at you for a minute before closing your eyes and putting her hand out, open and waiting to receive.
You ignore the open hand though and slide a Bracelet made of Rose Quartz beads on to her wrist
Her eyes open and she looks at the light pink minerals
“Mc? This is so pretty…It must have cost a fortune I can’t accept this!”
“Jaehee not at all, I made it myself!” A proud smile grows on your face as she stares at the bracelet in awe
“Well then…what did I do to deserve such a wonderful gift??”
Your eyes and smile soften as they meet your girlfriend’s. “Well, Rose Quartz is supposed to be really soothing, you know, reduce your anxiety and stuff. I know you worry a lot..about our future in with the cafe and about plenty of stuff I’m sure you try to not tell me about..”
She looks towards the ground, a bit guilty
“Don’t worry!” You reassure her. “I know you just don’t want to make me worried to. But in those times when you don’t want to ‘worry me’ I want to make sure you can relax a little more and worry less…So when you wear that bracelet I’ll feel better knowing I’m helping in at least some way”
Jaehee just stared at you for a moment, mouth slightly agape. After a moment of silence:
“Mc….I know this bracelet will help, because from now on whenever I look at it I’ll remember that we’ll always have each other. That no matter what worries are troubling me…I’ll have you by my side. And if we have each other…well then there’s nothing that can worry me that badly.”
You were ready to cry
Gdi Jaehee this was supposed to be a gift for you not a motivational speech for MC pls
You two just stared into each others’ eyes for a moment before leaning in for a soft, reassuring kiss.
You made him a necklace. It was simple, just a black cord with one stone hanging off of it.
“What is this?” He mused as he rolled the wire wrapped stone in his fingers.
“Blue Lace Agate.” You said with a smile
Honestly Zen was pretty well rounded and healthy aside from his smoking habit
You had a hard time thinking of a stone he could use
But you remember Blue Lace Agate
It’s said to aid in easing stress on the shoulders, neck, and most importantly, throat.
Zen spent hours in rehearsal singing and monologuing, and sure he always drank his hot honey water and did warm ups, but some extra metaphysical cushioning couldn’t hurt ^^
A sweet smile plays on his lips as he turns the stone over and over before turning to you
“Mc…would you do me the honor?” He held the necklace out for you and bent his head downwards
You smiled as you clasped it behind his neck
When he tilted his head up your faces were inches away from each other
He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your lips while your hands were still on his neck
You marveled at the chain once you finished
It was an average silver chain at first, but you managed to tightly wedge and place small Hematite stones in between the coils
The black and silver combo was perfect for Jumin, as well of the anti-stress properties of Hematite.
It’s supposed to absorb negative energies and turn them into positive ones, and even promote healthy blood flow to prevent headaches
You waited on the couch, chain held in your tight little fists, eager for Jumin to walk through the door
As soon as the lock of the door undid itself you jumped up
“Honey!” You exclaimed as you took his hand, giving him a bit of a shock
“Kitten? You’re exci-”
“I made something for you!” You didn’t even wait before putting the chain in his palm “I thought it’d be a nice new chain for your pocket watch, I remembered you saying you weren’t a fan of the gold one..”
“Kitten…it’s beautiful” He said staring at it. “Where did you buy this?”
“Well I got the chain from the jewelry store down the street, but I put the Hematite in myself.”
You read off your mental notebook of Hematite’s purposes and explained that you thought the black and silver was also a nice color combo
“You’re so thoughtful” His half lidded eyes fell on the chain as he ran his finger across it. Eventually he pulled out his pocket watch and swapped the chains.
He continued to muse with it for a second before looking to you, a grin on his face.
He put the watch away and cupped the sides of your face in his hands
“Thank you, Kitten” And you two shared a passionate kiss
If you could you’d dress Seven in all the gems
He needs all the healies for his feelies
But you figured you’d try to pick one stone
And you know one stone that is basically the grandaddy of dealing with grief, pain, and overall internal healing
You went to the local Health and Wellness store and browsed, looking for just the right piece of Amethyst.
You ended up seeing an already made ring
It was a gold ring with a messily cut piece of amethyst. Rough around the edges, varying shades of purple, a little cloudy but when you held it up to the light you could see it was a little translucent in some parts.
It was perfect.
You had the clerk wrap it and you practically skipped all the way home.
“Saaaeyooounng~~” You called
He poked his head from around the corner “You rang?”
You all but ran over to him, excitement pulling the corners of your lips up. “Close your eyes and put your hand out”
“Oooooo a gift?” He sang as he closed his eyes. “Gee I hope it’s not a kiss or anything~”
“Why would I have you put your hand out for a kiss??”
“I don’t know, so you can hold my hand while you do it?” His smirk turned into a joking pout. You rolled your eyes and ended up giving him a peck on the lips while you placed the little wrapped box in his hand
“oooOoOoOOOo” He started unwrapping it, his fingers working fast, but delicate enough to manage to not rip the paper anywhere aside from the tape.
Once he undid the box he marveled at the gift
“MC….are you proposing to me?” He giggled as he held the ring up to the light
“Not quite yet” You rolled your eyes for the second time in the last minute, but returned to his gaze with a smile.
He put the jokes aside
“Mc…it’s really beautiful..But why?”
“Amethyst is supposed to help with, like, everything. It cleanses your aura, allegedly improves memory and clear thinking, helps sleeping, and balances your energy to be more calm or energized depending on what you need….But most of all it helps with inner healing”
You see a small glint behind Saeyoung’s eyes, a spark, a memory of something painful.
His smile shrinks a bit, but you decide to press on.
“It’s supposed to relieve feelings of guilt, of sadness…of pain.” You took a small step towards Saeyoung and slowly wrapped your arms around him. “I just want you to be happy, Saeyoung.”
The world was quiet for a moment and Seven didn’t move.
You were worried you might have overstepped his comfort zone by bringing up the past
Slowly he wrapped his arms around you as well and pulled you in tight, his lips by your ear
“Thank you, Mc”
You stood like that for a moment, just holding each other.
Eventually one of you pulled back a bit, but only for you both to meet somewhere in the middle where your lips pressed together in a loving kiss.
Stiles is wedged between Derek’s wolf form and
the wall when the door squeals open.
“No guns in the cell,” Kate says as a looming
shadow falls across the doorway.
“You’re still wearing yours,” a man answers.
Stiles doesn’t need to see her to imagine her
smirk. “My house, my rules.”
The looming shadow lengthens and grows, and–
The alpha enters the room at the end of a long
pole fastened to a collar around its neck.
Stiles presses back against the wall, his heart
pounding. The alpha isn’t a man, or a wolf. The alpha is some grotesque thing caught somewhere between the two.
It’s hulking. It has a bowed spine as though it can’t stand upright. It’s
covered in a thick pelt of dark hair. It has a heavy skull. Its jaw is hanging
open, its fangs gleaming. Its eyes are shining red. Its clawed hands are held
by its side like weapons. It stares at Derek and Stiles, eyes flashing, and
growls when it’s shoved further into the room.
✒ Acting Upon Good Deeds After Performing Bad Deeds
قال رسول الله صلى الله عليه وسلم : إن مثل الذي يعمل السيئات ، ثم يعمل الحسنات ، كمثل رجل كانت عليه درع ضيقة قد خنقته ، ثم عمل حسنة ، فانفكت حلقة ، ثم عمل حسنة أخرى ، فانفكت حلقة أخرى ، حتى يخرج إلى الأرض
The Messenger of Allāh Ṣallallāhu-‘Alaihi Wa Sallam said: “Indeed, the parable of one who performs bad deeds then acts upon good deeds is like a man who has a tight chain around him that is choking him, then he performs a good deed so a link breaks, then he acts upon another good deed so another link breaks, until it falls on the ground.”
● [مختصر صحيح الجامع الصغير ٢١٩٢ ، حسنه الألباني،
Mukhtaṣar Ṣaḥīḥ al-Jāmi’ aṣ-Ṣagheer no. 2192, [declared 'Ḥasan’ by al-Albānī
The wolf’s boy smells of fear and confusion and
adrenaline. His heart is beating fast, his blood rushing in his veins, and the
wolf wants to hold him close and press his nose into his hairline where his
scent is strong. Hold him until his tremors pass and he grows calm in his
wolf’s embrace. The wolf lurches forward—his boy flails backward in response—and
the chain pulls tight, bringing the wolf up short.
“H-how do you know my name?” his boy asks again,
voice pitched high. There’s a tremor in it that’s close to breaking.
The wolf reaches out with a hand instead of a
paw, and then pulls it back.
He is scaring his boy.
Stiles doesn’t know him like this. His senses
aren’t the same as the wolf’s. He relies too much on sight, like all humans. He
doesn’t know they are pack.
The wolf moves back to the wall to give the
chain some slack. He rests there on his side, his legs drawn up to shield his
naked parts from the boy’s gaze. Humans have different ideas of modesty than
wolves. He remembers knowing that.
His boy stares at him wide-eyed.
The wolf lifts his nose to take in more of his
Under the stink of fear he smells better than he
did in their alleyway. He smells clean. His breath isn’t sour from being hungry
all the time. He smells of soap and shampoo. Someone has been taking care of
him in ways the wolf never could. The wolf is jealous of that, and at the same
time glad. And yet, his boy is here.
Stiles was supposed to run, and stay free, and yet he’s here. That was never supposed to happen. Kate was never supposed to
touch Stiles. The wolf’s boy was supposed to live.
“How do you know who I am?” Stiles asks, his
voice stronger this time. He shuffles forward a few inches. “Derek? How do you
know who I am?”
Have you seen Warm Bodies? What do you think of the idea of Zombie!Max compared to Ghost!Max?
So apparently my AU weakness is just [anything]!Max… …I regret nothing
He isn’t quite sure how this all happened. He knows he must have been alive at one point, probably had friends and family and maybe even a job, but he doesn’t remember any of that now. There are others like him, he knows that, but as far as he’s aware they don’t know how this happened either. If he had ever been much of a talker, he certainly isn’t now, and most of the others barely seem capable of speech. Groans and grunts are about the extent of their minimal communication with each other, on the rare chances that he happens across one.
The one thing he does know is that life (or unlife, he supposes) isn’t that easy out here. There aren’t a whole lot of dead like him, and not a whole lot of living left, either. The living that do remain tend to keep themselves pretty well defended. Some are enclosed within walls, some hide out in landscapes that aren’t particularly easy to traverse when you’re dead, and the ones that aren’t hiding in safety move through the wastes in modified, armored cars, often hunting the dead for sport.
His kind used to congregate around cities and towns, any collection of people they could prey on, but bit by bit they had picked them off, until the dead were forced to wander in search of what living might remain. Many groups found nothing, and probably withered and died out in the desert without the flesh of the living to sustain them, and many others were picked off by roaming bands of living. He himself had been shot and run over more times than he could count anymore, but he discovered it was easy to pretend you were completely dead when you were already mostly dead, and later found that staying away from groups of his own kind tended to be safer. A shambling herd of corpses was hard to hide (often too stupid to hide as well) and made an easy target, whereas a single dead man on his own was less likely to attract attention and it was much easier to duck away if he heard vehicles coming. Plus, on the rare occasions he caught a person (or animal, or honestly just found anything dead) he didn’t have to fight over it with other corpses. It was all his, and he could hide out and live off it for as long as it lasted.
And so he wanders, waiting and searching for the next meal to come along, just trying to survive even when the odds are mostly against him.
When he’s discovered by a group of living he assumes are roaming hunters, he hopes they’re bad shots and gets ready to play dead-dead as they start to zoom around him. Strangely enough, not a single one fires shots, but they stop their vehicles in a circle around him, and climb out to fight him by hand. They look a little dead themselves, pale and painted up like skeletons, but he knows the scent of the living when he smells it.
They seem to have this down to a routine, one baiting him in front while another tackles him from behind, and sooner than he knows it, he’s on the ground, arms behind his back, and they’re fitting a metal muzzle over his head.
A corpse is hardly a threat to the living if it can’t bite, and he knows this, but he’s just hungry enough to lunge and snap his teeth at them when they let him back up. They fight him off for a while, seeming to have fun with it more than anything, but eventually one drags him back by the chain on his muzzle and hitches him up to the back of one of their cars.
They drive away slowly, a few on the back yelling at him and baiting him as they move, drawing him forward by the deep hunger that he feels in his bones more than his stomach. He keeps up for a little while, stumbling forward as quickly as he can, but when he loses his footing and falls, none of them seem to care, and they continue to drag him along behind them.
His clothes are even more torn up than usual when they finally stop, but he’s only missing a bit of skin and is generally glad he doesn’t feel pain anymore because that probably would have hurt. They hold his chain leash tight and the ground under them suddenly lifts into the air, carrying him and the living men and a couple cars with it. It takes him a while to orient and realize it’s a lift. They bring him up into a massive, natural stone tower and then lead him, laughing and taunting and shoving all the while, through numerous tunnels until they reach a room where they fight him to the ground again, chain his feet together, and hoist him up into the air. He’s so beyond overwhelmed by everything going on around him, his brain mostly processing it but his body hardly able to keep up with what he wants it to do, that he doesn’t manage to put up much of a fight. He’s mostly disappointed that the muzzle means he can’t manage even a single bite, despite his desperate need for sustenance.
They leave him hanging like that, and he heaves a raspy sigh. He doesn’t know what they want with him, but he doesn’t anticipate that it’s going to involve feeding him.
The wolf is blind without the moon. He has no
way of knowing how much time has passed. He is in a place that is made of
concrete and metal and cold, cracked tiles that his blood has turned the color
of rust. There are rivets in the walls that stare at him like eyes in the
darkness. There are metal rings and loops of chains that hang like open mouths.
The wolf knows pain.
Death cards her cold fingers through his hair
and he whimpers at her. She looks at him with Laura’s eyes and echoes back the
sounds he makes.
The heels of Kate’s boots make clicking sounds
across the floor.
“Derek,” she says to the wolf. “Derek.”
He whines when she presses the probes of the
taser into his soft unprotected belly.
The electricity arcs through him. It is a
sharper pain than the wolf can understand. His body cannot take this pain and
process it. It is too fast, too much. It doesn’t escalate. It hits at a level
that is already so far past the wolf’s threshold for pain that he can barely
even whine. The pain is too much for the wolf’s body to contain. It snaps his
bones into different shapes, retracts his claws into blunt, grasping fingers,
and forces a human scream from his reformed larynx.