I've only felt religion when I lied with you
Summary : Griffin Bowen checked his favorite nightlight. He checked his favorite book 'Once Upon a Time'. He had to double-check on the figure by the window. The longer Mom talks the more certain he was that she must have not been aware of a third party in the attic. He tries his best to ignore the tall white haired boy lazily swinging his legs on the attic's windowsill.
Mostly born out of my great annoyance when I saw the Crossover section in FF. I checked and saw RotG crossover was suddenly four stories behind Avengers crossover and I just finished watching the movie Poltergeist and well, when I opened a new doc this just... spat out, I guess? *laugh* Vine's a reference for the Rope.
At first Griffin liked the house. Enough, at least. It was wide, spacious, and comfy. Very different from their small house in the suburban, where every house along the drive looks the same. The front garden was spacious too, he can't wait to start playing treasure hunting on the new grounds. And the ceilings are high, Mom and Dad wouldn't possibly mind if he flew his drone around. He spent the day fooling around with Maddy's closet doorknob and build a pirate story with her many dolls. He used her animal dolls as the crew and lets her Piggy (he never quite figured out its gender so he didn't use Mister or Missus) play captain, though he refuses to let her Barbie dolls play, even as hostage girls.
It was fun until his parents called him upstairs, twice, and found that he was to be sleeping in the attic room. He had held out hope even when they urged him to open the attic hatch, hoping to see a bunch of bathroom vent fan and plumbing vent stock, those weird pipes water goes through and that his father was just going to explain the mechanics. Instead he found his things laid out, some are still in boxes but the bed was already made. He checked his favorite nightlight, a plastic doll of a bony figure with white hair and bright green eyes. He checked his favorite story bookOnce Upon a Time. He had to double-check on the figure by the window.
Mom keeps chattering, telling him where she placed the important stuff, and generally being not very subtle in her urging for him to organize his Marvel comic books and school books and rocket models. The longer he listens the more certain he was of the fact that she must have not been aware of a third party in the attic. He tries his best to ignore the tall white haired boy lazily swinging his legs on the attic's windowsill.