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#ITS NOT BEING POSSESSIVE ITS MORE JUST oh yeah right we are not thinking the same thing even if we probably are
caramelcal · 8 months
Note
Hi, I love your story!! I wanted to know if you can do a when theo is jealous and leave hickey to fem reader. If your not comfortable that’s fine thank you 🤭.
LOVEBITES AND POTIONS
word count: 1.4k
a/n: hiya lovely! thank you for sending a request<3
warnings: fem!reader, no house specified. jealous!theo. boyfriend!theo, playful allegations of cheating/going on dates with others. hickeys.
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"Hey, y/n!" A voice called out from behind you, halting you in your movements.
It was a Friday, and you had just left your last class of the day, ready to relax over the weekend with your boyfriend, Theo. That's where you were heading right now; to his dorm.
Well, until someone called out from you.
"I'm glad I caught up with you," The voice said as you turned around, eyes catching onto Zacharias, a Hufflepuff boy in your year, and your potions partner.
"Hi, Zacharias," You gave the boy a pleasant smile, trying to be as nice as possible. You held your books in your hands in front of your chest, looking at the boy who seemed a little out of breath.
"Hi, um-" He started, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes cast away from you for a second, "I wanted to talk to you about our potions project."
You looked at him with a small smile, urging him to go on as he took a deep breath. Tons of students bustled around the two of you, loud, excited to get off to their dorms or hang out with their friends, and although you wanted nothing more than to run to Theo's dorm, you were patient with the boy in front of you.
He seemed nervous.
"Well, I was thinking we could get a headstart on our project, maybe tomorrow in the library?" He proposed, his eyes looking pretty much everywhere but your face, "I mean, I really need a good grade on this project, and I know that you like to..."
Zacharias continued, but you zoned out a little as your eyes caught on to a particular group of Slytherin boys. They all joked about, pushing each other, and just acting generally boisterous. Not a single one of them wore their robes, all claiming to be far too cool for them, their ties loosened and white sleeves rolled up.
Your eyes caught onto the familiar tall figure of your boyfriend as he laughed, his blue eyes catching onto yours as you smiled, getting a smile in return. His friends all started to notice you too, riling Theodore up as boys do when they saw the look in his eyes.
"Y/n?" A hand gently brushed against your shoulder, drawing your attention back towards Zacharias, his eyebrows slightly drawn, and a slight redness in his cheeks.
"That sounds like a good idea, Zacharias," His face brightened a little, "but I can't do tomorrow, I have plans with my boyfriend, sorry."
"Oh."
"We can start on Sunday though? How does that sound?"
A small smile makes its way back onto Zacharias' lips as he nods, "Yeah, that sounds good."
Before you can respond, however, to work out times or anything, you hear a call from behind you, "Y/n! C'mon! We don't have all day!"
Your head whips around, hearing Draco shout after you to get you to hurry up, only to realise all of the Slytherin boys are staring at you, waiting for you to come with them. With a smile, you turn back around and say your goodbyes to Zacharias, before practically skipping over to the boys.
Your eyes don't move from the tall blue-eyed boy, your arms thrown over his shoulders as you reach up and peck him on the cheek. His eyes don't quite meet yours, focusing on something behind you as his hands snake possessively around your waist, a kiss being placed on your forehead.
Then, you're whisked away to the Slytherin common room, and soon enough, Theodore's dorm. The door shuts behind your boyfriend as you place your books down on his bedside table, and he wastes little time pulling your robe away from your neck and down your shoulders, slipping it off your body.
"I missed you," You spoke quietly as you turned around in your boyfriend's hold, your hands going over his shoulders and curling into the hair on the nape of his neck.
Your head is on his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne and cigarettes, eyes closing at the comfort it brings you.
Theo hummed in response, pulling back a little as he picked you up with ease, placing you down on his bed as he sat beside you, facing you.
His lips soon find yours, his hand sitting around the back of your neck, keeping your lips firmly on his as his thumb caresses your hair away from the side of your neck. His free hand pulls at your tie, then unbuttons the top two buttons of your shirt, moving the fabric to free the side of your neck.
Then, his lips latch onto your neck, near your jaw, and the second you feel him suck and his teeth lightly graze over the skin, you know exactly what he's trying to do.
"Theo, lower. Those marks are going to be visible above my uniform."
Yet, he doesn't stop. In fact, he seems even more eager to mark up the side of your neck when he hears those words tumble from your lips.
"Theo."
He pulled away a little, but you could still feel his soft breaths against the bare skin of your neck. You looked down at him with a quizzical look.
"Why are you doing it so high?"
He avoided the question, his hands pushing your hair back once more as his eyes cast back down to the skin of your neck, "You excited about your date with your little boyfriend?"
"I didn't realise we'd planned a date this weekend."
"I'm talking about your other boyfriend," He quipped back sarcastically, before his lips made contact with another spot on your neck, littering what you can guarantee are going to be countless dark bruises along your neck.
Your eyebrows furrow at this remark as you try to piece together what Theodore could possibly be talking about. What other plans did you even have?
"Are you talking about Zacharias? He's just helping me with our potions project," You informed your boyfriend, your hand coming up to grab at the strands of his soft hair once more.
"Tell him to leave it, I'm better at potions anyway. I'll help you," Theodore bargained, without his mouth moving away from your neck.
He wasn't wrong. Theodore was brilliant at potions, but regardless of that, it was your and Zacharias' project, not you and Theodore's.
"Wait," A subtle smirk came to your lips as you began to piece together what was happening, your hand pushing Theo away from your neck, "Are you jealous, Theo?"
You held him in such a way that he was unable to attach his lips to your neck to continue his attack, your head tilting a little as you waited for a response.
Theodore rolled his eyes in response, mumbling, "No."
"Are you sure?" You pouted a little, raising an eyebrow at the way his eyes were cast to the side, not looking you in the eyes. His hair was a little messed up, and a small pout had made its way to his lips, too. He crossed his arms over his chest, almost comically, as if he was a child in a huff.
"That puff has nothing on me," He mumbled cockily, making you laugh softly as you moved your hands from holding him back. Not skipping a beat, Theo latched his lips back onto your skin, on the opposite side now.
"Stop," You laughed a little, "Snape's going to have a heart attack if he sees these."
You had absolutely no doubt that these were going to be a pain in the ass to hide. Even with your hair down, it was going to be a real struggle. With how many Theodore had left too, you knew the chances of you being able to cover them with makeup was going to be difficult, too.
"Hope the puff does, too," Theodore mumbled almost childishly.
"Don't be jealous, Theo," You spoke softly, your hand coming up to play with his hair once more, your other hand rubbing his back, "You know I'm yours."
"You're right," Theodore responded, pulling away from the last hickey he made, then pressing a soft kiss against your neck, now littered with marks, then your jaw, then your lips. Finally pulling back, his blue eyes meet yours, a smile coming to his face as he surveys his work, then your face, "All mine."
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tonythr · 2 months
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Quick Slash is even cooler from a narrative perspective, and why I think the Nailsmith's story parallels the Pale King's
Cold take: Quick Slash is the best charm in Hollow Knight.
Slightly Warmer take: Quick Slash is the only S-tier charm that is great from both gameplay and lore perspective (aside from maybe Spell Twister).
The reason for this is that its existence is actually a
metaphor
Here, look at this.
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So, Quick Slash is something that was created from a relatively big number of objects that were discarded and deemed imperfect, and that possess a collective will of wanting to fulfill their purpose.
You know what that reminds me of?
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A large amount of creations: check.
Discarded as imperfect: check.
Still possessing a will to find closure: check.
Being a part of a larger, more powerful thing: check.
Having a common creator who is responsible for their creation and rejection: check.
So yeah, I think that Quick Slash's lore (or at least its description) is meant to parallel that of the Vessels'.
But I wanna talk about that last point: the creator.
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It is heavily implied that the person who created and then later discarded those nails was the Ancient Nailsmith we see in the room where we get Quick Slash.
(Oh by the way I just realized that this stone ring thing on the right of that room is actually the furnace, neat.)
Judging from their Dreamnail dialogue, this Ancient Nailsmith was trying to achieve the same goal as the other, more famous Nailsmith we all know and love: creating a Pure Nail.
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And you know who else was trying to create a perfect, Pure thing while discarding many other similar things that later gained a collective will?
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That's right - it's the guy who is also responsible for creating those other discarded things we discussed earlier!
Ok, but what I really wanted to talk about here is how all of what I just said ties back to that other, more famous guy - The Nailsmith.
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We don't know for sure how the story of the Ancient Nailsmith ended, but it feels like it exists there mainly to put an emphasis on the City's Nailsmith's story; to convey that his struggle is an important theme in this narrative (because ancient means important, ok?) And, I mean, the City's Nailsmith's story also parallels that of the Pale King's in the same manner, right?
The thing is, we already know how PK's story ended.
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In trying to achieve perfection, to create an eternal Kingdom by making a Pure Vessel devoid of mind, voice and will, the Pale King doomed himself to be taken over by his regrets, by the vast emptiness of the futility of his struggles. But was it because he failed, or because that was where his story was headed all along?
What if PK succeeded? What if the Radiance was sealed forever? What if his Kingdom actually stood eternal, never to change, never to end? What if he realized he achieved his only goal in life?
And that's the part where we get to a story the ending of which is up to the player's choice.
To quote White Lady, only two obvious outcomes there are from such a thing.
The first is an honorable death by the fruits of his labor.
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If we choose to kill the Nailsmith with the Pure Nail, he dies happy, knowing that his life's goal is accomplished and having gained all the satisfaction he could from it.
The second I find preferable, a new passion.
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If the Nailsmith doesn't feel the finishing blow of the Pure Nail, he is left unsatisfied. But, while trying to resolve that unsatisfaction, he eventually finds something (and someone) that gives him a new calling, a new thing to create, a new reason to live.
And, while those are both equally valuable, equally canonic outcomes, don't you think the second one is just... better? I mean, not only does it include the achievement of the Nailsmith's goal, but it lets him live AND gives two lonely souls a partner in life! I feel like that's the thing this narrative is trying to convey. What it's trying to say about the meaning of life, about our dreams.
Maybe that was the ultimate folly of the Pale King - the inability to change. His story would've ended in the same way, regardless of whether Hallownest lasted eternally or not. He would be dead, if not by the hands of the Void, but by his own - but ultimately, by the hands of that vast emptiness of realizing that you achieved your only goal and that now all there is for you is this eternal satisfaction that slowly fades away, leaving you with nothing.
TL;DR: Quick Slash is the best because it's a metaphor for discarded vessels; perfection is overrated, try to get laid instead.
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angelltheninth · 10 months
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begging you for ak!jason x hero reader hate sex pls imagining it is not enough i need to read it and inject it into my brain 😁
Pairing: AK!Jason Todd x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, table sex, secret relationship, hate sex, banter, enemies who fuck, age-gap, pussy slapping, clit stimulation, size difference, name-calling, degradation, size kink, condom use, body betrayal, Reader is Batman's new ally
Word count: 0.7k
A/N: I wanted this to be short but I got carried away, evil Jason was just too hot.
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Jason smirked at you, his armor leaving indents on your thighs as they were spread out for him. "Wipe that smirk of you face already, its disturbing." You push your hand against him, of which he bites the fingers off one by one as the table under you shakes from the force of his deep, hard thrusts. "Fuck! Are you trying to break the table?"
"No, just you." He pushes closer, his hands on your hips, encouraging you to roll your hips with him. You try not to, you try not to give him the satisfaction of it, but can't resist him, "What would Bruce say if he knew his new friend was spreading her legs for me? Bet he'd be really angry with you. Yeah, I'm thinking... a little spanking for the naughty girl."
"Bruce wouldn't- ah, fuck, oh!" You grabbed onto the edge of the table, your cowl fully slipping, your face revealed, eyes widening. "D-Don't look at me you motherfucker, this is just-" He slapped your pussy again before pressing his fingers against your clit.
Your hips rose from the table to meet his thrusts, the echoing sounds filling the storage house. The weapons you used lay aside, the condom wrapper glistening in the dim light. At least he remembered that not wanting a repeat of you denying him like last time.
Last time. "We should stop doing this Jason. It' wrong." You were a hero, and him... something much darker, not a villain not yet but he was so close to that title.
"Yeah its real fucked up how easy you are. Letting me fuck you, coming all the time, screaming my name. But you have been distracting me more then usual. Maybe you should let every villain in this city fuck you, see if you can set them on the correct path. Then again, I am a very possessive man, I would kill any guy who wants this sweet hole. Its mine." Jason took your hands in one of his and pinned them down, "Keep them there, don't you dare move."
For some reason you listened. It was so shameful to obey him but had Jason's big, hard cock pumping in and out, making your body react.
"She obeys!" Jason boasted laugning.
"Fuck you." You still had the strength to flip him the bird.
"Aw that's adorable, is that the finger you use when you think of me?" You did. More then one finger because one wasn't nearly enough. "Bet you love having the real thing huh? Finally a man who knows what to do with a whore cunt like yours." He curled his finger over your clit, sending your back arching. "You think he's listening right now?"
No, the comms were off, you made sure of that. "N-No. He can't be."
"Then why is your pussy trembling so much? You want him to hear? Didn't know you let cockhungry sluts in your ranks these days Bruce. Must be real desperate. Poor little thing probably didn't even know how much of a slut she was." He spoke with an almost maniacal edge to his voice, his cock twitching inside you.
"S-Stop it. Its not true." You whimpered, getting all teary eyed.
"Yes. It. Is." He accompanied every word with a slap on your pussy, each sting making your head spin until a high pitched moan left your mouth, "Hear that Bruce?! That's your partner being my little whore!"
"I- I hate you." You managed to still bite back but your body didn't agree with your actions, and honestly you weren't sure your heart did either but that was easier to ignore when you were being pounded by Jason's cock. "I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!" Jason was only spurred on by your words, fucking every inch of his fat cock into you until he felt your walls tighten. Despite your best efforts not to your body reacted to his, stars dancing behind your eyes, head spinning, only able to feel his cock still working between your legs and his fingers on your clit. "St-ah-op."
"But babygirl," Jason pulled out and took the condom off, letting the cum gather on the floor, "We still have the whole box of these to go through."
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jasonsmirrorball · 5 months
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OCTOBER 28: IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU BABY (NO ONE ELSE IN THIS WORLD CAN) JASON TODD (3.3K)
kinktober prompt: overstimulation | kinktober masterlist
synopsis. jason doesn't seem to understand just how attractive he is, so it falls to you to make sure he knows who he belongs to.
cw: f!reader, edging, overstimulation, oral sex (m! receiving), piv sex, public sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, dom!reader, minor begging, switchy jason, possessive reader minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact you will be blocked
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You leave Jason’s side for one brief moment–the host of the party comes up to where you’re standing in the kitchen, asking for a favour as more and more people start arriving and you excuse yourself from his arms with a playful wink. 
“We need to go on a drinks run,” she lets you know, running a hand through her hair, and you giggle when it moves away from her shoulder, exposing the spot on her neck to you. She grins, her gaze cutting across the room to find the perpetrator, a tall, brown skinned boy who, judging by the way he’s looking at her, is eagerly waiting for her to return to him. “Can you move your car for a sec? Sorry, I didn’t think I’d need to use the car tonight.”
Your eyes widen, shaking your head. “Oh! Yeah, no, of course.”
It’s easy enough to pull out of the driveway, Jason’s keys still in your purse from where he’d slipped them earlier but finding a spot on the crowded suburban street is difficult, and by the time you return to the house, you’re impatient to get back to Jason’s side.
It had taken a monumental effort on your part to even get him here, tonight, after the week the both of you had had, and you weren’t sure he’d be pleased at being left alone for too long. He’d only started to loosen up a little when you’d been called away, eyes slipping into a half lidded gaze that warmed you right down to your toes, hands possessively skimming the too tiny skirt you’d zipped yourself into. 
A low bass reverberates through the walls when you enter, thumping loud enough that you feel it as you make your way across the floor, crawling up from the ground and settling in your veins. All around you, bodies are bathed in a soft blue and purple glow, glitter refracting off exposed collars and arms. Your own wrists twinkle with the residue as you bump into girls who giggle out drunken apologies, and you can’t help but smile. 
Still, you weave your way through the packed first floor to the back of the house, where the crowd thins and tapers off. Only a few people mill about in the kitchen, and surprisingly, your boyfriend isn’t one of them. 
You stop short in the entrance to the kitchen, sweeping across the space to make sure you haven’t missed him, but sure enough, not a single one bears any resemblance to your six foot something man. 
“I think he went to the bathroom!” one of the guys nearby says, who’d been talking to Jason when you’d last seen him, and you shoot him a grateful smile before spinning on your heel. 
You go no further than the foyer, about to climb the staircase, when your gaze pulls back into the living room and–
There he is. Standing at the far edge of the room, pouring himself a drink, bathed in bright violet and indigo, is Jason. You admire the lines of his face, lips shiny from the drink in his hands and catching the light. 
As though tugged forward by some invisible thread, your feet propel forward of their own conviction, and you’re pushing through the throng again, swallowed by the sea of bodies but your gaze remains on the man ahead.
Even beneath the jacket he dons, the white t-shirt is tight around his chest and you stare shamelessly, flames sparking low in the pit of your stomach when you catch a glimpse of the chain around his neck, silver glittering low in the light as he shifts, tucked into the collar where its pendant remains unseen. 
You reach the edges of the crowd and your steps slow as you approach him, blood icing over when you take in the girl he’s talking to. Reaching out, you murmur his name.
It mollifies you that he hears you immediately, head snapping your way and eyes lighting in quiet pleasure. 
“Sweetheart.” He curls an arm around your waist unthinkingly and you settle into his side, offering the girl–still unnamed–a quick smile. “What took you so long?”
“Sorry,” you reply, peering into the cup in his hand. “Had to move the car, and it took forever to find somewhere to park. What’s in this?”
“Just juice–that was mine,” he chides, when you finish the rest of it off. “Nice, baby. Really nice.”
“You’re not drinking tonight?”
It takes you a moment to realise the question is addressed to you, Jason’s companion looking at you expectantly and you startle, jumping to answer. 
“Sorry, yeah, I’ve got something tomorrow, so…” you hold the cup up by way of explanation, and she nods, face breaking out into an understanding grin.
She’s pretty, with sleek dark hair and eyes that are curtained by a set of thick, full lashes. You feel a little silly, when she smiles at you so nicely, for acting so childishly. She doesn’t seem to have noticed your little pout, though, or if she has she doesn’t let on, tucking a lock of hair behind her hair and introducing herself.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” she says, and you shake your head in agreement, giving her your name. Her eyes cut back and forth between you and Jason, and then she’s stepping back a little, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ve gotta get going, but I’ll probably see you guys around.”
“See you,” you echo and behind you Jason mutters the same sentiment, his chin brushing the top of your head. 
You wait until she’s out of sight before turning in his arms, hand coming up to slip under the neck of his top. Immediately he begins to squirm, sputtering protests laced with incredulous laughter. “Sweetheart–what are you–”
Your fingers hook under the chain of his necklace, and tug it out until it lays over his shirt, pendant settling against the white material, the blunt silver of your initial hanging over his heart. Only then do you let go. 
When you go to turn back around, he catches your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours for a moment before his mouth breaks out into the most cocky grin you’ve ever seen, dripping with barely contained arrogance. You know then that you’ve been caught out but you simply raise a brow, keeping your face impassive as best as you can.
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he lilts playfully, voice dropping as he bends his head closer, “is something wrong?”
“Everything’s fine, Jason,” you say coolly and if possible, his smirk only widens. 
“You sure, baby?” he prods innocently, tilting his head, puppy-like and mockingly naive. Red skims across his jaw, a slash of light that highlights just how sharp his features are, pretty and inviting. 
“I’m sure.” Flatly voiced, it’s a poor assurance and you both know it. You stare up at him for a moment before announcing, “I need to go to the bathroom.”
His brow quirks at the turn of subject but he bobs his head, setting down his empty cup on the sideboard. “Okay, let’s go.”
You turn on your heel and make your way to the stairs. Jason’s hands remain at your waist, close behind as he follows you through the crowd and up the steps. Most of the party is downstairs, and it grows quieter–only marginally–as you climb to the second floor. The music is muddied through the floorboards, pulsing beneath your shoes with every step.
You leave the door open behind you and moved further into the space. When it clicks shut, you know that Jason has followed you in. Good, you think, and lean over the sink to peer into the mirror. 
For a few beats, there is only silence, words unspoken over the muffled pounding of the music below. You fiddle with your outfit, smoothing out the fabric of your skirt and wiping the corner of your mouth where the lipstick you’d applied has begun to smudge. In the corner of your eye, Jason leans against the door and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. 
You turn to face him, resting against the sink. He straightens under your gaze.
“Do you get off,” you say steadily, voice low, “on provoking me?”
“Provoking you?”
You push off the sink, taking slow steps towards him. Your shoes click against the floor, and downstairs the music shifts to something more upbeat. You watch Jason’s eyes lazily drag down your figure, his throat jumping when you close the small distance between the both of you.
You reach up, hooking your index finger under the chain around his neck. The letter rests against the pad of your finger, the accompanying birthstone twinkling with the movement. 
“It’s funny,” you muse, your tone anything but amused. “You wear this, but it really feels like you don’t know who you belong to. Guess I’m gonna have to show you. Is that what you want?”
When he doesn’t speak, you tug on the chain and he jerks forward, lashes fluttering and pupils expanding as he stares down at you. In one breath, his teal irises are swallowed by onyx pools, lips parting in want.
“Yeah,” he rasps out. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”
You shake your head before pulling him down and slotting your mouth to his. He tastes sweet, the juice lingering on his tongue. Hands wrap around your waist and you press closer, feeling the heat of his chest against yours. The leather of his jacket squeaks with the strain of his arms and you can’t help but smile into his mouth, tongue darting out to lick at the seam of his mouth. 
“Lock the door,” you murmur into his mouth, willing your voice to remain steady but it comes out a little breathless. He huffs out a laugh but reaches behind him nonetheless, twisting the lock with a click that echoes slightly in the tiled bathroom. 
You twist away slightly, redirecting your attention to his jaw and grazing your teeth along the skin there. He shivers, head dropping against the wooden door and providing you better access. Control steadily unravelling, you surge forward to mouth at his neck. He squirms, pitiful little exhales bordering on whines as you lave at the skin, pulling it with your teeth and soothing it over with your tongue. 
“Ah–sweetheart, I–” he stumbles over his words, hands gripping the fabric of your skirt tightly. It bunches up in his fists, and you feel the glide of it as it rides up your thighs. 
Pulling back to survey your work, you grin up at him with spit slicked lips before swatting his hands away and sinking to your knees. Nosing at his thigh, you fumble with the clasp of his belt and undo his jeans hastily, tugging his pants and boxers down in one pull. One of your hands come up to push the hem of his white shirt upwards in silent direction, and obediently he bites the fabric. Unobstructed, his cock presses against his stomach and your smile feels filthy as you shuffle forward.
The tiles beneath your knees are cold and unforgiving, but you ignore them as you take him into your mouth. Above you, there’s a muffle whimper as you suckle on the head, drool gathering on your tongue as you close your lips around him messily. The pearl of spend settles on your tongue, salty and slightly bitter, and you relax your jaw to take more of him in. The muscles in his stomach contract and you hum, directing your eyes upward.
Jason stares down at you through lowered eyelids, lashes casting swooping shadows on his cheeks, breathing ragged. A flush settles over his face, a pink tint painted over his nose and cheeks that ruins any semblance of composure–he groans, eyes squeezing shut and straining open to gaze at you. His hand comes to settle on your cheek, cradling your head with trembling fingers. 
Your own hands part ways, one reaching to his mouth and the other sneaking beneath your parted thighs. Jason spits into your palm, shirt falling back down and you close your fingers around the rest of his cock, squeezing the length your mouth doesn’t take in. He takes the dampened fabric into his free hand, balling the hem against his chest.
“Shit, jus’ like that,” he gasps, fingers against your cheek pressing into the flesh and you hum, bobbing your head.
Between your legs, your underwear has grown slick, thin and flimsy and not meant for much more than pleasing the eye. You tug them to the side, immediately greeted by wet strings that coat your fingers. Your legs ache as you shift, pressing circles into your most sensitive parts as you sloppily mouth at Jason’s cock.
You can barely hear the party over the sound of your heartbeat, thundering in your ears, but a garbled noise reaches you. Jason chokes on a breath, head tipping back and stomach tightening visibly as he approaches his peak. With an amused hum, you pull your mouth off him, hand splaying across his thigh as his orgasm is cut off abruptly. 
He looks down at you, brows pinching confusedly. 
“You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” you coo. You shake your head, tutting. “What kind of a lesson would that be, baby.”
Your fingers continue to move beneath your skirt and a noise gets caught in your throat. Jazon zeroes in on it, eyes cutting to your legs and groaning.
“Not fair,” he grumbles and you lean against his thigh, cheek pressing against the soft flesh.
“Mm…no I think this is pretty fair,” you murmur, kissing the skin. “I wasn’t the one chatting up some other girl.”
“Wasn’t chatting her up,” he denies, and you shift up again, reaching for his cock. Mouth softly at the head, you swipe your thumb across the slit and watch him shudder.
“No?” you question. He shakes his head.
“Was just talkin’.”
“So I should let you come, huh?” you mumble, taking him into your mouth once more and his hips stutter forward when you suck a little harder. 
“Fuck,” he grouses, breath hitching. “Sweetheart–please.”
You smile as best as you can with the weight of him pressing on your tongue, but don’t answer. Your legs have begun to tremble with the strain of supporting your body, knees aching terribly against the tile, but you take pleasure in watching Jason turn desperate. 
For a little while longer, you continue your ministrations to the sound of Jason’s breathless whispers above you–
“Just like that–fuck, you’re so good–”
One, drawn out, “Ugh, sweetheart.”
You rock your hips against your fingers, your own whimpers muffled and vibrating against his cock. His breaths steadily grow shallower, movements jerky under your mouth and hands until he’s loudly gasping, teetering on the edge of release. Immediately, your lips pop off him, hand falling to your side and he kicks his head back into the door, face crumpling.
You raise on shaky knees, taking the hand he offers you to lean against him for a moment before you pull him with you to the counter, slipping onto the marble. Jason steps between your legs, pushing you against the mirror and you feel a few items clatter to the floor, the sound of hard plastic against tile echoing. You’re uncaring, slipping your fingers into his mouth and using the other hand to guide his along your hips. 
Wordlessly, Jason tugs the hem of your skirt up, tongue soft and wet around your fingers. When you pull them from his mouth, he gives you a dippy grin, swooping down to kiss you messily.
“You think you deserve to cum?” you murmur into his mouth, and he hisses.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he presses, pleading. “Need it so bad.”
You reach between the both of you, circling your hand around his cock once more before guiding him to your entrance, head catching against your clit for a moment and sending a shudder through the both of you before it slips in. Jason sighs, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, angling your mouth to his ear.
“Prove it to me,” you say lowly, “that you deserve it.”
Like a switch has been flipped, he thrusts forward, setting a dizzying pace that makes it difficult for you to stay quiet. Sweat crowds at your temples as he stretches you out and fucks you, hips slapping against yours. 
Downstairs, the party rages on and you’re grateful for the noise when it becomes too hard to hide the whimpers Jason pulls from you, teeth digging into your bottom lip in a weak effort to muffle the cries that slip loose when he angles his hips just so, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. Your toes curl in your shoes, legs hitched up around his waist. 
“‘S not enough is it,” you find yourself gasping, fingers digging into his back through his shirt. “Gotta–fuck–gotta mark you up so everybody knows you’re–oh–taken!” 
“So. Fuckin’. Jealous.” Jason times his thrusts with each word, sending you arching off the counter. 
“You knew that when you d-decided to date me,” you grit, a few tears slipping from your eyes when you close them. “Knew that when you put that necklace on.”
He grins, a wild thing in the flickering bathroom light, almost feral as he drags his teeth down the side of your neck. “Mm…got me there,” he mumbles into your skin.
You catch his hair in your hand, pulling him away to look at you. 
“Tell me who you belong to,” you say raggedly, “and I’ll let you come.”
His hips stutter and he slots his mouth against yours, the words coming in a rush. “Yours, baby, ‘m all yours,” he gasps. The slick sounds of your sex are loud in the bathroom, Jason’s fingers reaching between the both of you to circle your clit in time with his thrusts. 
You kiss him back, feeling your own thread rapidly unravel with every slap of his hips, growing sloppier as he becomes more desperate. Spit smears across your lips, his tongue licking into your mouth greedily. 
“Come for me, then.”
Jason manages to hold off until you break, sloppily fucking into you until you come with a broken moan, fingernails digging into his shoulder and likely ruining his shirt. He pulls out just as he finishes, coming all over your bare thighs, a wounded sound broken off in his throat. 
You stare dazedly at the streams of white as you come down from your high, cum slipping down your legs slowly while you regain your breath. When you look up, Jason looks just as disheveled, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled from both your hands and his. The bruises on his neck have begun to bloom already, dark marks of purple that litter his skin. 
“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs when he catches you eyeing them, reaching for some toilet paper. You sit on the counter and let him wipe you down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Getting jealous over some random girl.”
“If I can’t have you…” you trail off in a hum and he rolls his eyes, swooping down to kiss you. 
“Yeah, yeah. I’m yours, you freak,” he reminds you, and then catching sight of his reflection in the mirror behind you, he grimaces. He begins to complain, “Fuck, sweetheart, how the fuck ‘m I supposed to get out of here looking like this…look like I got mauled.”
You can only offer an innocent smile when he tugs a hand through his hair.
“You know I’m totally gonna get you back for this, right?”
Tugging down your skirt and fixing your top, you head for the door to unlock it. You look over your shoulder, halfway across the threshold.
“Kind of counting on it, handsome.”
The last thing you see before you slip outside is his slackened jaw.
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this is so unedited because i was in a rush and i refuse to go through grammarly or any ai to check it. i'm sorry if there are any spelling errors etc i will hopefully come back to fix them but for now!! here is the 4th and second to last installment of kinktober!!!!
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bunnypeew · 1 month
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Wicked little thing - Alastor x Gn!reader NSFW
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warnings: NSFW, MDNI pls thank you,, possessive Alastor, pet names, established relationship, doesn't really have a plot just smut dom!Alastor, sub!reader
okay so this is gonna be NSFW I am aware that Alastor is ace but Id like to say that it is a spectrum and a lot of people who are ace themselves also write NSFW of Al, but in case anything happens I'll be happy to take it down also the outfit is primarily like shorts/miniskirt and a shirt with a boob window
Today was a peaceful day, well at least as peaceful as it could get in hell anyway, Y/n was getting ready in their room in the hotel, they weren't sure of what to wear so they opted for a pretty open outfit since it was hot that day, not thinking one bit about what other people might think, the important thing is that they were comfortable. So they went down to the lobby to get some errands from Charlie for the day, she was hanging out at the bar with Husk and Vaggie talking about god knows what but as soon as she saw Y/n coming in her direction she perked up ready to say hi to them
''Oh hi Y/n!! Good morning!! You came down to get some errands I presume?,,
she said excitedly taking them by the hand to greet them even more, they couldn't help but smile at her excitement
''yeah ahah, hope I'm not interrupting anything tho,,
she shook her head smiling looking back at them with kind of a serious face even tho it was still filled with excitement
''Okay so I need you to do some errands outside in cannibal town, you know how the people helped us and everything id like for you to give this to Rosie! sadly I'm too busy to do it myself I hope Its not a bother,,
''not at all, don't even worry about Charlie I will go there right away,,
they say taking said thing from Charlie's hands and heading out of the Hotel. As they arrived at cannibal town it took them a while to remember where Rosie's emporium was but as soon as they found they sighed in relief. It's not like they didn't like cannibal town, hell Alastor was a cannibal so it wasn't that, it's just that being outside with a bunch of people around made them uneasy.
As they enter the emporium they hear Rosie talking to someone so they walk towards the voices to find Alastor is the one she was talking to, they weren't surprised at all, Rosie was one of Alastor's dear friend so it was usual for them to be talking. They put all their attention towards Rosie not even noticing how Alastor was gripping his staff a little too tight
''Hey Rosie! I came here to give you something Charlie wanted you to have! here!,,
they say giving them the thing from their hands, Rosie was really happy and thanked them profusely also asking them if they wanted a pinky finger or something, but they declined kindly. It was at this point that Alastor got up from his seat, planting a hand on Y/n waist a little roughly
''My dear Rosie, it was a pleasure speaking to you but it seems that me and this little thing have to be going! till next time!,,
and like that shadows engulfed them making them appear in the shared bedroom they had at the hotel. Alastor then with one hand rotates them around roughly, putting one hand under their chin and pulling their head up to look at him while the other one digs in their waist. Y/n was confused at this little aggression that Alastor was displaying, it was not like it at all
''Don't I always tell you to be careful my dear, mh?~ what is going on with this distasteful outfit you are wearing, how many people looked at you,,
Y/n looked him in the eyes understanding what was going on: He was jealous and nonetheless possessive they didn't say anything, wanting Alastor to get even more worked up over how they looked today. Seeing this Alastor pushes them onto the bed and places himself between their legs, one hand digging into their hip while the other one is around their pretty little neck
''not replying now are we, pet?~ Let's see how much you can hold in your words, shall we?..
with that, he roughly took off their pants and slipped out his cock then pushed it all in one thrust, this made Y/n whimper with their mouth closed not wanting to give up on being a brat just yet. Alastor was going rough, hard and fast savouring every thrust, still holding on to their neck, the other hand claws digging deeper in their hip with each thrust
''you belong to me, do you understand that pet?~,,
he says waiting for an answer from them, when he doesn't get one he slaps their ass making them moan out loud, he then gets his face closer to theirs to whisper in their ear
''I want an answer my love~,,
they moan putting both their hands around the hand that Alastor had around their necks, they decide they've been a brat enough, after all they didn't want the radio demon to get even more aggressive
''Yes Alastor,,
he then smirks and kisses them on the neck going back to his pace now a little slower and softer
''Good pet,,
he says now kissing them on the neck and savouring every moan that comes out of their mouth. He then starts going even faster when he starts reaching his climax, his hands both on their hips digging into their skin, and finishing in them with one last hard thrust. He then flops himself on their chest breathing heavily
''Sorry I made you mad Al~,,
they say now in a soft voice, putting their hands in Alastor's hair to stroke at his deer ears, this makes him hum softly
a/n: I LOVE ALASTOR WITH MY ENTIRE BEING!! and him being possessive wowie sign me in!!! hope you guys liked this and remember my requests are now open in case anyone wants to suggest a prompt!!
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hanaonesflower · 1 year
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Iwaizumi finds himself looking at you, puzzled at the way you shy away from his touch. He doesn’t quite get it. But he doesn’t want to push. Hajime does what he knows how to do best; talks it out. Or he tries really hard to. Ever since he’s been more comfortable around you, his arms often swing behind your shoulders and his hands usually are intertwined with yours but he hasn’t stopped to notice that you don’t openly accept his touches.
“Honey, stop.” His tone far from harsh but it still manages to stop you dead in your tracks. You turn to see him, finding your lover standing a couple feet away from you, his arms unoccupied, flinching with the itch for wanting to hold you.
“Hi? Is something wrong?” Regardless of how it may seem, Hajime is not good with his words. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times only for hopeless croaks to escape his throat. He looks, sad. So, so sad. His arms are being brought up, holding out as if he is collecting a reward, well in this case the reward would be to hold you longer.
“Can you come here, please?” Oddly enough you don’t protest, you don’t try to question him. Instead you step towards him as if someone has possessed you, Hajime looks relieved, he doesn’t have to fight for it. Even though, we all know that he would. “Can you, can I — can you let me hold you, please?” Oh. Yeah. You think. It still doesn’t occur to you that Hajime caught onto the way you shorten every hug, halt every kiss before it gets too deep, shake your hand away from his grasp. Physical touch makes you feel queasy, and it is oh so unpleasant. The direct linkage of physical touch to sex makes you uncomfortable, feeling like each touch has to be accompanied by sexual intimacy. Why does it have to be like that?
Once the distance between you decreases he quickly pulls you close, wraps his arms around your torso tightly. Afraid of losing you.
“D-don’t pull away just yet, okay?” You stay, without saying a word. Hajime doesn’t say much either, it doesn’t take long for your breathing to sync with one another. It was peaceful, tranquil. His hand instinctively travels lower towards your waist, and just like clockwork, you pull away, resisting the strength of his arms. You should have known by now that Hajime can rage storms with his eyes but shut them down just as fast with the way his arms bring so much peace.
“Why?” He asks. This isn’t a normal look for Hajime, he looks like he is on the brink of tears. And you feel yours begin to pour. He doesn’t deserve this. You don’t get to treat him like this. Poor boy just wants to show you what genuine touch feels like and you refuse to give him a chance. “Why can’t I touch you? Why can’t I hold you?” He feels so bad. Hajime tries to rethink about all the things he might have done that led you to feeling unbearable being held by him.
Resolve crumbling at your feet. Physical touch is his way of expressing his love, it’s always something that has always bring him comfort, stability, it has grounded him in many situations. He wants to feel close to you, but he has never felt so far away. It feels like a part of himself is always missing, hiding within you. This is cruel. This is isolating.
Without saying much you crouch to reach him, arms wrapping his shoulders, snuggling your head in his neck, situating in its rightful place. You two don’t share much words in this moment, not much is needed to be said anyway. The way he’s breaking down, longing so badly for the touch of his beloved, so much it hurts. The way his neurons fire, sending chills down his back and the way his skin heats up at the moment you make contact. You hold him and you don’t let go. You stay until you both are spent from the tears you shed. “I’ll hold you like this forever if I could, Haji, I’m sorry.” You believe that you finally get it now. Physical touch doesn’t have to feel evil, it can feel just like this. His hands find your torso again, timid, but he’s willing to try. he sighs into your touch, so relieved to be reconnected with the part of himself he once relinquished to you.
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eardefenders · 2 months
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Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 1 Transcript
00:00-00:30 Intro Music
*Typing Sounds*
0:36 Sherlock: What are you doing?
0:37 John: I’m collating the questions from the fans. Ah-well, d’you know actually they might not be fans. They might just. *pause* I don’t, I don’t know, listen, but, uh, ah, you know not actually, you know-
0:48 Sherlock: -Like you?
0:49 John: What?
0:49 Sherlock: They might not actually like you.
0:51 John: Us. The show. Anything. What do you mean ‘not like me’? Why would they not like me?
0:57 Sherlock: Well…you can come on a little strong…sometimes, I suppose.
1:02 John: In what way?
1:03 Sherlock (voice slightly high): You’re just, rather, keen. (voice normal, reassuring even) Nothing wrong with that of course.
1:07 John (sarcastically): Oh, great, thanks.
1:09 Sherlock: That’s something people add after making a crude observation on another’s character.
1:14 John (warily): What is?
1:14 Sherlock: “Nothing wrong with that of course.”
1:17 John: So you just added it because you thought-
1:19 Sherlock: It would soften the blow.
1:20 John (sarcastic): Lovely. Very kind.
1:23 Sherlock (clearly missing the sarcasm): Quite alright.
1:24 John: Okaaay, we got some Q’s from the L’s, and now its time for us to provide the A’s. That’s, uh, that’s questions from the listeners and for us to provide the answers.
1:36 Sherlock: Yes, I cracked the code, Watson.
1:39 John: Right! So! Beau from California wants to know where they should go when they visit London.
1:44 Sherlock: Er, sorry, uh, I thought this was about crime?
1:47 John: Whaddya mean?
1:48 Sherlock: I thought there would be questions regarding criminal activity?
1:52 John (lightly sarcastic): Oh, right yeah, sorry. Um, there is one here from ‘PsychoMurderer69’ who wants to know if he should stab his next-door neighbor.
1:58 Sherlock (seriously): What’s the length of the blade he’d have access to?
2:00 John: Jesus Christ.
2:00 Sherlock: Does the neighbor show signs of possessing any self-defense skillsets?
2:04 John (interjecting over Sherlock): Alright, no, where should Beau visit in London, please?
2:09 Sherlock: Um, uh, St. Dunstan in the East. Little Venice. Spitalfields. Brick Lane. The Vaults! Neal’s Yard is rather charming as well, I suppose…pleasing colors on display.
2:20 John: Right, great. Colors. See, that wasn’t difficult, was it?
2:23 Sherlock: South Kensington Ice Rink.
2:25 John: Yeah, lovely. I- Sorry, where are you going?
2:26 *Sound of door opening.*
2:27 Sherlock: I just said.
2:27 *Audio Cut - Vaguely outside sounds.*
2:28 John (sounding like he’s struggling to balance): Heeey, folks its, woah, woah, Ja-ah,*sound of skate blades scraping deeply in ice* Jesus, aw, bloody hell, ahahaaah Christ. *sounds of the mic rubbing as he presumably falls down, a sharp intake of pained breath* Ahh.
2:35 Sherlock (sounding at ease): Get up, Watson.
2:36 John: Ah, oh yeah, thanks for the advice. Uh, um, hey folks-*under his breath*ah, God- Sherlock, can get *sounding unsteady on his feet* easily distracted when he’s not w-w-what’d’you call it. Uh. Totally onboard with something. So he wanted to *sounding unsteady again* go ice-ce skating. Uhum *clears throat*, uh there’s a-a rink. Temporary rink open in South Kensington right now so we’re skating- hey-oh, ooo-getting up some speed now. Oh here we go. Ha ha hah! God is this what Canadians feel like? Oy oy! *laughs proudly*
3:10 Sherlock: Very good, Watson. You’ve got the hang of it.
3:11 John: Hahah, yeah well I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m not smashing my ribs into the ice, uh, for the time being. So-woah! Shit!- *clears throat* Right! Another question!
3:21 Sherlock: Go for it.
3:22 John: “What are your favorite hobbies?”
3:24 Sherlock: *with relish* CRIME. Deductions. Observations! Intricate studies that focus my mind. Feeding my hyper fixations, which often stem from crime and the desire to understand it.
3:37 John: …Riiiight. Yeah, I think the listener Sherlo8 in Poland, uh, I think they meant more like, um, you know, I don’t know. Golf?
3:48 Sherlock: Golf? *chuckles* I don’t golf. I live in Baker Street.
3:52 John: No, I-I know, but, um. *deep breath* Right, okay. My hobby is-
3:58 Sherlock (interjects): Podcasting.
3:59 John: Well, no. Uh, that’s my job.
4:00 Sherlock (skeptically): Is it now?
4:01 John: My hobbies. Uh…so I like to play football. I like films and tv. Ummm I’m very partial to a board game. Uhhhh… Oh! Ok! So here’s a confession. I have the flight tracker app. I’m not saying I’m a, a plane spotter, but um… I like to, yeah, just check in with that. Y’know? See what’s overhead? Where it’s come from, where it’s going. Picture the kinda people that uh. *sigh* Oh I don’t know, going from swha-Rome to Mexico City, y’know? Th-th-the weary business men and women tucking into their inflight meals, families that have created a whole crate of memories that they’re going to talk about for decades.
4:42 John (dramatically): The lovesick Italian man flying out to see his Mexican sweetheart. His heart bursting with excitement and fear that the stewards who keep complaining about some bloke in Row G, c-
4:49 Sherlock (interjects): Trains.
4:50 John: Hm?
4:51 Sherlock: Trains. I like trains. And, dinosaurs.
4:56 John: Ok. Great! Well, haha! That’s wonderful! We did it, another answer to another question. See, I told you it’s bloody easy- *sound of an ice blade scraping the ice too hard/wrong, a loud hard thump, the mic is rubbing terribly against clothing, sound is muffled* Oh, God!
5:07 *Audio Cut-Vaguely café sounds*
5:09 John (pained): Ahhh *sucks in air through his teeth* Oh that stings. *sounds like he’s holding his face*
5:15 Sherlock: Yep, they’re loaning us their frozen peas.
5:18 John: Oh what, they’ve got frozen peas in this place? Why aren’t they fresh, meals are twenty quid?
5:21 Sherlock: Uh, do you want the frozen peas or not?
5:23 John: Yeah! Yes, please, give’em here. *sound of a bag of frozen peas being shuffled around, John’s voice is muffled* Oh, yeah. Oh hoho, that’s the stuff, baby. Oh yeah. Ahhhhhhhhh. 5:39 Sherlock: Just to confirm,
5:40 John: Uh hunh?
5:40 Sherlock: they are paying for this? People are…paying for this audio?
5:46 John: Yeah, mate. Oh! Ah God! Ooo! Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie, ouchie…
5:49 Sherlock: Understood. Well, people can be rather odd, can’t they? Nothing wrong with that of course.
5:55 John: Uh, d’you mind? I see- I actually know what you’re doing with that ‘nothing wrong with that’ lark. So, right! Next question, ‘How did Archie get his name?’ says May Van der Hayden in New Zealand. Ah, well mate, I didn’t have much say in the matter. *clicks tongue* Um, I bought him as a birthday present for…uhhhh. M-my ex-girlfriend. Um, e-e-ex…yeah, y’know she was. She was-she was the bi- big one. The one I l-lived with and planned t’m-my life. Around. Sort of thing. Um. *clicks tongue* B-bought him for her, she chose Archie. Um. I-I don’t know why? Ha. And then she chose my friend who had a Range Rover Sport. So, yeah, she left me and the dog. *clicks tongue* And I left the dog to help the Ukrainians. Now I’m back. *clicks tongue* Got a dog and a master detective. Uh, lucky me. *awkward chuckle*
6:55 Sherlock: I feel your answers should be more concise.
6:58 John: Yep, thank you for that input. May also asks, Sherlock, seeing as you have handled cases for other countries, have you ever handled any in New Zealand?
7:07 Sherlock: Yes.
7:08 John: Oh! Lip, lip. Now numb. Ah, ah. Can you expand on that please?
7:13 Sherlock: Yes, but you’d have to stop recording or redact it from the podcast.
7:17 John: Aw, what’d be the point of that?
7:19 *Audio Cut- Sounds like they’re on the tube now*
7:23 John: Question here from Chloe Davies in Canada. Hi, Chloe. Sherlock, your hugging machine, is it based on that of Temple Grandin?
7:31 Sherlock: Er, she sent me some early designs, yes. I needed to tweak its pressure loads to clench my shoulder blades.
7:40 John: That’s the way you like it, is it? Hugwise?
7:43 Sherlock: Yes. Any sensation below the diaphragm causes me to stress.
7:47 John: Good to know. Uh, Nick Licher or, er, Licker. Uh…let’s go with Nick Licher. He asks, “Why did Sherlock need your shoelaces?” Yeah, why did you need my shoelaces?
7:58 Sherlock: I was conducting a thorough cleansing of our garments following the proximity to duck poo we had undergone that day in the park. *sucks in air sharply* The shoes contain the most potentially harmful pathogens. I removed the shoelaces for deep cleaning.
8:11 John: Okay.
8:12 Sherlock: Okay? Is that it? For potentially saving you untold hours and days on the toilet?
8: 19 John: How so?
8:20 Sherlock: E.coli, Watson.
8:22 John: Yeah, but on my shoelaces? Mate, I wasn’t going to chew on them. Right, Adrien Kaiser from Minnesota. “John, if you miss an upload should we just assume you and Sherlock have been arrested or are dead?”
8:32 Sherlock: Yes. As assumptions go, those options would be some of the likeliest. Wouldn’t you agree Watson?
8:39 John: No.
8:40 Sherlock: Why not?
8:40 John: Well, I don’t know. Maybe my laptop breaks, maybe we don’t get an adventure that week, I’m ill, your ill, a long list of things that aren’t dead or arrested, Sherlock.
8:50 Sherlock: It was Adrien that said it, not me.
8:52 John: *heavy sigh* Arlo asks, as a Shakespeare fan-him, not me- he asks what my favorite play by him was. Uhhh, um, I love Romeo and Juliet. Bit of um, a sucker for romance, me. *awkward chuckle* Hamlet’s too long, should’ve streamlined that a little. I’m uh going to go Romeo and Juliet. Or Julius Ceasar. Good drama in that one, I think. Kind of can’t understand what they’re saying, but uh I hold my English teachers at school responsible for that one, I mean also why are we reading them? Yeah, they’re meant to be performed, come on. Uh, next question. Soma asks “what’s your favorite tv show?” Uh, I loved ‘Band of Brothers’. Um, but, of course, an ex soldier would say that wouldn’t he. Um, psh, yeah, ‘Band of Brothers’. Or, something light and millennial, like, um, I don’t know. Fraiser? Or, uh, Will and Grace?
9:46 John: Sherlock? Favorite tv show?
9:48 Sherlock: This is us.
9:48 John: Really? I never saw it.
9:49 Sherlock: No, Watson! This is us! Quick!
9:52 John: Oh, bollocks, Oh! The doors are closing! Ow!
9:53 *Audio cut-sounds of a tube station/outside*
9:54 John: Misha asks,
9:56 Sherlock: Mmhm?
9:57 John: “Do you have a sweet tooth?” Well, I can tell you, Misha, that yes, he bloody does! Sherlock?
10:02 Sherlock: Yes, I bloody do. *awkward chuckle, sharp intake of breath* Yet, my diet is highly unpredictable and more often then not tied to my mood
10:08 John: Yeah, I can vouch for that. One minute he’s slurping down some borscht on a whim. Next minute, he’s going ten straight days eating tomato penne pasta.
10:16 *sound of a building door opening*
10:19 *sound of the door closing, presumably they’re in the foyer of 221 Baker Street*
10:19 John: *sigh* Uhhh, just trying to find uh…
10:23 Sherlock: Yet more questions?
10:23 *sounds like they’re removing their coats*
10:25 John: Yep. Uh, ooo, questions, right, last one. Uh, “Doctor Watson, hope this question doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Do you use a cane for your leg injury? I use a cane myself due to joint pain from Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. In fact, one of the canes was hand painted by a family in Ukraine during the war.” Well aw! *delighted chuckle* Aw that’s nice. Um, no I don’t use a cane. Uh, I had some surgery, and I was very kindly along with a few others flown out to Florida for some rehabilitation and then back to the UK for some hydrotherapy courtesy of the Ministry of Defense. Uh. Then they sacked me. So, heh, booooo. *chuckles* So, no. I’m actually cane free. But, uh, I have had moments. Especially climbing these bloody stairs *sounds of him stepping heavily up stairs* where I’ve wanted something like that.
11:15 Sherlock: Finished?
11:16 John (slightly out of breath): Finished.
11:17 *sound of a door opening, presumably 221B’s*
11:17 John: Right, say ‘Bye, Listeners’.
11:19 Sherlock: ‘Bye, Listeners’. You know, you do have a rather silly gait. *pause* Walking style. *sound of a door closing* The cane may have been needed. You do look weird when you stroll. Nothing wrong with that of course.
11:32 John (under his breath): For God’s sake.
11:33-12:03 *audio cut to end theme. It’s Mad Prodigy but a different part not used in the main show with a bit of piano.*
END
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Text
Things from the ruin dlc that keep me up at night.
Spoilers under the cut.
SERIOUSLY DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE AVOIDING SPOILERS.
Disclaimer: I wrote this before I had seen Everything the DLC has to offer or all the endings yet. I was on the wrong track, but I think my cooking before I knew everything was good cooking. I have more concrete theories now under #danachan's rants
Something that I was 100% right about that I was going to write into Lofi eventually.... But I guess I'll talk about it now since the dlc confirmed it.
But Balloon Boy world was literally Eclipses cage as I suspected. It was suppressing them. It wasn't an evil arcade or Eclipse was living in there. Eclipse's AI was being suppressed in the arcade cabinet.
Eclipse is how they talk to eachother, and Eclipse was asleep and completely blocked off from the Virus. So Sun and Moon had no communication with eachother anymore. Which is why they were both so stressed and lost.
I was astounded I got that completely correct in regards to what Eclipse is, and what the balloon boy game is.
(the dlc does not explain the Dcas weird connection to Vanessa and why the arcade cabinet was in Afton's boss fight room though)
Bonus points Moon talks exactly how I write him when speaking about the Sun and the Moon.
Another thing that has been mind-blowing me that all the comic book endings are scenarios that GREGORY DREW.
And according to the dlc....
The Afton Burntrap Blob ending is another one of those endings that he drew.
Which means Peepaw Afton and the Blob were never real in the first place.
Which is why no one could really figure out what the blob is.
It doesn't exist.
Princess Quest ending was the canon ending.
Vanessa leaving the Pizzaplex with Gregory is the canon ending.
The ending where you fight Afton in the basement.... Never happened and was just Gregory attempting to make sense of the FNAF lore that Vanessa probably explained to him. Since in the DLC, we do find a book about Fazbear History in Vanny's room.
I honestly don't know if Steel Wool retroactively made Burntrap non-canon due to everyone making fun of him, not taking him seriously and hating the blob, or if this was always the case. Because despite the Afton ending being the hardest to get.... It's still a two star ending.
So it's hard and too early for me to tell if I want to give them points for that soft retcon. I mean I don't blame them honestly.
But yeah. Skeleton man Afton in the basement and his best friend the Blob isn't actually real, and neither is Freddy's "I am not me" speech either.... Which honestly makes sense. Because it's all Gregory's comic book trying to make sense of FNAF Lore he doesn't understand.
Also, I can say definitively, and finally, Afton is not the Mimic. Glitchtrap exists as its own entity in this, and the Mimic seems to have its own agenda. It's unclear if Afton is possessing the Mimic via virus corruption, but for now, I believe the Mimic is acting of its own will.
And man oh man. I feel so sorry for people who haven't been keeping up with Tales of the Pizzaplex Books.
The ending of the dlc is just really "who's Henry???" From pizzasim all over again huh....
Anyways. Those are my thoughts. I will be streaming the dlc again tomorrow. Gonna try and get a better ending, but I have a suspicion they're all sad.
415 notes · View notes
mrsrookhunt · 9 months
Text
Petit Chasseur
Rook Hunt x Reader
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Synopsis: In crewel's class, the task at hand is to transform a tadpole into a frog with a transformation potion, so how is it that you and Rook happened to transform your tadpole into a baby...?
Warnings: None, but MC is apparently a third year because I accidentally wrote for Rook being part of Potionology instead of the Science club and got way too far in before I realized it. This is how you and Rook started a family and lived happily ever after
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"Ah-? You say that's the right ingredient, but I assure you it was--"
"Too late!" You laughed, dropping a sprig of pine into the mixture, which had previously been just the right consistency and color.
It bubbled and smelled of sickly rotten flowers.
Rook gave an theatrical sigh. "Mon tricksteur, that was the last of our ingredients.. We were already warned that we shall not be supplied with more."
You frowned at the textbook. It didn't give you the list of ingredients, which Professor Crewel had listed at the beginning of the lesson. Still, you were certain it called for a sprig of pine. But the cauldron should have been filled with a light, sticky substance, and instead it was filled with something so gooey, Rook was having trouble stirring it the appropriate amount of paces.
"Hmm... what'd you think it was supposed to be, Rook?"
"It was two drops of liquid silver."
"Damn, are you totally sure?"
He gestured to the mixtures of the rest of the class, which bore a much closer resemblance to the intended result.
"Oui. If not, the whole class, myself included, must have had a mass hallucination."
"Aww..." You face palmed. "How do we fix this?" You asked out of exasperation, hoping he had a better answer.
"No ingredient that comes mind is in our possession. We shall have to turn it in as it is, sadly."
He stopped stirring and ladled it into a vial.
"Isolate a tadpole for me, s'il te plaît ."
"Yeah, but what's it gonna do?"
He laughed and shrugged. "We'll see."
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"It's two drops over the tadpole--"
"one, Two, THREE, there we go-- oh. Um. Two?"
Rook snickered. "Remind me never to partner with you again, Mon Tricksteur."
The tadpole stopped moving.
"Is it... dead?" You asked, as you watched in horror over the poor thing, layed out on a tray in shallow water.
"Hmm. Perhaps three drops was too much? Our potion had all the components for a basic transformation potion, the sprig shouldn't have affected it's transformative properties, only the outcome, so--"
The tadpole shivered as if coming back to life; Its flesh began to ripple with different colors and shapes as it mutated into a large, multicolored creature.
"Uhh--- Rook, that seems a little uhmmm, BIG FOR A FROG---"
You knocked Rook into the ground in your attempt to back up, taking the tray and the undulating creature down with you, to your horror.
You braced yourself for contact with the squishy thing, and felt something heavy hit your lap.
Rook picked it up swiftly before you even opened your eyes.
"Mon dieu! I've never seen such a thing."
You opened one of your tightly shut eyes to see a Rook staring in reverent awe at a tiny, cute baby bearing resemblance to him.
"What? What IS THAT---"
"Don't yell, you'll upset the poor thing. And would you look at that? It looks a bit like you too, doesn't it?"
The baby cooed as Rook brought it to his chest with one arm, holding it gently, while the baby outstretched its tiny little arms in your direction.
He put the baby against your crossed arms.
"The baby wants your touch," He said softly, watching as the baby nuzzled against your arm.
"Nuh-uh, no way, that is NOT a baby--"
"Transformation potions are thorough. The baby is, in fact, a baby."
"Still, I don't want to touch it, it's creepy--- why does it look like us??"
Rook took the feather from his cast-aside hat to tickle the baby with.
"If I had to take a guess, I'd say perhaps it was the third drop. The little nourrisson took on the appearance of you and I because we were the first to touch it. It fell on both of us at the same time."
"S-so now what do we do?" You reluctantly touched the baby, who was cuter than you'd like to admit.
"Tell the professor and let him sort the matter out."
He turned over the baby to you as he went to get the professor.
You held the infant, which cooed and fussed like a normal human baby, but looked eerily like you and Rook, bearing his rich blonde hair and green eyes, but your chin and cheekbones, and even the way your hair naturally parted.
You gave up your fingers to the child, who was fascinated by them.
You saw Rook speaking to the professor, but your attention was diverted back to the baby, who had begun crying when you focused on something else.
You shushed it gently.
"It's alright, little one.. we'll get this ironed out."
Bleary green eyes stared back at you as if to say, 'You better.'
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"It's permanent."
"You're kidding--"
You were already back at the Ramshackle dorm, feeding the baby with formula you'd had to beg and plead for Sam to find on such short notice.
"Non, I'm afraid not. The Professor looked extensively. There is no cure to this."
"So what do we do then? We can't just... keep it!"
Rook dropped down to the ground to tickle the baby, who was lying on a soft blanket.
"I think that we must. It's our responsibility, and the baby is biologically ours, so--"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE BABY IS BIOLOGICALLY OURS?"
Your heart was racing out of your chest. What does this even mean for the two of you? You've always liked Rook, but not enough to throw yourself into raising a child with him-!
"You're shouting again, Mon Tricksteur. Oui, the baby is biologically ours, since it shares the equal traits of us both. We shall have to raise our dear infant."
Rook was on his knees beside you, amusing the baby with funny expressions and little exclamations of wonder.
Where would you go? You couldn't take care of a baby in a world you weren't familiar with, in which you had no one and nothing. Nothing but Rook, who had quite the full family of his own. Would they even accept this? Would they even like you?
Not even to speak of the challenges of raising a child, especially while going to school. Outside of your free-time, where would you even find the time to raise a baby?
Rook planted a kiss on your forehead, chuckling lightly.
"You're too nervous, my dear. You need to find the heart of passion, and throw yourself to the wind. I see it written across your face-- but there's no need to worry. I'm here for you."
You picked up the baby, cradling the small little bundle while Rook rested his arm across your back, taking in the scene. You were a family now. You were parents, so suddenly, so absolutely by surprise. And yet, as you were starting to warm up to the sweet child, you realized just how lucky you were to have Rook by your side, and a baby to love with him.
"Ah~ Mon Amour and my petit chasseur~"
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French vocabulary that I definitely did not get from Google translate:
s'il te plaît: please
Mon dieu: my god
nourrisson: infant/baby
Petit chasseur : Little hunter
°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
-June 28th, 2023
-Kaori
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lunarmoves · 10 months
Text
for evermore
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summary: you laugh—loud and carefree—and they have never wished so desperately before to be human. if only to love you for the rest of their life.
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pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader
mentions: gender neutral reader, possessive (obsessive) behavior, ruminations of a robot, dark thoughts ahead tbh (human mortality, fragility, death), oblivious reader if u squint, non-sexual intimacy, forehead kisses, mentions of blood and gore, moon is glitch'd, sun too tbh but its more subtle, sun's pov is like. sm lighter and then moon's is right out of an mcr song, unreliable narrator
a/n: this fic is inspired by @bamsara's iconic solar lunacy. sun&moon in this are very much deeply, irrevocably in love with u, but! when taken from the reader's pov, u can interpret that as you like! hope yall enjoy my silly little 4 am thoughts LMAO hope they make sense
word count: 2k
ao3 link
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One of the kids has a bit of a crush on you. 
It’s cute, really. Sun watches the way little Riley holds out a drawing to you—two stick figures holding hands together in a field of flowers colored lavender and cerulean. It’s clear that it’s supposed to be you and Riley, both of you happy as can be. You smile as you take the drawing, admiring the care Riley put into every stroke of their crayons. 
“It’s us!” Riley says proudly, tiny fingers gripping onto your arm that holds the paper. Bright eyes look up eagerly at you for your reaction. “Do you like it?” 
“I love it!” you reply with all the care and adoration you can muster into your voice. Your free hand reaches over to smooth down the hair on Riley’s head. “Oh, you’re so talented! Look how cute we are!” 
Riley beams, bright and happy, and Sun thinks it’s so wonderful that you’re able to get along well with the kids. He twirls a crayon around in his hand, idly spinning it across metal joints and silicon, then returns to doodling across the paper in front of him. Long limbs have pretzeled their way into sitting at one of the kid’s tables not too far from your own. 
“When I grow up,” Riley continues in a steadfast voice, “I’m gonna marry you. And we’ll get a biiiiig house with lotsa puppies! And kitties!” 
“Lotsa puppies and kitties, huh?” you ask as you set the drawing down on the table and pull Riley closer so you can set them on your lap. You pinch at their chubby little cheek. “You ready for that much responsibility, squirt?” 
Riley nods. Sun rests his chin on his palm, propped up on one of his legs. The hand holding his crayon continues to doodle. “Yeah! We’re gonna feed ‘em, and we’re gonna walk ‘em, and dress ‘em up!” 
You hum out a response, but by then Sun is lost in his thoughts. It’s cute, he tells himself again, gaze not really seeing what’s before him as he glances at you and Riley. Humans and their little dreams. Their bonds and their emotions. The freedom they hold within their grasps. Silly, silly humans. Silly, silly, silly.
Sun looks down at his drawing. You and him, standing in front of a little house. Free as can be to live under a bright blue sky with puffy, cotton-candy clouds. He wonders what that is like. To live with someone so closely. Being there when they wake up and when they fall asleep. Seeing them at their highs and their lows. He wonders if that is even feasible, for someone like him. The freedom he dreams about rests just beyond the tips of his artificial fingers. He tilts his head to the side and releases the tight grip he has on his crayon. 
Silly robot, he thinks to himself.
Then, he folds up the drawing and stuffs it into his pocket. 
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The pizzaplex, above all else, is a cold place. 
Sun knows its lights are too bright and its colors too jarring at times. It’s something he has grown used to—the only thing he has ever known, really. He is not exposed to much, with how limited his boundaries are and how restrictive the access he has to the internet is. You give him new things to ponder about. You blow away the coldness like it’s nothing. And he thinks the warmth you bring along with you is something he has perhaps always craved, deep inside. Him, modeled after the sun. Ironic, he thinks. 
You play around with the children as he tends to a checkout by the door. It’s quick work, it usually is, and he gives his regular old smile to the parents who pick up their kids and press kisses to their scrunched up little faces in greeting. 
What a concept—kissing, that is. An action done by humans to express some of their pesky little emotions. He waves away the parents and closes the door, white gaze falling on you as you laugh while you chase a few kids around. The daycare was what introduced him to all the idiosyncrasies humans have—it is the only form of contact he has with people. And it is the only way he really learns about certain things he wouldn’t have known about otherwise. 
He thinks back to Riley. He thinks about the rings he sees on humans’ fingers and the terms of endearment they call each other. He watches you spin around and lunge after another giggling kid who squeals and barely evades your grasp. You laugh—loud and carefree—then make eye contact with him for a split second. And Sun feels something strange in his chassis. Something that lights his insides on fire and makes his wires buzz in fervor. Maybe this is the warmth he’s meant to hold—that he is meant to be. His rays do a little spin. 
Then Sun does what he does best. He swoops in, snatching you up from the ground and yelling out something-or-other about kidnapping you for his very evil, very nefarious plans. All in a day’s work, at the daycare. You smile up at him—so small, so tiny in his hold—and he thinks he wouldn’t mind seeing it again and again and again. 
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Moon thinks about the stars often. 
He wonders what they look like, if they match the designs that dot his hat and pants. He thinks about you, standing under the night sky. Do you like the stars you see? Do you come to the daycare and compare the artificial ones plastered to the ceiling to the ones you experience every night? Moon doesn’t know if it is enough—if it will ever be enough.
He glides around the daycare on his cable, keeping a watchful eye on the slumbering kids below. You had been subjected to Riley’s grabby hands as they refused to go down without you by their side. So now you lay next to them, idly stroking their hair as they suckle on their thumb and snooze close to your chest. 
Trapped now, he’d told you when he saw Riley latched onto your leg earlier. Bedtime for you. And you simply gave him a defeated smile and caved to the whims of the child. 
Moon ponders about what that must be like—laying so close to another. Would you be as comfortable with him—with his body made of unyielding metal? Would you let him soothe you to sleep with the music box in his chest chiming out a gentle song that would waft through the air? Or maybe you would prefer another human. Hmm, another.
He remembers the kiss you had pressed to Riley’s forehead at their insistence and his fingers reach up to rub thoughtfully at his own. Pesky little emotions. His red gaze always finds itself trailing back to you, lingering on your form through the rest of naptime. And when the lights flick back on, he thinks that his time with you is always too short for him to bear. 
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It’s the middle of the night, long after you’ve gone home, and Moon stands in front of an arcade machine that’s turned off. He stares at his reflection in the dark screen, fuzzy red eyes lighting the space up in a hellish glow. One of his hands passes across his mouth smoothly—the sharp teeth that make up his grin. And he thinks back to the parents kissing their children on the cheeks. He thinks about all the ‘sweetheart’s, and the ‘baby’s, and the ‘love’s. He thinks about you. 
Moon wonders what it would be like to be human. 
To just—feel everything, all the time. To hear his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t have a heart—never will—but he wonders what it would be like to have one. He’d give you his heart without batting an eye, he thinks. Would you do the same for him?
He ruminates on what it would be like to hold your hand. To feel the plushness of your skin against the firmness of his metal. To look and see the difference between the two. Unnatural, he frowns. Disconnected. Two puzzle pieces that don’t fit together—not in the way he would like. He doesn’t belong to you and the thought strikes him hard enough to frazzle his wires. He imagines you with someone better suited that can live with you, grow old with you. Someone that is not him—not like him, broken and robotic as he is. 
And Moon wonders if this is what it feels like to die. To have the wires ripped from his body and turned into dust. Something nasty festers itself in his hardware, sears through him like a vicious piece of malware.
He stares down at his hands, fingers slim and painted blue. And he sees them doused in ruby red. He wonders what it is like to have it running through tiny, tiny veins. So fragile. He wonders what it is like to hold your skin between his fingers and feel it rip into shreds. His grin tightens and he shakes his head minutely. He looks back up at his reflection and a gleam of purple flashes across his pupils before he seizes it and locks it away.
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Eclipse stands in the middle of an empty daycare and watches as you enter through the large, castle doors. 
It’s you, you’re here. They missed you so much, you were gone for so long you were gone for so, so long. But you’re here, and you’re safe, and you’re you.
You freeze when you notice them—looking at you with a too wide smile and too sharp teeth. Their head tilts at you and before they can even process their actions, they’ve already taken several long strides up to your form. Because you’re here, with them, so close they can touch you.
You’re looking up at them with an expression they can’t quite decipher. But they know it must be adoration! It has to be, it must be, what else would it be? And they lean down and reach out two of their hands to grasp at your smaller shoulders. They can feel your heart beating through their fingers.
“I love you!” Eclipse chimes out, hunkered down over your smaller figure. Casting you in their deep, deep shadow. And then they curl down to press the gleaming metal of their grin against your forehead. Again and again and again. I love you I love you I love you so much it hurts what are you doing to us don’t you know this hurts? You smile (you’re smiling, right? You have to be!) at them—confused, sincere maybe—your fingers balled into fists. And Eclipse thinks that if they were to dig through their software, through lines and lines of code, they’d find a little version of you there. Infecting them—constantly there with your kindness and your adoration. Their grin twitches, their eyes upturn. “Marry me!”
You say nothing, only look up at them, but that’s okay! That’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay, right? They are bubbling and boiling alive with the fire that runs through their wires. And they have never wished so desperately before to be human. So they can be with you—outside, under the stars, under the sun the real sun—and hold you, and treasure you until the end of time until you both die.
They think about you and them, standing in front of a little house in a field of lavender and cerulean flowers. They think about waking up with you and going to sleep with you. They think about the softness of your skin and the brightness of your smile. The blood in your veins that can so easily spill over their fingers. 
And they know they are not human. They know you will grow old and you will inevitably move on—leaving them for a place they cannot reach. 
But still, they think, they will love you until the end of your life. And until the end of theirs.
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483 notes · View notes
Note
Request: I can sooooooo see Hasan having a breeding kink. Like he’s so possessive and a show off, loved pointing out that Austin was wearing his jewelry at the Streamies, I can just imagine how proud and possessive he is knowing he got you pregnant.
Plus you’d look so gorgeous carrying his baby, he’s LOVING all the body changes you’re going through and would literally just worship you.
So something soft and smutty, even just foreplay and being intimate and close together.
🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷
OBVIOUSLY!!! HAVE U SEEN HIM?!
Ugh…
TO BEGIN
He definitely makes u wear his rings during sex
And they’re too big for your fingers because he’s MASSIVE
But he’s like
“Keep them safe for me, yeah? They mean a lot to me.”
In the sweetest voice
So how could you not? Having to clench your fists so they don’t fall off…
ik we all probably think of Hasan being on the rougher side
Which is definitely true for when you guys are having your regular sex
But when he’s solely set on knocking you up he’s so gentle and romantic about it…
He tracks your cycle, obviously
Plans around the day you’re most fertile
He’s streaming as usual, before one day of each month, he’s just GONE.
No internet presence, no texts, no calls, nothing.
He disappears so completely even the FBI would struggle to get in contact with him.
Just so he can be completely focused on you!!! <3
Missionary all fucking day
Like…
Literally…
All fucking day
Fucking all day
Puts a pillow under your hips
Has a plug ready to go
Gets really sensual with it
Lights tons of candles
Pink lights
Will tie your hands together with ribbon above your head
FIXATED on BOOBA
He can’t not touch, tug, pull, suck, pinch, kiss…
Especially with the aim of the day
There’s just something about your boobs that make him FUCKING fall in love all over again <3
To the main course,
He works on a schedule
Wake up - 6:00am (early, but he has to)
Wake you up with breakfast in bed - 6:30am
Fuck - 7:00 to 8:00
Relax - 8:00 to 8:30
Fuck - 8:30 to 9:30
Relax, etc., etc.
Makes sure to fill you up at least twice every hour!
If you guys have to go out after fucking, he’ll be smiling like a fucking idiot knowing that his cum is nestled in you, doing its job.
And that nobody even knows! But they will know soon!!!
Gets even more sad than you when all the tests come back negative
Until
FINALLY
It happens!
And he’s over the moon about it!
He gets so fucking excited, immediately planning what the nursery will look like and buying you CUTE maternal clothes (none of those basic maternal clothes, no no no, you’re gonna be fashionable while pregnant, that’s for fucking sure!!!)
Completely stocks up on your favourite food!
One day, during your fourth month, you wake up to his head on your chest and his hand rubbing your tummy
You say “I’m not even showing yet, what you’re rubbing is my food baby.”
And he gets SO huffy with you
That’s HIS BABY right there ma’am!!!
Oh god…
Thinking of going to the fucking streamies with him like this…
In your sixth month, he’s already SO PROTECTIVE
Literally follows you around like a bodyguard, making sure people stay AT LEAST two feet away from you, no touching the belly without permission, throwing even his BEST FRIENDS stink eyes if they look at you for too long…
But also
You take a pic before going to the venue…
It’s a full length mirror pic…
Your dress is FUCKING AMAZING, with two slits in it…
But…
Kneeling at your feet is Hasan, in his suit, hugging your leg while you play with his hair and he looks up at you like you quite literally MADE the universe.
People go feral for that pic <3 <3 <3
Oh and you thought he loved your tits before?
Now they’ve grown and gotten heavy with milk?
LITERALLY DEVOTED TO BOOBA
He can NOT get enough!!!
Staring at them all the time
Sometimes will just get you to flash him so he can get that little boost of serotonin he needs <3
You get so round <3
And he’s like
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So curvy, he wants to EAT YOU
If you keep the weight after giving birth
God
Fucking
Save
You
He’s SO fucking feral for it
Ugh
Anyways
I’ve got work to do
Buh BYE!!! <3
264 notes · View notes
ranposgirlboss · 1 year
Text
~types of hugs they would give~
was daydreaming about ranpo and then my brain jumped to them giving hugs??? idk how that works but HERE WE ARE!!!
charas: dazai, chuuya, sigma, ranpo, and poe
genre: FLUFF >:))); a bit of flirting in dazai's because, well, dazai; can be seen as romantic or platonic other than that!!!; extremely wholesome shit idk :O; some hurt-comfort, but very mild!!
LETS COMMENCE \(°o°)/
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DAZAI
-over dramatic mf FRRRR
-hugs with him arent really emotional or srs or anything like that, HE KINDA JUST CLINGS TO YOU OUTTA NOWHERE NGL-
-like he'll be running away from kunikida and cling to you from behind to use you as a sheild
-awoop, jumpscare!!
-would probably make a comment about ur body or something, and how your just, "so charming" and he "jUsT cAnt KeEp hIs hAnDs oFf yOu!1!" (you can admit youre scared of kunikida beating the shit out of you its ok)
-tbh if you were crying or something like that, i feel like you would have to ask him to hug you, rather then him automatically doing so. (as we can see with atsushi 🥶)
-i feel like his hugs would be good enough for the circumstance, but he's kinda cold ngl (unless you like that!!)
-pretty much just uses u as a sheild tho 😭
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CHUUYA
-i know that ive always gotta make him floating someone or something..... BUT HIS ABILITY IS SO COOL CMON
-if you asked him (and yall were close) he may float you
-WOULD BE HELLA EMBARRASSED ABOUT IT (DONT LET DAZAI SEE YALL, YOU'LL NEVER HEAR THE END OF IT)
-yall have really gotta have a really good amount of trust for him to hug you or just be physically affectionate in general!!!
-would grumble about it and pretend he totally didn't wanna hug you too
-would give pretty good hugs ngl
-IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY IF YOU WERE TALLER THEN HIM THO
-if yall are around the same height or ur shorter then him, they're pretty comforting
-BUT IF YOURE TALLER THEN HIM YOU HAVE MAKING FUN OF HIM RIGHTS, AND ITS KINDA HARD NOT TO MAKE FUN OF HIM WHEN HE CAN BARELY HUG YOU NORMALLY
-if you were crying or having a bad moment, he probably wouldn't hug you that fast though, but if you're ranting to him about how horrible it is, he might just hug you out of nowhere cuz he doesn't know what to say.
-if youre trustworthy to him, his hugs are very nice, he would prob be neutral temp or slightly warm ngl
-UGH CHUUYA HUG MEEEE TOOOOO ಥ‿ಥ
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RANPO
-THE ALMIGHTY INSPIRORER OF THIS (is that how you spell that ;-;??)
-WOULD GIVE SUCH GOOD HUGS OMG
-all you gotta do is ask
-unless hes busy being possessive of his snacks, he might think you're tryna sneak in and take a bite when he's distracted (눈‸눈)
-but when hes not eating (which is pretty rare), just ask him and he will
-might complain about being lazy a bit, but in the end, he will always hug you if you insist!! <33
-if you were crying or sad about smth, he would either literally fucking bearhug yo ass and comfort you or he would give you space to process your emotions, there is no in between.
-HES LIKE SO WARM BUT NOT THE CLAMY AND SWEATY WARM JUST LIKE THE REALLY NICE WARM.
-he also smells like sweets which is a more comforting and homey bonus!!!
-VERY AMAZING HUGS WOULD RECOMMEND 10/10!!!
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SIGMA
-THEY DID MY DUDE SO BAD IN THE ANIME IM SORRY SIGMA YOU DESERVED BETTER THAN THIS MANGA SIGMA SUPREMACY
-but anyways
-ngl he would be kind of awkward sometimes but YOU KNOW HE HAS THE BEST INTENTIONS!!!
-SIGMA IS A VERY GOOD COMFORTER TO HAVE!!
-yknow how he memorizes everyones problems at the casino??
-yeah he also memorized yours, so he knows RIGHT AWAY when something is off or you need a hug!!
-he is very quick to hug you, not only to comfort you, but he also finds it comforting ⊂((・▽・))⊃
-will also leap on you out of joy (is extremely embarrassed after)
-overall, very wholesome, has the best intentions (i swear i forget he's apart of a criminal organization sm)
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POE
-OH BOY
-would be so flustered if you asked him
-seems like he would WANT to ask you, but is too embarrassed and shy to ಥ‿ಥ
-PLEASE ASK HIM HE IS INTERNALLY BEGGING, AND HE NEEDS ONE (honestly everyone in bsd needs one)
-would so awkward at first because he doesn't wanna make uncomfortable in any way so he's like barely hugging you
-if he eases into it tho, he would actually be a pretty nice hugger
-just PLEASE ASK HIM FIRST, HE WILL ALWAYS ACCEPT
-if you were upset or sad about something, i honestly feel like he would just give you space to sort yourself, i feel like he would want the same space when he's upset.
-but if you ask him HE WILL VERY GLADLY HUG YOU SINCE HE HATES SEEING YOU SAD
-very nice hugs once you get past the awkward stage!!! just takes practice tho <33
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HOW DO I WRITE THE MOST WHOLESOME THINGS WHILE LISTENING TO THE MOST EDGY SONGS PLEASE HELp
i was also getting distracted by my music and this was supposed to be posted yesterday but whatever!! that's how it be
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bitterbeanren · 8 months
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I spent days writing this self-indulgent basically a self-insert/self-ship (but I made it second person with the hopes that others could enjoy it) fic because holy shit am I down bad. Story under the cut.
Jing Yuan x AFAB nonbinary reader. Slow burn. I tried to not mention skin tone either, skin just heats up, warms, etc. because THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS TO ME WHEN I GET EMBARRASSED!!!! Reader has boobs but size aint exactly specified. I think they’re only mentioned like once. Also, like, literally fam I wrote this for me and with my experience as enby in mind, which is gunna be different from other people’s.
This is long. This is bad. This includes some of my favourite tropes. It’s for me, IT’S FOR ME!!! But I wanted to SHARE so yeah.
THERE MIGHT BE SPOILERS MAYBE SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK I HAVE NOT GONE OVER THIS AT ALL I JUST WROTE AND WROTE AND WROTE—
Warnings: character deaths(?), loss of a parent figure, slightly possessive Jing Yuan, author being a bit feral, exactly three underscores being used for your name, and reader has hair on their head for plot reasons. JING YUAN IS TALLER THAN YOU(because he would easily be taller than me ;-;)!!!
Moments in Time
The first time Jing Yuan meets you is after he is taken in by Swordmaster Jingliu. It’s at his new mentor’s estate while he’s still getting used to living there instead of at home— you poke your head out from behind one of the courtyard veranda’s pillars with a grin. The two of you are around the same age, though you might be a bit younger.
Jing Yuan is practicing his strikes, 586, 587, 588… and you watch him with a spark of mischief in your eyes. “Hello!” You greet, he ignores you. 589, 590, 591–
You dart towards him and he stumbles back, keeping his sword in his hand but twirling it so you’re staring up at its flat edge. “Hey!” Jing Yuan snaps at you with a glare, “That’s dangerous, be more careful!”
“You weren’t going to hit me,” you state, poking the blade before returning your gaze to him, smiling. “You’re Jing Yuan, right? I’m Yingxing’s apprentice!”
Sheathing his sword, Jing Yuan quickly wracks his brain— Yingxing… Yingxing… ah, the furnace master of the Artisan Commission. Jingliu’s friend. He remembers the sandy-haired man and Imbibitor Lunae visiting for tea. “I didn’t realize that the furnace master had taken on an apprentice. Is he here as well?”
“Yes! He’s in a meeting with the swordmaster, so I decided to look for you.”
Jing Yuan frowns. “You… decided to look for me?”
“Yeah! Jingliu mentioned you were training, and I wanted to meet you!”
The white-haired boy places one of his hands on his hip, looking at you expectantly. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, apprentice swordsmith.”
“Oh, I guess I should have introduced myself better…” you let out a laugh. It’s cute. Then, you hold out your hand to him. “Nice to meet you, Jing Yuan. My name is ___.”
~*~
Whenever Yingxing comes to visit Jingliu, you come along to visit Jing Yuan. You remind the boy of a duckling— you follow behind Yingxing like one, eyes bright, and usually chattering cheerfully. It’s cute… you’re cute, Jing Yuan thinks. Especially when Yingxing ruffles your hair and you pout.
Jing Yuan starts ruffling your hair too, and you complain and scowl, but then you laugh and try to ruffle his unruly hair in response, and Jing Yuan compares you to a sun. Warm, cheerful… your smiles and laughter brightens any space you’re in.
“It’s people like that who we as Cloud Knights aspire to protect,” Jingliu tells him one day, the two of them watching as you animatedly tell Dan Feng a story while Yingxing looks at you and the Vidyadhara fondly. “They’re the ones who make what we’re doing worth it, Jing Yuan.”
The boy nods his head in agreement.
You’re the bright-eyed apprentice of the furnace master, and he’s the apprentice of the swordmaster. As your mentors are friends— along with the High Elder of the Vidyadhara— it makes sense that the two of you would become close as well. And Jing Yuan doesn’t mind.
Whenever you visit, he’s the first one you look for. Jing Yuan teaches you starchess, and you show him sketches of weapons you want to make. Some days you practice basic combat with him in the courtyard. Your mentors sometimes sit on the veranda and watch the two of you while chatting over tea, and once you’re both worn out from training you dart over to claim some snacks for yourselves.
The years pass and Jing Yuan is significantly taller than you now. It’s more difficult for you to ruffle his hair. So now, Jing Yuan mostly just pats the top of your head, only ruffling your hair when he feels particularly playful. Both of you are now in your early twenties: Jing Yuan is an apprentice Cloud Knight and you spend your days designing weapons and continuing your apprenticeship under Yingxing. On your days off, the two of you often sit together in the courtyard where you first met, relaxing under the pomegranate tree and enjoying the shade it provides. You lay on the ground, arms and legs splayed out, and let out a yawn.
“Tired, are you? I hope I’m not boring you, apprentice swordsmith,” Jing Yuan teases.
“Sorry,” you smile sheepishly. “Yingxing always scolds me when he catches me napping in the middle of the day, but I just feel so tired sometimes, you know?”
The white-haired apprentice Cloud Knight chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m sure that Master Yingxing is just concerned about you.”
“Yeah, I know. Ugh, it’s so embarrassing— I accidentally called him Dad the other day when he was scolding me,” you groan, covering your eyes with your arm. “He looked so taken aback, I didn’t know what to do.”
Jing Yuan lays down next to you, crossing his arms behind his head as a makeshift pillow. It’s comfortable. “Really? I assumed that the Furnace Master would be overjoyed to hear that from you. You’ve always acted like a kid around him, and he always struck me as the sort of man who would treat his apprentices like his own children.”
“I—“ you pause, removing your arm from your face. “I mean, you’re not wrong. It’s just… been a bit tough for me to face him lately. He has basically raised me since I became his apprentice over a decade ago, but… it’s a weird situation.”
“Ah…” Jing Yuan lets out a thoughtful hum. He knows you should just talk it out with Yingxing, but understands that it’s a tough thing for you to discuss. Unlike you, the furnace master is a short-lived species— you’ve obviously become attached, and though you’ve spent a good amount of your youth being trained by the man, you knew that he would be gone in the blink of an eye in comparison to you. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, ___. You’re smart, after all.”
“I am smart, aren’t I?” You grin widely at the compliment, then look a bit sad. “I… won’t talk about it much more than this, Yuan, and we should talk about something else soon because I know thinking like this could get me in trouble, but… I wish Yingxing could be long-lived like us. I want him to be around for all my milestones, you know? It’s… selfish.”
“It’s not selfish for you to wish for,” Jing Yuan assures. “Sadly, it is not a wish that can be achieved.”
“I know, I know… let’s change topics now,” you sigh, then turn your head to smile at him. “You have an expedition coming up with Jingliu soon, right? Man, I can’t wait to hear all about it…! Do you think you’re gunna lose another sword?”
“That happened once, ___!”
The two of you banter back and forth for a bit before just enjoying the quiet and the artificial sunlight, and the next thing Jing Yuan knows he’s dozed off.
Later, when he wakes, you’re curled up against his side. Your head is laid on his arm, one of your legs is slung over his, your arm is loosely resting across his waist, and your chest—
Jing Yuan feels his face go hot. Your chest is pressed against his side and now it’s all he can think about. He’s a young man after all— and though you prefer to live as gender neutrally as possible, you have the body of a beautiful… person and it’s one that Jing Yuan is undoubtedly attracted to. Often it’s hard to remember due to your preference for unisex clothing and tops a bit too big for you, but you’ve matured.
“Aeons,” Jing Yuan curses under his breath. When he tries to carefully untangle himself from you, you whine, nuzzling against his arm in your sleep and the white-haired man knows he’s absolutely fucked.
With his other hand, the one attached to the arm you aren’t currently resting on, he runs it down his face, covering his mouth and willing his heart to slow down.
He shouldn’t be attracted to his best friend, but he is. You’re kind, funny, and dedicated— your smile is something that never fails to brighten his day. Everything about you, even your flaws, were things that Jing Yuan found endearing and cute and—
Oh. Oh no. He’s in love with you. You snicker a bit in your sleep as though you’re amused by his realization, then roll onto your back, allowing Jing Yuan to gently remove his arm from under your head.
You’re precious to him. You’ve been precious to him for years. For Aeons sake, he can’t figure out when the friendship shared between the two of you blossomed into something more for him.
Before the artificial sun sets, he shakes you awake with a lazy smile and lets you know that you wasted the day napping. You complain that if he was awake, he should have woken you up sooner.
Jing Yuan loves you, he realized it. But he isn’t going to tell you unless you realize it yourself. Instead, he teases you and thinks how he understands now why you’re wary of your attachment to Yingxing, even if his empathy comes from a different place.
After all, the idea of losing you in any way terrifies him.
~*~
You craft something that isn’t a weapon. A floral hair stick with a hair slide, both made of steel.
“And what is this for, Apprentice Swordsmith?” Jing Yuan asks you after you show him.
“It’s for Da—“ you cut yourself off, smiling sheepishly. Ah, you’re still doing that. Thinking of him as your father, but doing your best to use his name and title as if it’ll lessen your attachment. “For Master Yingxing. It’s a gift for his birthday tomorrow. I worked really hard on it— small things like this are much harder to make than weapons... I broke all my other attempts.” You look up into Jing Yuan’s golden eyes, your worries etched on your brow. “Do you think it’s good enough? Should I have crafted him a weapon instead?”
“He’ll love it,” Jing Yuan assures. At his words, you perk up, practically bouncing from foot to foot. “Am I to assume that Master Yingxing’s birthday is the reason why you invited both myself and Master Jingliu to his estate tomorrow night?”
“Yes! I also invited Baiheng and Dan Feng,” you tell your friend cheerfully. “Birthdays are important, after all.” The ‘for short-lived species’ goes unsaid.
“I’m impressed, though,” Jing Yuan picks up the hair stick and slide. “I never thought you of all people would make something so delicate.”
“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, snatching it back and placing it carefully into the box. “I wanted him to have something nice to put in his hair, but I couldn’t find one that I liked in the market… so I figured I could design one myself.”
“It’s well crafted.”
“I’m sure that Master Yingxing could make a better one. He’s so talented— I need to learn as much from him as I can. I mean, look at your guan dao. It’s a work of art— all of the weapons of the High Cloud Quintet are masterpieces.”
Jing Yuan has heard this before. “You should give yourself more credit, Apprentice Swordsmith. The weapons you make for the Cloud Knights—“
“Aren’t good enough,” you interrupt, shaking your head stubbornly. “Not yet.”
Though he doesn’t like it when you’re so hard on yourself, the determined glint in your eyes is more than enough to make his heart flutter. For years, Jing Yuan has allowed his feelings for you to grow, and now they simmer under the surface of every action, word, and thought towards you.
You tuck the box into your bag, then reach out and clasp Jing Yuan’s hand between yours, beaming up at him. Your smile is a sun and it’s all he can do to revolve around you. “I’ve gotta go and pick up supplies for the party tomorrow— see you then?”
“Of course,” Jing Yuan replies, grinning back down at you.
The next day, Jing Yuan arrives at the Yingxing estate with Jingliu, whose red eyes are cold but soften slightly when Yingxing waves at them from the courtyard. She’s close to them, but not with Jing Yuan. The spider lilies are in bloom in the garden, and the leaves of the courtyard’s maple tree almost match them. The aging man stands tall in his casual clothes as they approach, smiling brightly, his long, sandy hair blowing slightly in the breeze. “Jingliu! Jing Yuan! It’s good to see you both, are you well?”
“Yes,” Jingliu answers with a curt nod, a smile forming on her lips as she rests a hand on her hip. “Happy birthday, Yingxing. Have you enjoyed it thus far?”
“I have! Dan Feng arrived earlier and is currently helping ___ bring dinner into the sitting room. Baiheng is there, too,” Yingxing turns around, showing off hair accessories that Jing Yuan recognizes. “And look what my kid made me! Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Your kid?” Jingliu lets out a short laugh. “It’s… sweet how attached you are to your apprentice.”
“They called me dad, Liu. Let me be happy about it,” the furnace master chuckles. “We practically raise our apprentices, after all. And ___ will probably be my only one,” Yingxing adds. His expression changes slightly for a moment, sad, but then he grins and gestures towards the main house. “Let’s go join the others.”
“…Yeah,” Jing Yuan’s master nods. Her expression is more guarded, now, and she glances over her shoulder at Jing Yuan. “You better not be thinking of calling me Mom, Jing Yuan.”
Ah.
As Yingxing bursts into laughter, Jing Yuan understands. This is yet another difference between short-lived and long-lived species… and his master is trying to cheer her friend up. Jingliu is, at times, stubborn to a fault, but she quickly realized what she needed to do for her friend after unintentionally reminding him of his mortality.
Jing Yuan smiles, following after the woman he respects so much. “What, you won’t find it cute if I did?”
“Not at all. It would be much cuter coming from ___.”
“I’m hurt, Master.”
“I agree with Liu— ___ is far cuter than you in every way, Jing Yuan,” Yingxing teases. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”
“You’re correct,” Jing Yuan smiles. “___ is incredibly cute. I don’t think a cuter person exists.”
Yingxing shoots Jing Yuan a knowing look, and Jing Yuan grins back at him boyishly. Jingliu lets out a small sigh, and the three continue to walk towards the main house. “Are you ever going to tell them, Jing Yuan?”
“I’m waiting for them to realize it themself,” the white-haired knight replies. The three of them drop the conversation as they enter the building, seeing you balancing multiple plates while Baiheng and Dan Feng arrange the dishes on the table.
“Jing Yuan!” Your eyes lock onto his instantly, and a happy look spreads across your face. Then, you look at your mentor and his. “Welcome back, Dad! And hello, Jingliu!”
Jing Yuan smiles. You two must have finally talked it out.
“One would almost think that it’s your birthday today with how excited you are, little ___,” Jingliu comments, crossing her arms.
“I’m just really happy that everyone showed up to celebrate Dad’s birthday with him today!” You respond easily, and the sandy-haired man chuckles, ruffling your hair fondly.
Though you’re all adults, the other four members of the High Cloud Quintet sometimes treat you and Jing Yuan like you’re still kids at these events. The two of you sit together, pouring sweet wine for your elders and feeling happy. At the square table, only three sides are used. Baiheng sits next to Jingliu, Yingxing and Dan Feng sit together, and you sit at the corner between Dan Feng and Jing Yuan. You take pictures of everyone and pass food around and drink along with them, your smile never leaving your face even when it’s time to say goodnight.
Yingxing has an arm slung around your shoulders as you grin up at him in the courtyard with everyone under the maple tree. “Dad, Dad! Did you have a good birthday?” You ask the older man, who ruffles your hair with his other hand.
“Of course I did. I can’t wait for next year.”
Dan Feng watches the two of you with a fond expression, and Jing Yuan feels his heart clench as he realizes that the corners of Yingxing’s eyes didn’t used to crinkle like that when he smiled.
Every year, Yingxing looks a bit older than the rest of his friends.
~*~
Time takes away from you, again and again.
Dan Feng is going to be forced to reincarnate and lose all his memories. None of you are allowed to see him. Once his new incarnation comes of age, he’ll be banished. At the same time, Yingxing is being kept under close watch by you and the remaining members of the High Cloud Quintet.
You’re mad at both of them, but you still feel grateful. Your wish came true, but it’s at the cost of someone else that you cherish. You’re heartbroken, but Yingxing is your dad. He’s the one who taught you how to use the forge, the one who encouraged you, the one who would help bandage your burns, cuts, or scrapes.
For the next century you enjoy your borrowed time. He teaches you more and more and more. Then the mara strikes him— his sandy hair turns black. His eyes change, and he doesn’t recognize you anymore.
“…Dad?”
He doesn’t smile at you. Doesn’t call you his kid, something that always made you happy even though you weren’t a kid anymore. His arms are bound behind his back and he stares at you with empty eyes, now blood red.
“He’s gone, ___,” Jingliu tells you. She looks tired. “…To be struck with mara is to be a long-lived species. It just… happened sooner than we expected after what happened.”
It hurts more, this way. Before, you knew he would be gone before you, but after what Dan Feng and Yingxing had done you let yourself believe that maybe you would still have one of them around for a long time.
It hurts more, this way. Now Dan Feng is gone, and though physically Yingxing is here, he isn’t.
You’re led away by the Cloud Knights after you say your one-sided goodbyes. Time keeps on taking from you.
Jing Yuan comes to visit you. The spider lilies in the garden are blooming again, but now you sit under the maple tree alone, feeling empty. The Cloud Knight Lieutenant says your name, and you look up at him with tears in your eyes.
“…A momento,” Jing Yuan says softly, kneeling down in front of you and taking your hand in his. In it, he places a familiar hair slide and stick. “I’m so sorry, ___.”
Your lip quivers, and you throw your arms around your friend’s neck with a sob.
~*~
You are asked to take on an apprentice after Baiheng passes away, but you don’t take one on. Then, after Jingliu is struck with mara and Jing Yuan goes to confront her, you are offered the position of furnace master. You refuse.
You continue to live in and care for your adopted father’s estate, though you opt to live in the east wing rather than take the main house. Whenever Jing Yuan needs his weapons maintained or repaired, you are the one he goes to. He's an arbiter general now, and you’re proud of him. But now it’s more rare to see him, and now that there are guards stationed at his estate you don’t feel comfortable visiting him. Today, he’s visiting you, and you’ve set up tea in the courtyard under the maple tree.
“I heard you were offered the position of furnace master,” Jing Yuan mentions. You wince under his stare. “Care to explain your refusal?”
“I don’t want to deal with all the politics that you need to deal with now that you’re in a position of power,” you shrug. The man pouts. “Plus, I enjoy what I’m doing now. The forge here is all I need— I don’t need more.”
It’s true. The forge and workshop that Dad had created in the west wing has everything you need to do your work, alone, without strangers peering over your shoulder and commenting on what you should do. What you should make.
“I’ve also heard whispers that you’ve been refusing weapon commissions.”
With a sigh, you put down your teacup. “What is this, an interrogation?”
“Just curiosity. What have you been crafting instead?”
“Tools, armor, and other such things,” you lean your head against your hand. You’re tired of war. Of battle. You’re tired of losing the people you care about. “Your weapons are the only ones I’ll work with now.”
“Oh? I’m the exception then?” Jing Yuan gazes at you curiously, and you smile at him.
“Yes, you’re the exception,” you tell him genuinely. “See, I like making armor and tools more now. I don’t like fighting— I know that it’s necessary sometimes, but I want to help people create. I want to protect them in my own way… I know you’ll use your weapons to protect, so now the only weapons I create will be for you.”
Jing Yuan’s expression softens and he reaches out to place his hand on yours. “You want peace?”
“I do.”
“Then that is what I will aim for as well.”
~*~
Jing Yuan visits as you’re tending to the garden.
“Look, ___! A grimalkin! I’ve named it Mimi.”
You stare at the white fuzzball in your best friend’s arms, and can’t help but reach out to pet the little thing. “A grimalkin? It’s so cute! But aren’t you too busy to take care of a pet?”
Jing Yuan’s eyes hold a spark of mischief. “I’ve decided that Qingzu is going to be responsible for it while I’m busy with my duties.”
Your heart sinks for the Vidyadhara. “Yuan… it isn’t very nice of you to purchase a pet, then have your subordinate be the one to care for it.”
The man had the gall to look offended. “I will care for it. I already feel incredibly fond of Mimi, after all.”
Arms crossed, you give Jing Yuan an unimpressed look. “You know that isn’t what I meant, General.”
“Please, my dear friend, you know I prefer it when you call me by name.”
“Which I would be more than happy to use… were you not using your position to sic your responsibilities on others.”
“You wound me, ___.”
You let out a long-suffering sigh, then bury your hands in Mimi’s fur. “Your owner is awfully irresponsible, isn’t he Mimi? I would like to apologize on his behalf.”
The little grimalkin stares at you with big blue eyes. You feel your heart melt at the sight, and you lean forwards to press a kiss to the top of the pet’s head.
Jing Yuan watches you interact with Mimi and decides that the sight of you and the white-furred grimalkin together was worth every cent he paid to that merchant.
“If you’d like, please feel free to visit Mimi at the Seat of Divine Foresight,” Jing Yuan offers. Since he had taken up the position of Arbiter General, you hadn’t visited him at his home or workplace. If he wants to see you, which he always does, he has to visit your estate or chance to see you at the markets. “Or at my estate, should we not be there.”
You let out a small laugh. “And what reason would a lowly artisan have to even enter the Seat of Divine Foresight, General? I don’t think it would make sense for me to visit your workplace. Especially if I say it’s to play with your pet.”
“The guards at both my estate and the Seat of Divine Foresight know that if you ever come by, you’re to be allowed in regardless of reason, even if I am not there,” Jing Yuan tells you firmly. “And you aren’t a lowly artisan. You’re the only swordsmith who I will allow to handle my weapons as well as my dearest friend.”
You’re surprised by his words. Ever since Jing Yuan had become Arbiter General, you felt like you couldn’t visit him. To learn that the man had given his guards specific instructions to let you in was enough to make your cheeks warm in embarrassment.
“Yuan, you really didn’t need to go to all that trouble!”
Jing Yuan grins down at you. “I’d love for you to visit me personally, but if Mimi is the one you come to see, I completely understand.
“Yuan!”
~*~
After Jing Yuan introduces you to Mimi, you try to visit the adorable creature every few weeks when you have time. This continues up until early November, when you leave to spend a couple of months on another Alliance ship to deliver some non-Luofu commissions. When you return in mid-January, it is clear that Mimi is not a grimalkin. Mimi is, in fact, a lion. You have never felt worse for Qingzu. The Vidyadhara looks frazzled when you drop by the Seat of Divine Foresight to play with the not-grimalkin upon your return.
As soon as Mimi sees you, they rise from where they were laying down and pad over to you, brushing their head against you. You look around in alarm, burying your hands in familiar white fur, and soon spot an exhausted looking Qingzu approaching.
“Ah, ___,” Qingzu greets you with a bow. “It has been awhile. Are you here to play with Wave-Treading Snow Lion?”
“…Jing Yuan shouldn’t be allowed to name anything. When and why did he change their name?”
“A couple of days ago,” Qingzu smiles at you but her eyes look empty. “He decided that Mimi didn’t fit as a name anymore.”
“They were raised with the name Mimi. We shouldn’t confuse the poor thing,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “And I’m assuming he’s been making you the primary caretaker of a lion you didn’t ask for?” A nod. “I’m so sorry, Qingzu. Thank you so much— Mimi’s still so sweet and behaved thanks to your care… I’ll talk to the general about this, though. Is he here?”
The exhausted Vidyadhara gives you a thankful look. “Yes, he’s in his office.”
“I’m going to kill him. Ignore the screams.”
“Of course, ___.”
You move through the Seat of Divine Foresight with a mission. Mimi makes a sound akin to disappointment, padding after you. Despite you being away the last few months, it still isn’t unusual for you to visit. You get along well with most of the staff, even. Plus, you’re the only one that seems to be able to talk sense into the general. Some jokingly say that you’re the only one who can tame the man, which always earns an eye roll from you. You don’t even knock before you enter Jing Yuan’s office, and the white-haired general blinks at you sleepily, a lazy smile gracing his lips. You could throttle him, you’re sure of it.
“Ah, ___! You’ve returned. How was your trip?” Jing Yuan asks, and after Mimi has entered the office, you shut the door, storm up to Jing Yuan and place your hands down on his desk, leaning over it to glare at the man. “Ooh… you don’t look happy. What have I done this time?”
“Stop siccing your pet on others!” you snap. Mimi senses your fury and opts to head towards a large pet bed in the corner of Jing Yuan’s office. “And for goodness sake, Mimi is a perfectly fine name. Don’t go changing it on them!”
“But Qingzu does such a good job of feeding and watering Wave-Treading–” Your glare darkens, “Apologies, Mimi. And Qingzu hasn’t complained–”
“You are taking advantage of your position as arbiter general, Jing Yuan. How is she going to complain to you, her superior, about how her superior is taking advantage of his position to make her take care of his pet?! If the next time I visit, Qingzu looks as tired as they do today, I’m going to personally drag you to her by your ear and make you apologize.”
Jing Yuan begins grinning cheekily, as though the idea amuses him. “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad…”
“Oh, really?” you reply dryly, moving around the desk and reaching for Jing Yuan’s ear. The man dodges, easily catching your wrist in his hand and tugging you towards him. “I thought you said it didn’t sound so bad.”
“Mmm… But this isn’t the next time you’ve visited. You haven’t yet given me an opportunity to rectify my previous actions,” Jing Yuan pouts. You roll your eyes, moving to sit on the man’s desk. “Though, I don’t particularly mind the idea of your manhandling me.”
Your face heats up. “Don’t talk like that, Yuan!”
He seems to relish in your embarrassment, standing from his desk and leaning in close to you with a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Talk like what, ___?”
“You know what I mean, General,” you grumble, pushing his shoulder. You’re not unused to being physically close to the man— you grew up together, after all. But this feels… different than usual.
“I missed you while you were away,” Jing Yuan tells you genuinely. “Mimi missed you as well. It was incredibly cute how they followed you in here.”
“Don’t change the subject. You were the one that accidentally adopted a pet lion so—“
He leans in again. “Did you not miss me?”
You feel your heart speed up. “Why are you being so… clingy, Jing Yuan? This isn’t the first time we’ve been apart.”
“Normally you don’t leave the Luofu,” Jing Yuan sighs, resting his head on your shoulder and loosely wrapping his arms around you in a hug.
Your ears feel hot and you have no idea why. This wasn’t the first time Jing Yuan hugged you like this. Why did it feel different now? His unruly hair tickles your cheek, and you hesitantly hug him back. “You’re not going to avoid this conversation forever, you know.”
Jing Yuan hums, nuzzling you, then releases you from his hold with a relaxed expression. “Should I get Qingzu to bring tea—“
“No! I’ll make it myself,” you huff, hopping off the desk and heading towards the door. “I’ll be back in a few moments, and then we’re having a long talk about how you should be treating the ones who work under you.”
“So long as I also get to hear about your trip, then that sounds fine to me.”
~*~
Some of Jing Yuan’s employees had invited you out. They said it was to thank you for helping them deal with the General.
Since your return to the Luofu, the dozing general had stopped giving his subordinates Mimi-related tasks and was handling them himself (although Qingzu was given a raise to continue handling Mimi’s food and water when Jing Yuan was tending to business away from the Seat of Divine Foresight). You personally assisted Jing Yuan with the budget and planning of Mimi’s meals— Mimi did not need fancy cuts of meat and also did not get nearly as much exercise as a wild lion. Therefore, Mimi’s diet was adjusted to suit its lifestyle. Which was, thankfully, much more affordable for the man.
Jing Yuan’s sudden change in behavior in regards to his pet coinciding with your timely return had essentially made you a living legend to all who worked at the Seat of Divine Foresight. So, not seeing a reason to refuse, you joined them for food and drinks at a nearby establishment.
A few hours have passed since you joined them… and you have had far too much to drink. It wasn’t entirely your fault, though. Everyone was offering you drinks and you had trouble telling them no. When you stand to use the restroom, things feel a bit wobbly, and the edges of your vision blur a bit.
Qingzu steadies you. She looks a bit worried. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” you laugh. “Just had a bit too much to drink. Be right back.”
After your restroom visit, as you head back to your table where the others are, Jing Yuan enters the eatery. His hair is down, he’s dressed in gray pants and a dark red linen shirt, and the moment he sees you he smiles.
“Yuan!” You greet him cheerfully, taking his hands in yours and smiling up at him. “I didn’t realize you were coming!”
The general notes how you seem a bit off balance, how your eyes can’t seem to focus, and how unguarded your smile is. Ah. You’re drunk. “Qingzu mentioned it to me, so once I was finished with Mimi I came over.”
“Everyone’s been buying me drinks and stuff,” you tell him with a grin. “How much trouble did you put them through while I was away?”
Jing Yuan gazes down at you, feigning innocence. “Oh, I don’t think it was that much.”
“The amount of glasses I’ve been handed tells me otherwise.”
“They could be handing you drinks because of how cute you are,” Jing Yuan offers. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this. Perhaps I should thank everyone.”
“You look smaller without your armor.”
Jing Yuan nearly trips over his own feet, and the look of genuine surprise on his face at your unexpected comment causes you to laugh. “I… didn’t expect that.”
“I mean, you’re not a small person by any means, but it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you outside of your armor. I like it, you look cute,” you begin to ramble. “You’re always cute, though. Except you always seem tired now, so I feel bad wanting to spend time with you since I know you should rest. And you need to get your bangs trimmed, because it’s hard to see both your eyes. They’re very pretty, you know.”
Your best friend begins to laugh, placing his hands on your shoulders and moving to stand in front of you. He looks down at you with an amused, happy grin on his face. “My dear, if you keep talking like that, people are going to get the wrong idea. Come now, let’s return to the others and let them know we’re leaving… I am suddenly feeling awfully tired, and would rather spend my off-time with you privately.”
“But you just arrived! Shouldn’t you have a drink with everyone too?”
Jing Yuan leans down, his voice low. “Oh, I don’t think it would be wise for me to be drinking tonight.”
A shiver runs down your spine, and you agree with a hint of uncertainty. Jing Yuan keeps a hand on your back, guiding you towards the employees of the Seat of Divine Foresight, and thanks everyone for treating you and being so welcoming as you follow the general’s lead, being guided to his estate and led inside where Mimi greets you.
Yuan brings you water, and you rest on the floor, using the pet lion as a pillow while you sober up. Your best friend sets himself up next to you, also resting himself on Mimi lazily, and he gazes at you with a softness that makes you feel warm inside. You reach out with both hands and pet Jing Yuan’s hair with a cackle.
The man catches your wrists in one hand, chuckling, and you feel your chest tighten as you stare into his golden eyes and see his boyish grin.
Oh.
Oh no.
His free hand reaches down to ruffle your hair, and you take the opportunity to lower your head and hide your expression. Your face and ears feel hot, feeling mortified by how touchy you’ve been with him— has it just been you being friendly, or were you subconsciously gravitating towards him because you’re attracted to him? And you feel guilty. Because Jing Yuan has always been a good friend to you— your best friend. But maybe you haven’t been thinking of him as a friend— you’ve overstepped. You’ve hugely overstepped.
You ask for more water, your throat feeling even dryer, and Jing Yuan stands to go grab some for you. When he returns and you take the glass, the man gazes at you a bit worriedly and asks if you feel okay.
You don’t.
This realization has made you feel sick, and your head and your heart are starting to hurt because you have drunk way too much and you feel like you have taken advantage of your friendship with your best friend to be so close to him. And he’s sweet, he’s so sweet, rubbing your back as you place your head between your legs and try to sort out your thoughts and blame your nausea on all the alcohol and not your internal crisis.
He doesn’t want you heading home while you aren’t feeling well, even though you insist on it. So you end up sleeping in his guest room with Mimi.
You don’t get much sleep.
~*~
Jing Yuan can tell that you’re avoiding him.
After that night, you seem to only visit Mimi at the Seat of Divine Foresight when he has responsibilities elsewhere. If he sends you a text you respond much like normal, but attempts to call you go straight to voicemail. When he asks you to visit him, or if he can visit you, you’re always too busy, which might have been true… but you still seemed to have time to visit Mimi. Then, the last time he chanced to see you in the markets, you mysteriously disappeared, when before you would cheerfully greet him and chat for a bit.
The Arbiter General feels a tad neglected.
Not wanting this to go on any longer, he decides to drop by your estate unannounced. If you really are just busy, then he will apologize for his rudeness… but Jing Yuan feels that there is something wrong because this feels different.
At your estate, he sees you sitting in the garden under the maple tree with numerous envelopes surrounding you. As soon as you see him, your eyes widen and you stand. “General! What are you doing here?”
General.
Before, his title was only used to tease him. You are not currently teasing him. Still, he stays level headed and places a smile on his lips. “Am I not allowed to visit a friend?”
“I mean, you are… but I’m very busy, see?” You hold up one of the many envelopes surrounding you as Jing Yuan approaches. The General picks up one of the open documents, and you try to snatch it from his hands, horrified. “Don’t— those are personal!”
The General clenches his jaw as he reads over the letter. “These are courtship requests,” he states, voice flat.
You look down at your hands, feeling embarrassment coming off you in waves. “Yeah. I’m looking into them. They’ve been piling up since I returned— apparently I’ve caught the eye of many artisan families.”
The General crosses his arms. Jing Yuan feels… resentful. He isn’t surprised that you have received courtship requests— you’re hardworking, kind, and attractive. However, you have never shown an interest in dating before, happy with his friendship and building positive relationships with the staff at the Seat of Divine Foresight. And your business relationships were all going well from his understanding. Yet, suddenly you’ve taken an interest in more?
A possessive, primal part of him wants to tear up all the requests and make you only see him. After all, no one could care for, cherish, love you more than he has these past few centuries. But the other part of him is just hurt. “And these potential suitors… matter more than spending time with me?”
“No!” You shake your head frantically, reaching for his wrist, then faltering before you actually touch him.
This won’t do. Jing Yuan thinks, frowning. You had never held yourself back from touching him before. But now, you’re lowering your shaky hands down to your side, refusing to meet his gaze and staring down at the ground. “Dearest, what’s wrong?” He asks, concern lacing his words as he reaches out to hold your hand.
You step back, barely dodging him, holding your hands to your chest, and when your eyes lock onto his he can see it— fear. You’re scared and Jing Yuan has no idea why. The white-haired man’s golden eyes widen, and he feels his throat tighten uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt, hiding your face in your hands. You seem so small like this. Jing Yuan hasn’t seen you this scared since… since Yingxing was mara struck. “Please don’t touch me, Jing Yuan. I can’t— I don’t think I can handle it right now, it's too much.”
“___…”
“I’m so, so sorry,” you tremble, now wiping your eyes as tears form. “Please don’t be mad. It’s all my fault, I’m sorry. I’m just looking into them to try and fix things, then I can be around you again.”
Jing Yuan steps forward, grabbing your wrists and forcing you to stop hiding from him. You weakly try to tug yourself free as you cry, and Jing Yuan lowers the two of you to the ground, kneeling in front of you. “Tell me what’s wrong, ___. Please. I can’t stand to see you like this.”
“I’ve been a terrible friend,” you sniffle, staring into Jing Yuan’s eyes. You look pained, and he wipes away your tears with his thumbs. “I’ve been hugely overstepping and taking advantage of our friendship, and it’s unfair to you, and I’m so, so sorry.”
Jing Yuan releases your wrists and pulls you into his chest, hugging you close. “You have never taken advantage of our friendship,” he assures, but you shake your head as you melt into his hold, clinging to him like a lifeline.
“Even now,” you cry. “I can’t stop thinking— My heart shouldn’t feel like it’s about to burst because you’re here. I’m so happy that you’re here, and I feel so guilty, because I still want more. It’s selfish. I should be happy with just this, I shouldn’t want to be closer to you— when did I start wanting to be closer?!”
His hold tightens on you, and his heart beats faster. You’ve realized it. You’ve finally realized it. Jing Yuan can’t help it, even as you’re crying and rambling into his chest, he grins. And, Aeons, he’s going to take his time with you. Everything has hit you all at once, but he’s been patient for centuries.
It’s time for him to be selfish.
“Trust me, ___,” he chuckles into your ear, pulling back and smiling down at you with half-lidded eyes barely concealing his joy. “You aren’t being selfish at all.”
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imnotasweetie · 1 month
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Please delete this is if being rude! I’m not sure how to word things properly and don’t want to sound like an ass! And really sorry if I come off as one!
To me personally I’m not really satisfied with phils Ender king arc. Don’t get me wrong! It seems really interesting! But…I’m not sure. My brain can’t latch onto it as easily
From what I’ve heard his acting is amazing! And it’s really interesting! But it doesn’t feel surprising, you know?
It feels like you knew what was going to happen, like oh yeah, Philza Minecraft gets possessed, neat. That it doesn’t have the plot twisting “oh fuck what now??” That most shows or books or other media would have
And it might be a problem server wide, to be honest.. it feels like knowing what’s going to happen takes away a lot of the emotions you feel when it happens. Because you were expecting it.
Fits current deadline arc I think negates this pretty well, you know there’s a deadline, there’s a threat of some kind. But you don’t know /what/ exactly is going to happen. It’s not fully spelled out yet
Or, I think another good way of negating this is tubbos death arc, where it was a spontaneous, spur of the moment type deal. So your like “oohhh holy hell, what??” That kind of shocked silence like end of an episode in the middle of the season with a cliff hanger type thing. (However, creation specifically saying that he was going to come back fucked up did sort of change things instead of letting it be seen subtly, which I would have preferred. But also a lot of people might not get that so it’s a ehh 50/50 kinda thing)
I think someone else who didn’t do this well was BadBoyHalo. I love his lore, I cried over it I will admit. But I knew what was going to happen, he was going to die, he was going to come back wrong, it took the whump out of it. Sort of. (Though he did an amazing job with the egg streams,,,sobs)
On another thing, I think my perception of the lore is different then yours because of what media I regularly enjoy. I usually watch tv shows, movies, or read books. I enjoy lore seeming like a tv show or movie, meaning I enjoy more subtle things that one might pick up from watching a tv show. (Background stuff, character movements and behavior)
And forgive me if I’m wrong, but you play and enjoy ttrpg right? I think those who play them enjoy more obvious roleplay lore, like where you can see everything like a board game, you can see the DM roleplaying character specific lore (unless you seperate..forgive me again I don’t do dnd type stuff lolzz) so stuff that’s more in your face, and sort of expected is your jam. You know?
It’s just an interesting psychology(?) thing I noticed in this fandom. I might be talking out of my ass but. Yeah.
I also think media comprehension might be a big part also. But I’d get into that at a different time. And culture, it’s a whole smodge podge of cool stuff that I fuckin LOVE it’s like. Grr grr grr grr grr and likekdkfkgkrkrkg this is why I’m planning on getting a doctorate in psychology and this stuff BECAUSE ITS SO COOL GRRR
Sorry for turning into a small mammal
(Idk if it’s important but I am a Tubbo main, so that might change things also, I didn’t want to add it because I know you have a. History. With us and I didn’t want to like change how you saw this but yeah. Uhm. Yeah. Anywayyy)
Idk how to end this
Uh
Ball. Singular. One single ball. Yes. That’s it
(about the end anon lmao dont worry about it. i am aware not every tubbling is terrible, there's just a LOUD part that grips onto toxic internet culture way more than others and i cant stand it)
onto the other topic…. eh, let's agree to disagree
see, phil and bad's lores (to me) are entertaining because you see it coming.as a phil viewer i can tell you he's been laying down the road, and leading us to conclusions for about half a year now! if we hadnt taken the hints and gotten to some conclusions, it would have been terrible on us. that is one way of doing narrative: constant foreshadowing of things to come. it reads very much as a greek or classic english tragedy: they tell you from the beginning "this is a sad story, the people you are about to meet will suffer and most of them will die", and you go into the story with the sword of damocles hanging on top of you, never knowing when it's going to drop. and im pretty sure if you ask bbh viewers, the answer would be similar!
both characters have been having their lore that just happened building since before purgatory, and both have been keeping and giving consistent subtle hints at what was going to happen/could happen since then. bad had his breakdown and loss of his purpose when the eggs were gone, the entire loss of his color and brightness and reverting to his more primal demon state, the allowing the vultures to hurt him was the start of this entire plot and that was back in october, if i remember correctly. you can trace a direct line from where his arc is today, passing the radiation damage, the cognitive issues he had, passing to the way he acted in purgatory to his breakdown in the server alone with curucucho hallucinations to his colourless state aaaall the way back to the eggs going missing. he’s been laying down a very clear road, and his watchers (and those of us keeping up with it not as closely as ghosties) were able to see that road, see where it was going and still had the hope “maybe it will end well, maybe it will be different”, but it wasn’t.
basically the same can be said about philza’s lore. as someone who has followed it close, there’s such a consistent character he’s been playing, and a narrative that he’s been building since the eggs were taken… the birdhouse, the hallucinations, the doubting what’s real and what’s not, isolating himself after it in an attempt of hiding, getting help from a protector, having that safety ripped away… hell, these past weeks we didn’t even notice his ramping greediness, because he played his character so well that we were all going “haha, bird man go brr” that it wasn’t until it became obvious and we looked back at the past weeks that we all began panicking at how obvious everything was. it was once again a road that had been laid masterfully, and we could see where it was going and we were being taken there
both phil and bad are those type of story tellers, the ones were you can see where you’re going clearly, and the ride to that conclusion (not even, because there’s more to go!) is what is exhilarating and enjoyable. because there’s a huge satisfaction in seeing the story bit being completed, the satisfaction of a narrative conclusion you knew was coming and wanted to see fulfilled…. along with the inherent tragedy of being a greek chorus trying to warn the protagonist of a tragedy they themselves are writing, but being unable to change the conclusion of i
this tension is also a super intense contrast to phil and bbh's general demeanour as silly guys, both are people who have dealt with horror, loss and tragedy, but manage to live through it by their nature and they both still manage to be sturdy sources of comfort and happiness for those around them. AND at the same time their self-isolating nature, and their tendency to take responsibility for everything around them and to put all the weight on their shoulders and never share their burdens with anyone is their ultimate undoing. and those are some of the best kind of characters, for me at least
on another hand, fit's narrative is very much similar to what both phil and bad have been doing (subtle build up, big lore-focused moments to amp up the narrative, self-isolation and not communicating to the others what's going on, leading to a very clear -to me at least- conclusion that is not on his control), so it's kinda wild to me that you're praising it while you're so critical of both phil's and bad's
while i enjoy the overarching narrative of tubbo's current lore, i am not a fan of a few of the choices he has done narratively…. not in the story perse, but how it bounces off of others (players and npcs alike), but that is just me. and also, it genuinely feels like watching an M. Night Shamalan movie, where he's trying to do as many plot twists as possible to try and keep the audience engaged through shock value and "who knows what might happen next! i dont, and you dont either!!", instead of laying down solid building blocks that keep people coming back for more the next stream because of you knowing something is going to go down, in a specific timeframe and with assumed consequences. tubbo is amazing at character RPing, he's great at emotional story beats and to bouncing dialog back and forth with people, but -TO ME- the way narrative appears out of nowhere, with no narrative build up to it is just not engaging. again, this is just how i see it, and why i personally just dont find myself watching his streams as invested as say, phil's, fit, bad's or bagi's
i will also say, kinda weird that you assumed i dont watch or enjoy other medias that you mentioned, cause like. i was a literature major, i love books, i love movies and shows, i am a gamer and have been consistently playing genshin mainly for the lore and story since 2020, i love anime and longform mangas, and im very much a theorist in an almost manic way when it comes to the media i consume (i am also an autistic with pattern recognition, and tend to predict foreshadowed plot twist/story bits in advance with a 9/10 accuracy)
and also, yeah your understanding of ttrpgs and how they work is kinda wild, because ttrpg narrative is NOT obvious lmao, you dont get how ttrpgs and that much is obvious ebcause literally nothing is on the board (hell, 80% of the time there is No Board To See), and 95% of shit that goes on is improv, with the other 5% being the DM clumsily herding cats (the players) back towards the main narrative. i've seen players walk over rather obvious story bits and miss them entirely, i've seen DMs have to re-write entire campaigns because the actions of the player were so out of what they expected that they shifted the narrative on its head (hell, i have been this dm). i fucking adore improv narrative and improvised storytelling, and, im sorry if this is not how you meant it, the way that you wrote about it feels incredibly condescending :/
i will also say, you said "from what i hear his acting is amazing" so, you havent watched… so how can you say that his lore isnt subtle? that there's no improvisation or off the moment scenes? there's a lot of his lore that after it's done he'll tell us "i had no idea that was coming, the admins threw that shit at me out of nowhere". bad has also talked about improvising parts of his lore in the past even if the big thing on itself is all planned, but i dont know that much about it, maybe ghosties can corroborate?
all in all, i genuinely have no idea what you were trying to get at with this ask. it feels like you're kinda trying to imply that because i enjoy phil's lore and you enjoy tubbo's, you have a better media comprehension than me? which is. kinda wild. like i said earlier, idk if that was your intention or not but your tone ("stuff that’s more in your face, and sort of expected is your jam. You know?") reads as extremely condescending or that you believe im stupid/dont have media comprehension based on the fact that i…. enjoy stories that have build-up that leads to a clear cut payoff?
idk man, this is for sure one hell of an ask to wake up to
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wren-dy-flowergarden · 6 months
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Hello, there! Since you got the final request slot open, can I request a fluffy scenario in which Leona and his fem! s/o share a kiss in the rain. Takes place during the Tamashina Mina event. If you can't write Leona or don't know much about him, I understand if you don't wanna write him. Thank you!
*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴A/N: You want fluff- I gotchu fam. Also disclaimer- I only played half of this event in Japanese and had to go find the end on a wiki page lolllll. I'm not sure if this is accurate but fluffy hehe I'm sure it is. I hope my rendition of Leona is still in character let me know your thoughts on this sweet request hehe (´∀`)♡
*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Leona x f!Reader (can be read as gn!Reader)
*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴WC: 1.2k
*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Tags: kisses in the rain, fluff, possessive Leona, mine mine mine, gotta do anything to win mindset, good luck rituals
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The score is not looking good.
You glance around at the team. Lillia has already been disqualified for using magic, which in your understanding should have been nothing more than a penalty! Which is worse? Being disqualified or that imperial guard cracking his head on the slate after being pushed off the ring?
Vil's ankle is swelling more and more, and it further cements the idea in you that Lillia should still be in the tournament as you see Kalim ready his stance.
Jack was their third member and would have been perfect for the last round but he was already out due to a heatstroke from before.
You're on the edge of your seat as the referee calls the match for Kalim. A stroke of luck that his opponent was the bus driver they helped earlier in the week. Another tick on the board for NRC. That doesn't make you any less nervous, though. 
Grim already moved a couple spaces after you accidentally squished him too hard. That left you to fidget with the end of Leona's outfit as you tried to make plays, any plausible strategies for the last round with the players you had left. 
The fabric that ties around his tunic in golden sunset weaves through your anxiety as you fiddle.
"Nervous Herbivore?"
You jump, looking to your left where you see a Leona, his ears are perked up. Kalim exits the stage for the second time. Two small beast men jump on to clean the stage for its last round, giving you a little more time to think. 
"You're asking me that now? We have no more viable players, and you are going to stay here for an entire week if we don’t win!" You cry as the fabric strains against your pulls. "How are you not nervous?"
It seems like the question went in one ear and out the other, because all Leona is repeats with that sly grin is, "Ah~ So what you're saying is that the little herbivore will miss me?"
Bullseye. 
You stupor for a mere second. "N-No! I'll just miss Ruggie cooking extra for you." In reality, you will miss the late afternoon naps in the garden with Leona. He was like your personal blanket as he wrapped around you in the grass. You never felt better rested after a long day of classes. 
"Oh, really now?" He's closer and you feel warmer than usual even with the pockets of clouds coming in. He knows your lying.
A cough interrupts the both of you as the royal Chamberlin clears his throat, stone eyes not even remotely moving from the empty stage. "It be best for you both to focus right now."
You feel red and turn back to the stage, giving Leona a small push with your shoulder. Of course, her doesn't budge, but you can feel the pleasant hum run through his body into your own as you nudge him. You wish he stop that. "Yeah, focus or else you're giving lessons for a week at least."
Leona, with his signature smirk, lowers the mask on top of his head. You can only see his emerald eyes contrasting against gold. "Don't worry herbivore this is the last play before checkmate."
You stop fiddling with the end of his robes as he stands up, abruptly grabbing your hand leading you towards the staircase leaving the assortment of the NRC team and a few others in confusion.
"And I'm going to be borrowing you."
You hold your hands out, like a private hanger for Leona as he strips down his robes to the tunic beneath. You're a blushing mess as you see the way he slides fabric off bare muscle. He’s such a tease, the way Leona languidly slides his arm through one sleeve of the robes before depositing it in your arms.
Another piece of ornament clinks around your neck you grunt. "Is this really going to work?" Another trail of beaded gems and you swear your arms will start to buckle if he continues, "We look nothing alike ack-!"
A scarf covers your head, and you flail for a moment, before Leona hushes you, "I'm not tucking my tail between my legs and letting that prissy Vil fight with that leg." Large hands wrap the scarf a couple times around you head until you can see Leona's eyes again, "Heh- you sort of look like a wild monkey.”
You open your mouth to rebuttal that comment but the smell of fresh water touches your nose and soon your head, then your cheeks. Rain is falling.
"Ah..." Leona groans. You look up, and he looks displeased.
"What?" You ask, the tip of your lips becoming a smile. "You never told me you were part cat?"
His tail whips against your thigh and you almost drop his clothing out of reaction, "It was just a joke!"
Hu huffs, bringing a hand up to the rain. It was becoming heavier now. "There's nothing to joke about." His tail is swinging back and forward now, a frown etched on your face as he clicks his tongue. You look up into the sky and even with it raining so heavily you can still see the sun peeking through some parts of the clouds.
You blink rain falling down your lashes, "It’s kind of nice it started raining already. Like a good omen of sorts,"
He pauses. "What are you even talking about. Rain is supposed to fall for the victor." Leona crosses his arms over his chest, and you shrug the best you can with everything holding you down.
"Well, yah silly. That’s you.”
Maybe this is why he kept you so close. The way you speak your mind, unhindered by others. The way you break through walls in his life with full force. Something akin to shock is plastered on his face before it quickly disintegrates with laughter. Shoulders bobbing up and down. 
"That's some type of logic there Herbivore."
"Yes, so please hurry and go win.” You joke. The rain is seeping into the fabric around your arms and is starting to drag you down, "Especially if I have to hold this the whole match." The muffle of the announcement echoes in the stadium for the last round.
You're about to make your way inside the arena, but a cool yet warm heat enters your back as Leona holds you still. The ornamental beads trail off his mask onto your head as he tucks his head above, a warm chuckles leave his throat. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
You tilt your head upward to be met with his usual smirk. He’s playing games with you again, but you're not the type to back down.
Twisting around, still captured in his arms you look at his eyes hidden by layers of gold and precious gems hanging off the edges. "Hmmm, no you still look just as pompous as ever."
He huffs as he pulls you closer, you would be chest to chest, but you're carrying his dirty laundry- or soaking laundry. That doesn't stop you from feeling a little abashed though with the proximity. 
"Before battle, there is a tradition of sorts, beast men would receive a trinket from their king before going to battle. Sacrificing themselves for the kingdom."
"We went over this before.” You hum, "I thought you served no king?"
It the same type of rumble in his chest that you fall asleep to those quiet afternoons, "I don't."
"Well Mr. I-don't-follow-anyone, I'm not sure what I can give you." You beam. You want to make him ask for it. They were reserved for special occasions after all.
It's a quiet growl Leona makes close to your ear. The rain is slipping off the two of you, you can it dripping down his cheekbones down to you, you feel the headscarf becoming heavier as it slips of you head onto the back of your neck as you tilt you head to the side, playfully.
"Wasn't it Kifaj saying how a prince should have manners?" You ask as he digs closer into you.
"You can't deny me Herbivore." He mumbles, the strings of gems give a cold tickle on your face as he moves, he mask to his forehead exposing his face.
You laugh, he can be so cute when he wants to be. "I can you can't, but I'm feeling rather nice and I'm sure there will not wait any longer for,"me" to go on stage so just one.”
You tilt your head, and he leans closer than your lips touch. It's sweeter than usual. He tastes like the mix of hibiscus and coconut juices you have been drinking the past weekend.
It's also different from the small pecks you shared in NRC or the sessions you had when no one was watching. The chill of rain soaking you to the bone, the weight of fabric clinging to your skin wanting to drag you down if you were not careful. Leona's hand felt like fire against your back as he held you still, the other rubbing gently massaging your cheek. Gems would clink against gold in a soft chimes vibrant against the pelting of the rain on the concrete. 
He wants to deepen it, you can feel his tongue asking for permission as he swipes against your lips. To explore you deeper in a more intimate fashion compared to other times. It’s so quiet here and you almost let him if you didn't hear the microphone boom again.
NRC last contestant. Make way to the arena immediately or risk disqualification! I repeat-
You break away with a breath and Leona looks irritated as his ears twitch in annoyance. "Damn committee, can't they wait a couple more minutes?"
A laugh erupts out of you push against him escaping towards the arena, "We can continue later 'me'! Back at NRC when you win."
It's a little comedic to see a lion soaking in the rain by himself. You don't even hear him call anything back not that you needed that.
Words are useless in front of actions.
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astro-b-o-y-d · 13 days
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Triangulum - Chapter 3 - An Unwelcomed Guest
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— — — — — — —
Bill’s head hurt.
A searing ache throbbed at the back of his skull while consciousness returned to him once again. No pain in recent memory compared to something like this; even getting his eye ripped out of its socket had been more of an inconvenience at worst. It took forever to regenerate those things!
The closest thing he could compare such intense pain to was his outright death, which sent a jolt of panic through his mind that only furthered his headache. He wasn’t dead again, was he—
“Why would I go through all this effort to bring you back, only to deceive you about what I have to offer?”
Oh. Right.
Any concerns were washed away in an instant as the feathery face of the shelduck drifted to the front of his mind. Not just their face, but the conversation the two of them had shared in the mindscape. The game they had wanted him to play, their contract, the destruction of the barrier as a prize—
—something was wrong.
Even with his eyelid still closed, Bill could physically feel a disconnect with his body. 
It was difficult to verbalize properly—his eye felt too distant from his limbs, and his usual shape felt noticeably altered. As if he’d slipped into a costume with lots of awkward parts, ones that stuck out in ways that forced him to be aware of their existence as he tried to descend down a narrow passageway.
Almost exactly how he’d felt whenever he possessed someone in the past. 
But the way the body suited itself around his existence, it didn’t feel like it would belong to a talking, anthropomorphic shelduck. Even with his eye closed, Bill could still feel a lack of any feathers pinpricking their way through his skin, or a beak protruding from his face—
“When did I ever say you were going to possess me in this game?”
…Ah.
Alright, even he couldn’t ignore a good loophole dodge when he saw it. Point to Tangy for their oh-so-clever little trick; he’d be sure to give them kudos for it later. 
Kudos in the form of soaking their tacky windbreaker in a gallon of rotten tuna fish for a month. Good luck getting the smell out after that one, Birdbrain!
“—what if he’s not even in there anymore?”
“Yeah, he could’ve jumped out after Wendy clunked him on the back of the head!”
“Are we even sure it’s him in the first place? Just sayin’, some random kid cackling maniacally in the middle of the woods isn’t the weirdest thing to happen around here.”
“Everyone just hold on a second, I’m trying to think—”
The sound of frantic, hushed voices stirred him further awake, and he fluttered his eyelid—no, wait, eyelids plural—open the tiniest amount to investigate. 
It didn’t seem like Birdbrain had taken any extreme measures with his vision; he still possessed a functioning eyeball. But rather than being set in the center of his face, his vision had taken a hard shift to the left and weakened to a noticeable degree. And while his vision hadn’t carried over to the right side of his face, he could feel another eyeball rotating around in its socket.
Almost as much as he could feel a set of teeth and tongue in a separate cavity much lower on his face—oh, eugh, he’d forgotten how bizarre it felt to have his face parts separated like this, and not even the fun kind of bizarre!—or a protruding nose right smack dab between his new pair of eyes.
Alright, so Birdbrain had gone humanoid for his vessel. Bit cliché, but nothing he wasn’t used to by this point. And if his mouth and eye placement weren’t enough to confirm this fact, peering open his eyelids further revealed his head to be slumped forwards, gaze fixed on a pair of black-panted human legs that were clearly attached to his body.
Yep, there was no denying that he’d been slapped back into a meatsuit mecha.
An even-riskier peek around him revealed he was currently tied up in some sort of bedroom. One clearly owned by the word’s most generic older woman of all time; creme-colored floral wallpaper decorated the walls, a shelf lined with creepy, porcelain dolls was situated near the door, and a comfortable old recliner had been set up near the fireplace—
—hang on, wasn’t this just the parlor room in the Shack?
“He’s awake!”
Shoot. Guess he’d made it a bit too obvious that he’d regained consciousness.
Bill’s head snapped up to full height at the sudden exclamation, only find himself on the receiving end of a number of different intimidation methods—all to various degrees of effectiveness.
Mabel’s weapon of choice was her beloved grappling hook. One of the better options of the bunch; metal was strong enough to shatter a fragile human skull if aimed at just the right spot and applied with just enough power and force. Terrible for his current vessel, but Bill could appreciate a healthy level of bloodlust.
Stan’s brass-knuckled fists were—admittedly—also an inspired choice, given how effective his fists had been in the past. A fact that Bill was happy to ignore and brush to the side as he shifted his attention over to—
—the random plank of wood in Dipper’s hands, one he was gripping tightly with all the intimidation of a mildly-inconvenienced kitten. Yeesh, had he even tried?
Of course, Pine Tree’s embarrassing incompetence was compensated in full by the gun in Ford’s hand, both the barrel and his own violent gaze locked onto Bill like his life depended on it.
Hmm, that was annoying.
And here Bill had hoped he could keep his return discreet for at least a short while before these suckers caught wind. Maybe strike some fear and uncertainty in their naive minds by staring ominously at them through their windows, only to vanish from sight when they came over to investigate. 
Were their minds playing tricks on them now that they were back in town? Were they simply paranoid as a result of what happened the year before? Or was there really someone watching them beyond the shadows of the trees? 
Maybe if his methods were effective enough, Ford would even start shooting at the woods in a blind panic. Heck, maybe one of the kids would even get caught in the crossfire!
Y’know, fun stuff like that.
But unfortunately for Bill, it seemed like he’d dropped right into the belly of the beast and Ford had gained the upper hand while he’d been unconscious. 
Any attempts to move his new human limbs revealed them to be restrained to the chair he was seated upon; arms tucked behind the back and bound at the wrists, torso tied in place—what, had there been a sale on rope or something? It was a miracle they’d left his legs alone—or maybe they’d just run out of rope by that point?
Nope, an abandoned piece near the far wall rendered that guess incorrect. Maybe they just hadn’t had enough time to restrain his legs, then?
Moving the focus back to his captors, Bill’s gaze bounced from person to person as he took a quick stock of their expressions. Unanimous hatred and fury trying so desperately to mask the uncertainty and fear behind their expressions. The clear desire to come across as intimidating, despite the trembling hands around their weapons.
So much fear, despite having the upper hand over him. Bill was tied to a chair and barely conscious, yet he could get a reaction like this outta them?
Good.
Because otherwise, he had no idea how he would be able to spin this situation to his advantage. With the element of surprise and mobility no longer an option for him, tapping into those fears and insecurities was the only weapon that Bill had left at his disposal.
Speaking of which—
The silence in the room stretched on as the Pines continued to stare at him, to the point where Bill was starting to grow bored. Sure, leaving them forever entrenched in uncertainty might be fun in theory, but that also required him to remain quiet for just as long.
And while that wasn’t an impossible order, Bill Cipher was not the kind of triangle to sit and behave quietly if he had any say in the matter.
He needed just the right comment to break the ice. A perfect reintroduction to his presence in their lives, one that would only strengthen that fear behind their eyes.
“I gotta ask, what didja think a gun was gonna do against me?” he asked with a grin at Ford. “I mean, do you really think regular old bullets are going to be enough to get the job done?”
His pupil flicked over to Dipper. “Guess it’s better than whatever Junior’s got going on over there, though,” he said. “Seriously, Pine Tree, a piece of wood? I guess you might have a chance at beating me in a game of interdimensional rock-paper-scissors, but outside of that, I don’t like your odds.”
Just for good measure, he punctuated everything with his loud, trademark cackle—one that shook the room and everyone in it.
Oh yeah, that’d do the trick nicely.
Sure enough, everyone’s grip on their weapons tensed, the fear in their faces now completely tangible as the worst scenario they could possibly imagine was confirmed.
“Bill.”
It was Ford who spoke first, tone marinaded in venom as he stared Bill down. Such vitriol sent another cackle throughout Bill, his body wiggling with delight against the bonds that held him to the chair. “Aww, it’s good to see you too, Sixer~!” he said sweetly. “What’s it been, about nine months now? Nice beard, by the way. Really brings your face together in a way that those sideburns didn’t, know what I mean?”
His amusement fell with a vindictiveness he made no attempt to mask. “Although if you ask me, I’d suggest taking up that old face-burning habit of yours to clear everything up and start fresh,” he said, narrowing his eye—eyes. “I mean, you’re clearly the expert in burning things around here. Facial hair, bridges, minds with me in them—”
“Stop talking.”
Bill was silenced by the cold, threatening steel of the gun barrel being pressed against his cheek, pupil flitting up to Ford’s own cold, threatening gaze. 
Oh, he was real mad. 
Of course, not even Ford’s ire was enough to silence Bill, and he managed a smug grin despite the distortion of his cheek against the weapon’s tip. “Again I ask: just a regular gun? No Quantum Destabilizer? No memory-erasing device or fancy-schmancy magical weapon from your precious journals? You’re really getting dull in your old age, Fordsy.” 
He tilted his head, half in thought and half to give himself some breathing room. “Although I have to wonder why you didn’t just try to kill me while I was knocked out, if you’re this trigger-happy?”
The answer to that one was pretty obvious. Given their initial reactions, they hadn’t been certain if he had actually been possessing someone—and they weren’t about to go and murder an innocent human on the off-chance they were wrong. And now that he was awake and his presence confirmed, they weren’t about to go and murder an innocent human while he was possessing them.
And if that was truly the case, it probably meant he was free to run his mouth as much as he wanted.
Probably. 
Maybe?
“Ooh, lemme guess: you wanted me to be awake before you pumped me full of lead?”
…Heck with it, he couldn’t resist the chance to press a few more of Ford’s buttons. To really test the waters on what he could get away with saying or doing. “Well, I’d love to see you take your best shot at it~!” he continued with a wide grin, one that show far too much of his gums. Guess that was one benefit to having a humanoid vessel again. “I know it’ll probably get a real laugh outta the poor sucker I’m puppeting around now—”
There was a click of the hammer as the tip was pressed further into his cheek, to the point where not even leaning away from it would pull Bill out of its line of fire.
Alright, limit reached for the time being. “Okay, okay, geez, I get the picture,” he said, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Can I at least ask for a mirror or something? I wanna see what I’m working with over here.”
Okay, maybe one more. “I’d fetch one myself, but as you can see, I’m a bit tied up at the moment~!”
Ha. Hilarious.
Luckily for him, his clever little risk seemed to pay off in the unexpected way of making Ford lower his weapon, with an added bonus of painting a look of confusion across his face. And judging by the looks being exchanged between the other family members, it was clear that his little joke had been far more effective in causing confusion than he’d originally intended.
After a few more minutes of perplexed silence between them, it was Mabel who eventually—and hesitantly—spoke up with a: “You…don’t know what you look like?”
Hmm, an unexpected question to follow the unexpected responses. And a stupid one at that; did she really expect him to give her the honest, unfiltered truth when prompted?
If she did, the answer to that question would be a resounding “It’s funny how dumb you are, Shooting Star~!”, followed by a bout of condescending laughter to drive the point home. 
And the answer to her former question would probably be that same reply and condescending laughter. There was no chance across the entire multiverse that he would tell them about his little deal with Tangy. Birdbrain had said it themselves back in their mindscape: the second they found out that he was playing a game where the prize was the destruction of the barrier, the second Ford would do everything in his power to keep him restrained until the end of the game.
Or, well—more restrained than he was already.
Still, as good as his clever little joke had been, he had unintentionally dropped a small hint to them about his situation. 
Guess it was time to do what he did best; scramble their mushy little brains more than he’d done already and throw them completely off the right track. 
“I mean—it was all kind of a blur when I possessed the guy,” he said casually, leaning back in the chair as far as he could. “Didn’t exactly feel like stopping and sussing out all the details, not when the chance to stretch my legs again after spending nine months as a lawn ornament was right there in front of me—hey, come on—”
The barrel of the gun was at his cheek again as Ford gave him another warning look. “Don’t listen to a single word he says,” he said, directing the statement at the others. “We have no reason to believe that what he’s telling us is the truth, so don’t take any stock in anything he’s saying.”
Bill narrowed his eyes up at him. Spoilsport. Spoilsport and a hypocrite, to boot! “Oh, yeah, that’s rich, Sixer,” he said bitterly. “But I guess you would know what it’s like to give people a reason not to trust you, wouldn’t you?”
His functional pupil bounced over to Stan, the corners of his mouth twitching with the threat of a smile. “I’m just saying: the last time we saw each other, you were promising to finally give me that equation,” he said, with a look back to Ford. “But then when I ended up making the deal, it wasn’t your brain I ended up in, was it—OW!”
The tip of the gun was jammed so hard against his cheek that the skin would likely be bruised in the shape of a triangle later. “Stop talking—”
“Alright, that’s it.”
Before Ford could respond, Stan’s hand was back on his shoulder and gently goading him towards the door. “Ford, come on, let’s just—”
“Stan—”
“He’s tied up, Soos says the rope’s got the unicorn stuff woven into it,” Stan kept trying. “Let’s just step outside for a sec. Kids, why don’t you go with him? I’ll be with you in a few minutes, just—”
“We’re on it.”
Ford opened his mouth to protest further, but Mabel had already taken one of his hands in her own while Dipper claimed the other. “Come on, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said, giving his hand an encouraging tug. “Let’s go wait in the hallway.”
“Yeah, why don’t you go ahead and leave, Sixer~?” Bill teased with a kick of his feet. “I’m sure I won’t go anywhere while you’re gone!”
A risky taunt, for sure. Ford had turned the gun on him enough times to prove that he was only a few more pokes away from throwing caution to the wind and sticking a bullet between his eyes, regardless of the consequences. Besides, the sooner Bill got the chance to be alone and collect his thoughts, the better. 
But at the same time, any opportunity to get under Ford’s skin was just too good to resist, nor did he have any desire to try resisting in the first place.
It seemed to be a lucky day for him in terms of taunt-rope balancing, because Ford pulled his hands from the kids’ embraces and trudged out of the room with calm, restrained steps. Steps clearly powered by every last ounce of self-control he could possibly muster, ones that suppressed a deep, brooding storm that swelled just beneath the surface.
Good. Seethe harder, Stanford.
Eventually the door shut behind him, leaving Stan and the kids—their own hands now void of any that possessed six fingers—behind. Although it was only a second later when the door cracked open again, and one six-fingered hand reentered their line of sight. 
A hand that Mabel immediately took hold of again before both her and Dipper hurried out into the hallway after him. Leaving only Bill, Stan, and a deafening silence left in the room.
A deafening silence that Bill was quick to break with a casual: “Gotta say, the beard look is waaaay more natural on you than it is on Sixer. Covers your ugly mug way better than his does.”
Apparently Ford had kept all of the restraint for himself because Stan was back to him before he could blink, and Bill had no time to brace himself as the older man grasped a rugged hand around his throat. “Listen to me, and listen good, Wise Guy,” he growled. “I don’t know how you got back here, and I don’t really care how.”
The hand around Bill’s neck tightened as he balled the other into a fist. “But I punched your lights out once, and I can do it again. As many times as it takes for you to stay down for good.”
He moved the first near Bill’s blinded eye, his good pupil following despite himself. “You try anything with my family again, you’re gonna know what it feels like to get punched to death twice. ¿Comprende?”
It was a threat Bill knew that Stan would hold himself to if necessary. One that Bill couldn’t help but feel a twinge of genuine fear towards as those final memories inside Stan’s head came rushing back to him. 
And for a split second, Bill could almost feel the terrifying heat of the flames around them, creeping nearer and nearer as they swallowed every last bit of the room in their destructive wake—
One fatal mistake…
—only for a brief moment, before flashed Stan another toothy grin. “But seriously, you should keep that beard. Maybe try and convince Sixer to shave his, I don’t know who I was kidding when I told him it looked good—”
His grin spread wider, once again revealing far too much of the inside of his mouth. “But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”
Stan punched him. Hard.
And when Bill crumbled with a shout, pain enveloping the area around his right eye that was sure to be bruised within minutes, Stan turned and stormed out of the room.
Yep—flew too close to the sun with that one.
— — — — — — —
Ford had barely made it out of the room before the stress of the situation brought him to his knees, and Stan entered the hallway to the sight of almost everyone else circled around him in an attempt to bring comfort.
Seeing him, Soos lifted his head. “So, is it really him?”
“Sure looks, sounds, and acts like it,” Stan said, pressing a weary hand to his temple. “Alright, so the guy who tried to take over the universe and who we thought was dead is now tied up in the next room, very much the opposite of dead.”
He took a sweeping glance around at the rest of the group. “...Does anybody have a game plan?”
From beside Ford on the floor, Mabel perked up. “What about that zodiac prophecy thingy Grunkle Ford tried to do during Weirdmageddon?” she asked. “Didn’t he say that was supposed to stop Bill?”
“Hey, yeah!” Stan snapped his fingers with an inspired look. “Great idea, Pumpkin, we could try that!”
“But don’t we need all of the symbol-things for it to work?” Soos pointed out. “And out of the original ten, we only have, like—” He paused to count heads. “—six of the people here that we’d need.”
From the spot near the wall where Wendy had seated herself, she lifted her head to join in on the conversation. “Well, then why don’t we just get the other four?” she asked. “I doubt it’d be hard to convince Robbie, Pacifica or the others to help us out. They probably hate Bill as much as we do.”
“We could also try the Quantum Destabilizer,” Dipper added thoughtfully, pressing a hand to his chin. “Grunkle Ford said it could blast Bill back into the Nightmare Realm, but I wonder if that would actually work without a rift to—you know, blast him back through.”
“What do you think, Dr. Pines?” Melody asked, directing the question at Ford.
And suddenly all eyes were back on Ford again, who had yet to move from the spot where he had collapsed after leaving the bedroom—too enveloped in his own overwhelming, smothering thoughts to take any notice to the others’ suggestions.
Bill was alive.
A scenario he had only envisioned in the worst of the nightmares that plagued his head on a nightly basis. A fear that lingered over him like the shadow of a starving predator, waiting to strike its unsuspecting prey when they least expected.
He had wanted to hope so dearly that he’d been dreaming when that child between the birch trees began to laugh in that horrific, familiar way. The bone-chilling laughter that often echoed through the deepest recesses of his mindscape, nothing more than a mere shadow of the one who had once produced it.
But this was no dream, no nightmare, nor a bad memory he could simply banish the back of his mind—
Bill was alive.
“Dr. Pines?”
“The Zodiac Prophecy is a no-go,” he said, his words forming on their own as he returned to his feet. “The entire town believes that Bill is dead, and letting too many people know that he’s returned could ignite a panic.” 
He cast a tense look around at everyone else. “One would argue that too many people know about his return already.”
“Hey, come on, I don’t think anyone here’s in a hurry to go blabbing about him,” Wendy pointed out. 
“Regardless, it’s not a liable option at the moment,” Ford continued. “And unfortunately, neither is the Quantum Destabilizer. The only power source stable enough to power the device was only obtainable in another dimension, with the assistance of another another dimension’s Fiddleford McGucket—”
“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna be tough to get, then,” Melody spoke up. “Fiddleford's out of town for a few weeks with his family.”
“We had to put our weekly anime club meetings on hiatus until he got back,” Soos added sadly. “But, that gives all of us plenty of time to catch up on our latest show and discuss our thoughts once he’s back!”
Ford raised his hands. “Wait, that’s not what I—”
“Well, what about when he does get back?” Wendy asked. “I mean—like I said before, I doubt he’d be in a hurry to go blabbing to anyone else. Plus he’s probably smart enough to build anything we’d need to get rid of Bill.”
“Wait, I—”
“Yeah, yeah, good point, Wendy!” Stan said, waggling a finger at her. “The guy turned this place into a giant, robotic, triangle-punching whatchamacallit. He could definitely build some fancy-schmancy power source—”
“You’re missing the point!”
Ford’s fist hit the wall before he could even process his action, and suddenly the hallway was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. His frustration lingered for only a second, before he took a look at the concerned expressions around him—
—and the guilt swiftly drowned any other emotions that had been building inside his chest. “Sorry, that was—sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Several pairs of shoulders unclenched as his arm fell back to his side, and Stan moved to him again. “Woah, woah, hey, come on, no one here’s about to judge you for swingin’ a fist,” he assured him. “Feel like outta anyone here, you deserve to do it the most.”
He flicked a thumb back at the bedroom door. “‘Sides, at least you held out as long as you could. I may have given the little jerk a—let’s call it a ‘welcome back gift’.” 
A pause. “I…I gave him a black eye, that’s the joke I was trying to make.”
“Non-refundable gift,” Wendy said with a proud nod. “Nice.”
“Stan’s got a point,” Dipper added from Ford’s side. “It’s Bill Cipher. I feel like if anyone deserves to be angry right now, it’s you.”
“Yeah, sorry for uh—sorry if we sounded like we weren’t taking this seriously,” Soos added. “I know how dangerous he is, and Wendy and I even told Melody everything about him ahead of time. Just in case something like this ever happened, of course. A big bad returning during a moment of peace is a common trope in sequels, after all.”
He rolled his hands together. “And since this is the summer after he died…you know, sequel summer? Just…just sayin’, it wasn’t outta the realm of possibilities.”
“I wasn’t sure how much of it was actually true,” Melody admitted. “But also I’ve seen way weirder stuff in this town. So if you all say that kid in there’s actually an evil triangle demon bent on destroying the universe, then I’d believe it.”
“There, you see?” Stan added. “Ain’t nobody here to judge. You be as angry as you want, punch another wall or two if you really gotta.”
“Although if it helps you swing at them less, clearly we’re all on the ball when it comes to thinking of ways to put Cipher back under the ground where he belongs,” Wendy pointed out. “Maybe the stuff we already suggested won’t work, but putting our heads together like this will probably get us somewhere a lot quicker than when you were just doing this by yourself, y’know?”
“Once again, Wendy knows what’s what,” Stan agreed, and gave her a thumbs up. “If I were still your boss, I’d give you a raise.”
“...No, you wouldn’t.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
He reached over to clasp a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Point we’re tryin’ to make is that you’ve got your family here for you this time. You don’t have to deal with this alone again.”
“Yeah, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel agreed, casting him a weak smile as she once again tucked a hand into his own. “We’ll do everything we can to help you kick Bill’s butt again!”
Ford’s gaze fell to her face, sweet eyes wide with concern and small hands once again gripping his own tightly. He could feel them trembling, clearly masking just as much fear as he was harboring inside him—
—the same way his had trembled as he pulled the trigger on the memory gun, wiping every little trace of what made his brother himself from his mind. 
He forced his gaze to the man at his right, eyes moving up to the face that mirrored his own to a near-identical degree.
The face of the man Ford had cried over for a week straight while he worked so tirelessly, so desperately to restore those lost memories. For whom he had dug out every last movie reel, scrapbook—even old postcards that Stan had sent during his travels across the country, and with whom he had spent several long night poring over the contents. 
The man whose confused expression shifted to bright realization as the kids read out the jokes from his favorite joke book, jokes he would follow up with every terrible punchline with perfect recollection. The man who suddenly remembered his and Ford’s brush with the Jersey Devil mid-story, only to go on and tell the back half as if the two of them had only experienced it yesterday.
The man who had risked sacrificing all those precious memories, all of who he was for the sake of the world’s safety. For the sake of his family’s safety.
And now Bill was back, leaving that precious sacrifice nothing more than a pointless suffering for Stanley to have endured.
“I’ll figure out a way to stop Bill by myself,” he said suddenly, pulling his hand out of Mabel’s before turning to the others. “Someone’s going to need to stay up and keep an eye on him tonight anyway. I’ll use that time to come up with a plan, and we can reconvene tomorrow.”
He reached for the doorknob. “As for the rest of you, it’s late and you should be getting to bed.”
Everyone exchanged a series of unsure looks, which Stan vocalized with a: “Do you really expect the rest of us to just sleep while you deal with some all-powerful demon all night?”
“Also, do you really expect us to sleep at all with someone like that in the house?” Wendy added. “I mean, I know he’s kinda—”
She made a shrinking motion with her fingers. “—now, but this is the same guy that crawls through people’s heads like a kid in a Hoo-Ha Owl’s playplace, right?”
Ford looked to her, then the other adults with a raised eyebrow. “You said the rope had unicorn hair weaved into it?”
“Well, yeah,” Soos confirmed. “Plus we set up those moonstones, got you that mercury you needed—”
“We have a whole stash of everything in the storage room, too,” Melody added. “If you need any more of anything.”
“Then it should be enough to hold Bill in place for the night,” Ford said matter-of-factly. “And if it’s not—well, I’ll be enough to hold him in place for the night.”
Before anyone could question him further, the bedroom door was opened and shut behind him. Leaving the rest of them out in the hallway, the shrill and barely-muffled greeting of “Welcome back, Fordsy~!” in the bedroom only adding to the unsure aura surrounding them.
Despite the door being closed, Soos held up a hand to the side of his mouth. “Uh, okay! Good night, Dr. Pines!” he called. “Also if you’ve gotta shoot him, please aim the bullets away from Abuelita’s porcelain doll collection!”
Mabel finally let her arm—the one that she had kept outstretched even after Ford let go of her hand—fall back to her side with a dejected sigh. A look that Dipper immediately spotted and moved to her side to comfort her. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” he said reassuringly. “Ford’s just worried about Bill, that’s all. And he probably just wants us to stay safe.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t need to go around makin’ himself unsafe to do that,” Stan said, pressing a hand to his head with an annoyed huff. “Is he out of his mind? What’s he thinking, dealing with all of this by himself?”
Everyone else exchanged a look. “Well, if he doesn’t want our help then…what should we do now?” Melody asked.
With a sigh, Wendy took a wide step away from the wall. “Guess we do what the doc said and try to get some sleep. Dibs on the couch as usual, by the way.”
With that, the shuffled on down the hallway, while the rest of the group silently watched her take her leave. Once she disappeared around the corner, Soos pointed towards a door on the opposite side of the hallway. “Uh, I dunno if it’ll help at all, but Melody and I sleep in the room next to Abuelita’s,” he said to Stan. “If you want, we can sleep in shifts and check in on Dr. Pines for you.”
“And if anything actually happens, one of us can come get you,” Melody added. “Leaving the other person down here to help him if he needs it.”
“Yeah!” Soos said, nodding in agreement. “If anything happens, we’ll come get you, okay?”
Stan hesitated to respond—as if the idea was anything but okay to him—but eventually he gave them a tired nod in return. “Alright, you two. Just keep an ear out for him.” 
He leaned over and placed a hand on Soos’s shoulder. “And—should I not get here quick enough to do it myself—I give you my blessing to punch the pointy little jerk in my place.”
With a look of honor, Soos pressed a hand to his forehead in a salute. “I won’t let you down, Mr. Pines! I’ll even knock out a few of his teeth if I’ve gotta!”
“Good man, Soos,” Stan said, giving his shoulder a pat. “Now get.”
With Stan’s approval, Soos gestured for Melody to follow him to their bedroom. “I’ll be the one to come get you if we need to, then,” she assured Stan as they walked. “That’ll leave Soos open for—well, that.”
And soon their bedroom door closed behind them, leaving nobody but the remaining Pines in the hallway. And with a gruff sigh and the realization that they were the only ones left, Stan turned to face the kids.
Despite the reassurances from everyone else—and even each other—they had shuffled close to one another with their attention firmly locked on to the door of Abuelita’s bedroom. As if they expected Bill to come bursting out of it at any second.
Yep, that was about what he expected.
Another sigh brought Stan to his knees, and he gave the two of them a weak smile. “Well, you two knuckleheads heard everyone. Let’s head upstairs.”
The two exchanged an uncertain look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dipper asked.
“Yeah,” Mabel added. “I mean…it’s Bill.”
“If Ford’s so insistent on dealing with this by himself, then he’s probably got a couple of tricks up his sleeve to solve it by himself,” Stan pointed out, and reached over to lightly bap the top of Dipper’s hat. “It’s like you said, he probably just wants us to stay safe. And if he does need our help, then—well, he knows where to find us...”
Even he couldn’t bring himself to try and sound convincing by the end of his reassurances, but he gave both of them a nudge to move forwards before returning to full height. “In the meantime, let’s not give that demon the satisfaction of knowing he’s freaking all of us out and go get some rest, okay?”
After another look to each other, the younger twins eventually let themselves be lead down the hallway. Despite this, Stan counted at least three times where one of them would pause to look back towards the bedroom door, before they finally rounded the hallway corner and the room was barred from their line of sight.
The interior of the Mystery Shack had fallen silent by that point, save for the faint creaking of the wooden floor beneath their steps as they headed for and—after grabbing the bags they had dropped upon arrival—up the staircases that eventually brought them to the topmost floor of the shack.
Mere hours ago, the sight of the old attic would’ve been a nostalgic welcome back, like greeting an old friend after spending so long apart. And approaching the room at the far end would’ve been the equivalent of bringing that old friend into a warm hug.
Warm, friendly, welcoming—
But the air around the trio just felt so miserable as they slowed to a gradual stop outside the bedroom door, and Stan reached a hand to the doorknob. Rather than turn it immediately, he instead chose to direct his attention back at the kids. 
Silent attention—as if he wanted to say something, but struggled to find the proper words.
After a few, long seconds, he spoke with an uneasy: “Hey, uh, if you kids need to—you know…” The hand on the doorknob moved to the back of his head. “You gonna be alright by yourselves up here? You know you can always join Wendy in the living room, or come bunk down with me if you really need to, or something—”
The younger twins looked to each other in silent consideration, until Dipper finally spoke up: “I…think we’ll be okay,” he said, although his shaky tone implied otherwise. “If we’re really that scared, we can always sleep in shifts.”
“Yeah,” Mabel added with a bit more optimism. “And—and we’ll lock our door and window—”
An oink at the staircase drew a pointed finger from her, aimed at the pig who had ambled up the stairs after them. “—and we also have Waddles as an attack hog if we really need him! We’ll be okay!”
Her shoulders fell. “Right?”
Dipper folded his arms with a feeble nod, hands tightly gripping the sides as if he were attempting to keep himself grounded with such an action. “Yeah, we’ll…we’ll be okay.”
Stan didn’t miss this, and knelt down in front of them. “Hey, you two listen to me, alright?” he said, moving a hand to each of their shoulders. “I may not know how the little demon got back or why he’s back at all.”
The hands moved to ruffle their heads. “But what I do know is that I ain’t gonna let him lay a hand on either of you or Ford,” he reassured them. “And I don’t care how long it takes or how many times we gotta kill him before he stays dead. We’ll squash him for good if it’s the last thing we do—”
He was suddenly cut off by Mabel flinging herself at him in a tight hug, with Dipper quickly following suit. Stan remained still for a few seconds, before he wrapped an arm around each of them to complete the hug. “Alright…we’re gonna be okay, okay?”
He forced a smile as the two of them broke the hug. “And hey, look on the bright side,” he continued. “With the puny size he is now, we could probably just step on the little jerk and actually squash him to death!”
Sure enough, his weak attempt to lighten the mood brought a small pair of smiles to their faces. “We could get a pair of really big shoes,” Mabel added, smile widening further as she made a stomping motion with her foot. “Just go squish, like he’s a gross cockroach under a boot!”
“Are you implying that he’s not a gross cockroach already?” Dipper asked with a weak laugh.
“Touché, but I like painting a clear, visual picture of my words,” Mabel explained. “It’s almost as fun as painting an actual picture! Ooh, I wonder if I should paint an actual picture of Bill with a cockroach body—?”
“Save that for tomorrow,” Stan said. “Right now, you two need to get some rest. You’ve got a whole summer to look forward to, and I ain’t gonna let you kids miss a second of it.”
He gave them a wink. “Even with a sudden triangle-shaped cockroach thrown into the mix.”
Both gave him a smile—much wider than before—in return before finally shuffling to the door and pulled it open, revealing the waiting bedroom on the other side.
Aside from a lack of almost any dust on the furniture—had that been Soos and Melody’s doing?—the bedroom had remained mostly untouched since the previous summer. A few scattered googly eyes rested on the floor beside a forgotten food bowl for Waddles on Mabel’s side of the room, while several crumpled pieces of paper still filled Dipper’s old wastebasket.
And while uncertainty and fear still lingered in the air as the kids stepped inside, a bit of that old, nostalgic warmth did seem to be sneaking its way around them in a reassuring embrace. A reassurance that despite the evening’s stress, this was still a place they could call a home away from home.
After one last little smile at Stan—one he returned in full—Mabel shut the door behind them. Stan continued to wordlessly stare at the door for a few minutes, attention focused on the clicking of the lock, then the creaking of the wooden floor on the other side.
When he was sure the sound had reached their beds, he finally turned and shuffled back towards—then down—the staircase, continuing onwards down the hall on the second floor until he reached the door to his own bedroom.
It was only once his hand touched the doorknob that his entire posture sank from exhaustion.
His hand once again lingered for a moment as he looked back towards the staircase that lead downstairs—before he shook his head and trudged on forward into the bedroom.
— — — — — — — — 
It was barely an hour later when Stan firmly concluded that he was not falling asleep anytime soon.
How in the heck was he supposed to sleep at a time like this? Bill was back! The evil triangle demon that had tried to take over the town—town? Universe?—and had haunted his brother’s mind for literal decades!
Ford had always downplayed how much weight Bill truly held over his mind, always reassuring Stan that he was fine whenever the topic came up in conversation and was always quick to change the subject to something unrelated. 
But if Ford really thought the guy who slept in the same cabin as him for months on end wouldn’t notice him crying out in his sleep—the names Bill, Cipher or both being shouted into his pillow with so much hatred and fear more times than Stan could count—then Stan had a bridge to sell him.
And if he really thought that he hadn’t picked up on the subtle little ways Ford would flinch or the way his mood would shift on occasion—probably due to some unearthed memories about Bill, ones that Stan so desperately wished he could just punch as hard as the guy who had burned them into his brother’s mind—then Stan had two bridges to sell him.
“But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”
With a grunt, Stan rolled over onto his back and squinted blindly at the ceiling. He didn’t trust the pointy little jerk as far as he could throw him but he’d raised a good point. What right did he have to stand—lie around and call Ford an idiot for not wanting to talk about Bill, especially when he’d been the one in charge of getting rid of Bill in the first place?
He felt his thoughts drift to the earlier events of the day, before all the Bill stuff had started. Soos’s wedding announcement, the tour of the new exhibits—
“The very weird point they’re to make is that none of this would’ve happened without you building the shack to begin with, Great-Uncle Ford. So in a way, a lot of this is because of you!”
“Well, we kinda have you to thank for the idea, Dr. Pines. You and the kids, of course.”
It didn’t bother him. 
Really, it didn’t.
So what if Soos wanted to give Ford the credit for tying the knot with the girl he liked, or for giving them the smart-guy science methods to make the exhibits more exciting? Even if Ford was terrible at hiding his Bill feelings, at the very least he’d seemed pretty flattered by all the praise. 
He’d felt appreciated, nostalgic over the new, science-y ways that Soos and Melody were bringing in customers. The kids were excited to be spending time with him this year.
Ford felt like he belonged.
What kind of jerk would Stan be to take that happiness away from him, especially after all the years that had been taken from him already?
At at the end of the day, it didn’t matter if people slapped Ford’s name over every single one of his own accomplishments. Honestly, after stealing his identity for three decades, Stan would willingly give up a few of his own accord if it made Ford happy.
If Soos wanted to give Ford credit for building the place that inevitably lead him to his fiancé—even if Stan had been the one running the place when Soos started working here—then fine. If him and the kids wanted to give Ford credit for the exhibit ideas—exhibits that were wildly improved from the two-bit slop Stan had been pushing for the past few decades—then fine.
It was fine.
But if there was one accomplishment that Stan thought nobody could take away from him, it was the ability to keep his family safe. Not just them, but Soos, Wendy—the entire town. They had all called him a hero, finally saw him as someone worth a darn—
At the end of the day, he had finally proven he was worth something to someone.
And then Bill came back, alive and unharmed. Stan had failed to kill him good and proper, and now he was back.
Now he was back, and now Ford and the kids had to spend their summer in fear.
Now he was back, and Stan was truly worthless again.
After staring at the ceiling for about ten more minutes—and waiting another ten minutes for his nightly body aches to settle—he fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand and swung his legs over the side of the bed. And with the groan of a man whose bones were older than he was, he pulled himself to his feet, trudged out of the room and headed down to the first floor of the shack. 
The light of the TV stopped him at the living room doorway, and a quick peek into the room revealed that he wasn’t the only resident of the house who was still awake.
Despite the TV running some early morning infomercial for a cheap and useless product—one worth more than its share of that hyper-specific brand of scorn and mockery that only a snarky teenager could provide—Wendy’s attention was firmly glued to her phone as she tapped away at the keys.
At the sight of Stan in the doorway, however, she lifted her head with a curious look. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Whaddaya mean? Clearly I’m sleepwalkin’.”
“Haha,” she said, snapping her phone shut. “Gonna try again with Dr. Pines?”
“You know it,” Stan said, and placed a hand on the doorway frame. “You, uh—you holdin’ up okay out here?”
“Psh, don’t even start,” Wendy said, waving him away. “I mean, sure, I’ve got my share of worries about that little megalomaniac being back—”
She flashed him a grin. “—buuuut I think a lot of ‘em were pretty evened out by the fact that I got to clunk him in the back of the head with a bat!”
“Oh yeah, that was great,” Stan agreed with a smirk of his own, before pressing his hands together in a squishing motion. “Isn’t it soooo satisfying? The little jerk talks suuuuuuch a big game, but you hit him once and he crunches like a soda can.”
Wendy cackled at that, although her expression fell again as she cast a glance upwards. “How’re the squirts handling it?”
Stan followed her gaze up to the ceiling. “Well, they’ve stayed in their room so far, so my money’s on ‘probably as well as they can with somethin’ like this.’”
“Mmm…”
She flipped her phone back open, fingers once again tapping at the keys. “At least they’ve got each other through all this,” she mused. “The two of them combined are some of the toughest and strongest kids I’ve ever met. No matter what happens, they’ll get through it so long as they stick together.”
“Yeah,” Stan agreed, with a glance back towards the hallway. “At least they’ve got that goin’ for them…”
Both fell silent for a moment, before Stan turned to leave. “If you hear any yellin’ going on down the hall, it’s because I’m trying to convince Ford to go to bed,” he told her. “If I succeed, make sure he actually goes up to bed, okay?”
“You got it, boss.”
— — — — — — — —
The room was silent, save for the scratching of pencil to paper as Ford continued to write. 
Not for a lack of trying on Bill’s part; he had made several attempts to strike up a conversation with Ford already, but all had been shot down by either a menacing glare or the flash of the gun he kept within reaching distance.
And while neither were enough to completely shut Bill up, he did fall silent after the dozenth-or-so attempt to take advantage of the chance to gather his thoughts.
He’d agreed to play a game with that stupid duck and they’d plunked him back down in front of the shack. He assumed it had been right in front of the shack, at least; he did recall being greeted by the concerned faces of Mabel and Ford, along with some faint, blurry remarks about how he’d potentially fallen out of a tree—
—thank you, Birdbrain—
—but there was always a chance that they had stumbled across his body somewhere else and simply brought him to the shack to keep a closer eye on him. 
Regardless of how it had happened or wherever those suckers had originally found him, he was back in town as Tangy had promised. Sure, it had been a sneaky drop off with several details of what that drop off entailed omitted. But at the same time, they had still kept their word.
And while Bill still had plans to dunk that silly little windbreaker of theirs in tuna fish—perhaps with the added flair of tossing in a bottle of itching powder, Melt-Your-Skin-Clean-Off-Your-Bones-Juice, and maybe a splash of lime for taste—he could at least respect how much effort they had put into getting him here at all.
Planned retribution aside…eh, game could recognize game.
And speaking of game—
His thoughts shifted to the deal they had agreed upon, sealed with both a handshake and a signature. Three months, they’d said. He had exactly three months to play. Three months to find all the pieces of their dumb trinket and put it all back together again, Humpty-Dumpty style.
He briefly considered the idea of not playing their game at all—out of sheer spite for their deviousness in getting him here—but the idea was discarded as quickly as it formed. Despite their underhanded methods to get him back to town, they had been very clear about how strictly they had to stick to their contract. And even if they’d been lying about the legitimacy of said contract, they had still foolishly locked themselves into a deal with Bill himself.
Whether or not they truly planned on upholding themselves to their side of their deal didn’t matter—if he won their little game, Bill would either have a destroyed barrier or a duck subjected then to an eternity of slow-roasting over an over fire in the Nightmare Realm. Maybe in the case of the second option, such torture directed at another being would be enough to get his buddies off his back when he returned.
Heck, maybe he’d even get a spiffy new jacket out of the deal!
And that was simply the worst case scenario. Best case scenario, the barrier would be gone and no one would be able to stand in his way ever again.
And a prize that valuable was enough for him to humor the tacky idiot and romp around an annoyingly-familiar hick town in a meatsuit for a summer.
Even with his current situation, escaping wouldn’t be a difficult task to accomplish. Sure, he was tied so tightly to a chair that it would make Harry Houdini blush—he would know, he dabbled in a bit of dealmaking with the famous magician back during the height of his career—and the ropes apparently contained some of that fancy-schmancy unicorn magic that the household had used to protect the shack last year.
A fact that soured Bill’s expression for a brief moment, but at the end of the day, even a magically-laced rope was still just a rope. And any rope could be cut with the right tool, or by the right sucker.
The sound of paper being ripped from a notebook distracted Bill from his thoughts, and a mischievous grin poked at the corners of his mouth as he cast a look in the direction of his six-fingered warden—just as the discarded page was crumpled into a ball and tossed it into the unlit fireplace.
Well, a sucker by any other year was just as gullible—or whatever.
Sure, Bill knew Stanford Pines would rather chew off his own extra fingers than be unpromptedly helpful to him in any way, shape or form. But even if a few details about the bigger picture had to be omitted—it wouldn’t be the first time when it came to Stanford—there were always ways for Bill to get people to do what he wanted.
The scratching of pen to paper began again, and Bill lightly tugged against the binds that held his wrists. Well, while there were always ways to get people to do what he wanted, even he knew it was highly unlikely that he’d manage to trick Ford into freeing him tonight. And the near-silence of the room was starting to become agonizingly dull. 
To reiterate an earlier point, Bill Cipher was not the kind of triangle to sit and behave quietly if he had any say in the matter. Even if Ford was attempting to keep a lid on things now, there was always a way to annoy him into tossing out a few bits and pieces of information he had gathered in Bill’s absence. Perhaps some of that information would be of use to him.
Or maybe he would only succeed in getting the gun shoved in his cheek again.
Either way, the fifteenth attempt at starting a conversation was always the charm~!
“You know,” he began with a light kick of his feet. “I’m surprised you haven’t bombarded me with questions about how I got back yet.”
He saw Ford’s hand twitch in the direction of the gun, keeping his attention still firmly focused on his writing. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to, Fordsy!” Bill continued. “You and I both know for a fact that you’re a man beckoned by the call of the strange and bizarre.”
He winked at him with his good eye. “And let’s not kid ourselves; I’m the strangest and bizarre-est guy you know~!”
Another kick of his feet, his feet lightly bouncing against the chair legs. “Even if I no longer have access to your mind, I can tell you’ve got a billion questions about me buzzing around in that lump of wet meat you call a brain,” he continued. “Questions like ‘How did he get back?’ ‘Why is he human now?’ ‘Why, oh, why did I think that a simple memory gun would be enough to defeat someone as powerful, as amazing, as unstoppable as Bill Cipher?’”
Ford’s hand inched closer to the gun as Bill kept talking: “You must’ve felt so proud of yourself for that memory gun trick, by the way,” he went on. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, it was a smart move that only a brainiac like you could’ve drummed up in the short time you had.”
A wink. “Well, lucky for you I’m not the kinda triangle to hold a grudge,” he continued. “In fact, I’d even be willing to answer a couple of those hypothetical questions for you! And to call us even, you can always just answer a couple of mine in return. Like what you’ve been up to in the past nine months~! Come on, I’ll bet you’re just dying to tell me all about how you grew that beard of yours!”
The hand wrapped around the grip, and Bill settled lower in the chair with a sigh. “Fine, I guess it was too much to hope for a chance to catch up with an old friend,” he said with a dramatic flair to his tone—
—one that immediately shifted into something far more malevolent. “But then again, I guess I wouldn’t find any of those around here, now would I?”
Bill paused, giving Ford him a few seconds to chime in—only to roll his eyes when he heard a click from the gun as Ford turned off the safety catch: “Oh, come on, Stanford, are you really telling me that you’d rather spend the entire night alone with your thoughts than to spend five minutes holding a conversation with me?”
“Yes.”
It was the first word, sans any threats, he’d managed to get out of Ford all night, and it was annoying enough for Bill to sink further against his restraints with a huff.
Not a defeated huff; if a stubborn, old fool not giving him what he wanted was enough to stop Bill Cipher, then he wouldn’t be Bill Cipher. If he’d possessed enough patience to wait eons for a functioning portal, then he could certainly possess enough to get a few words outta Ford over the course of a single evening.
And as soon as Ford stopped being so difficult—you couldn’t avoid talking all night, Sixer—he'd be in business.
The distant sound of floorboards creaking somewhere on the other side of the shack perked Bill up again with a look towards the ceiling. Guess the rest of the household was fighting back the urge to sleep with a stick.
The sudden lack of pencil to paper also caught his attention, gaze bouncing back to where Ford was seated. He hadn’t moved, but Bill could still see the pupils of his sunken-in eyes shift towards the door with mildly curiosity.
Mild curiosity that vanished the second he realized Bill was watching him, and his focus immediately returning to his notes after clicking the safety back and leaving the gun where it rested.
Hmm.
“Fine, you don’t wanna talk about what you’ve been up to for the past few months?” he tried again. “Fair enough, I really didn’t wanna hear about it. Why don’t we talk about about something else, then? Like the kids, perhaps?”
The hand was back at the gun without pause. 
“They’re looking well, older even. Or do they?—I’m still fuzzy on the details of the aging process of you mortals,” Bill continued. “Or if you don’t wanna talk about them, we could always talk about your brother. Can’t believe he’s still wildly swinging those fists around like a wild animal, especially when that didn’t even work the first time—”
The gun was ignored completely as Ford crossed the room in an instant, the vitriol behind his eyes hot enough to burn straight through Bill’s skin, blood, skull—his everything, until it bore a hole right through to the other side of his head.
A motion that made Bill jump against his better judgment—his blackened eye instinctively twitching as he remembered Stan’s earlier show of force—and for a fleeting moment, he expected another hand around his throat in seconds.
Before Ford could react proper, however, a loud knock pulled both of their attention to the bedroom door. After a silent breath of relief, Bill shot Ford a cheeky grin. “Sounds like you’ve got company~! Unless they’re here to see me, which—I mean, who could blame them if they were?”
Ford glared at him before turning back to the door. “Who is it?”
“Jersey Devil. Who d’you think it is?”
“...Come on in.”
The knob turned and Stan slowly entered the room, casting a silent look between the two of them before settling his gaze on Ford. “Just checkin’ in. How’s, uh—” he began, then paused. “—how’s everything going?”
He was clearly talking to Ford, and making an obvious effort to ignore the triangle-shaped elephant in the room. So naturally, Bill had to do everything in his power to make his presence as loud and obvious as possible.
“Everything’s peachy~!” he piped up, with another wiggle against his binds. “Ol’ Fordsy and I are having the time of our lives catching up on things! In fact, I think he was just about to tell me about what the kids have been up to for the past few months?”
He flashed Ford a wide grin. “Come on, Ford, I’ll bet they’ve shared a ton of stories with you~!”
Stan pointed a finger at him. “Hey, you’d better watch that mouth of yours, before I come over there and make it match your eyeball.”
“What, you’re gonna punch it?” Bill asked. “Go right ahead, I was just lamenting the fact that my mouth and eyeball are separated in this body.”
He giggled mischievously and flashed him a wide grin. “Your fist’s about the size of a mouth-sized eyeball, right? Just asking, because the second you swing it at these puppies—” He gave a warning snap of his teeth. “—I can’t promise that you’ll get it back.”
“Everything’s fine, Stanley. Go get some sleep.”
Ford’s tone was so scripted and hollow, like the words he actually wanted to say were being held back by a metric ton of steel. More than just the physical steel plate installed in his head, a whole dam of metaphorical steel was keeping the flood of Ford’s true thoughts at bay.
And judging by the way Stan’s features twisted with uncertainty at his brother’s words—only until he spotted Bill eyeing him and promptly shifted his expression into a look of disdain—there was clearly something keeping his own thoughts hidden as well.
Oh, it killed Bill to not know what they were thinking. To lack the ability to act as the metaphorical wrecking ball that could smash through all that steel in an instant, leaving him free to pry open every last little thought, rivet by rivet, bolt by bolt.
Well, at least he still possessed the ability to verbally taunt them~! “You heard the big guy, Goldfish~! Why don’t you run on back to bed while the adults talk?”
“Why you little—” Stan began, then paused with a look of confusion. “Goldfish, what—”
“Your sign in the Zodiac Wheel,” Bill elaborated. “You know—that little goldfish thing on your hat! Although I guess it could also be a reference to your constant desperation for fortune and fame, combined with your childish dream of dragging Sixer off on some ridiculous, insignificant boat adventure. You know, first part’s the gold, second part’s the fish?”
He tilted his head. “Of course, I could always call you Fez instead, but that just sounds silly. It’d be like calling Question Mark Shirt or Pine Tree…I dunno, Other Hat? Hmm, kinda like that, actually.”
“...Welp, that one’s on me for asking,” Stan said, and promptly turned his attention back to Ford. “I did need you for something, though. Apparently Soos found a few more moonstones that he said we should lay out in the hall—”
“Well, feel free to lay them there,” Ford said, making his way back to his chair. “One at each corner, evenly spaced…Probably a smart idea to stick one at the end of the hallway for good measure—”
“I really think we need your help with it,” Stan urged.
“Not if you follow my instructions.”
Bill’s eyebrows shot as far up his forehead as they could get, expression lighting up with sadistic glee. Oh, oh—they were fighting~! “Aww, I’m back for five minutes and you two are already at each other’s throats again!” he said with a mirthy twinkle in his eye. “Man, even after all this time, you Pines Twins still can’t get along!”
He began to rock back and forth in the chair with delight. “Come on, punch each other in the face!” he demanded excitedly. “Give Sixer a black eye that looks worse than mine!”
He stopped rocking for a moment, and cast a look down at the chair. “Man, I forgot that you mortals haven’t evolved to the point where you can hear the voices of inanimate objects,” he said. “I can’t even hear just how much this chair is probably screaming from the way I’ve been rocking it back and forth.”
With a cackle, he proceeded to rock back and forth even harder. “Hehe, I’ll bet the guy’s absolutely livid right now—ACK!”
The chair suddenly tipped over and crashed—Bill and all—to the floor with a loud clatter. With his limbs too restrained to catch himself in any dignified fashion, Bill quickly found himself with his face squished into the lavender rug near Abuelita’s bed. 
Both Ford and Stan stared at him for a moment, their disagreement temporarily forgotten at Bill’s misfortune. However, Stan snapped back to reality first and took advantage of the other two being distracted long enough to pull Ford towards the door and out into the hallway.
Bill barely had time to bark out an irritated: “Hey, get back here and pick me up!” before the door was pulled shut behind them. With a irritable huff, he attempted to rock the chair again in the hopes of adjusting to a more comfortable angle.
And after a moment of struggling, he finally succeeded in rolling the chair onto its—and by extension, his—back. Leaving him completely flat on the floor with his gaze pointed upwards at the ceiling.
Well, at least this angle was more familiar.
— — — — — — —
“Stanley, I said—”
“I know what you said,” Stan replied, closing the door shut behind them. “But you know I’m gonna try and make you sleep tonight, right?”
“And you know I’m not going to do that, right?”
“Ford—”
“How on Earth am I supposed to sleep with Bill still alive?!” 
It was like something had finally crashed right on through whatever wall Ford had built up in his mind, the stress he had tried desperately to repress all evening spilling out of him in an instant. “The memory gun should’ve worked,” he muttered in a panicked tone. “It…it destroyed everything in your mind, right?”
“Well, yeah, everything—” Stan began. “But—”
“There had to have been something he did, something that protected him,” Ford rambled on, mostly to himself. “Was it a spell? Some kind of failsafe? Did he catch onto our plan—”
“Woah, woah, hey, just breathe for a sec,” Stan interrupted. “Yeah, this is exactly why you’ve gotta let someone else babysit the little jerk while you get some sleep. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you’re too tired to think straight.”
And maybe if Ford got some sleep, he could shift some of the burden to Stan’s shoulders where it belonged. Yeesh, the poor guy had really been holding back earlier. Had he really been this stressed all evening?
…As if Stan needed to ask.
“You’d be surprised at what I can accomplish during an all-nighter,” Ford assured him. “Back in my college days, I once started a twenty-thousand-word essay at ten in the evening, and had it on the professor’s desk by six the next morning.”
He pressed a hand to his forehead. “And when you first arrived here to help me hide the journals, I believe was on my fourth consecutive day of staying awake.”
“Fourth?!” Stan sputtered in disbelief, before he shook his head. “No, no, just gonna ignore that for now—it’s not like I got any room to talk when it comes to bad sleep schedules. But also you are not staying up four days to deal with this by yourself.”
He reached over to place a reassuring hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Come on, Stanford, let me help you,” he urged. “At least go get an hour of sleep. I’ll stay down here, keep him quiet—heck, I’ll duct tape his mouth shut if he gets too mouthy with me.”
He balled his free hand into a fist and thumped it against his own chest. “Let me help you put that pointy jerk twenty feet back under the ground, and make it stick this time!”
Ford’s eyes fell to the hand on his shoulder and followed it up to the desperation in his brother’s features.
An expression near identical to the one he had worn after being blasted by the memory gun. Confusion combined with a desire to understand…
It was like they were back in that clearing in the woods, the natural warmth of the sun draping itself back over the town, after the blood-red skies of Weirdmageddon had barred it from sight for so long. Stanley kneeling in front of him and the kids in a dazed trance, no recollection of whom he was or the sacrifices he had just made.
All of which he had assured Ford was worth the risk while they swapped clothes back in the Fearamid, beneath the wretched tapestries of the remaining Zodiac members, an ear perked on both ends for Bill’s thundering footsteps reapproaching the main room.
But had it been? Had it been worth the risk?
Up until Mabel’s scrapbook method, they had no way of knowing that Stanley would’ve been able to return to his usual self. And as far as they knew, that cure only worked when presented with the memory gun’s effects.
What if Stanley got involved again, only for something worse to happen to him than lost memories? What if he couldn’t simply be scrapbooked and home movie’d back to his usual self again this time around?
What if—
“Yeah, well, if they keep on bein’ that thrilled, you’re gonna have to bust out that necromancy spell to talk to me.”
“I’ve made up my mind, Stanley,” Ford said, and turned back to the door. “You go get some sleep.”
“Wh—Ford!”
His brother’s name fell on deaf ears as Ford promptly open and shut the door behind him. Stan continued to stare at the closed door, too dumbfounded to properly react. 
Ford really didn’t want his help with Bill? He could understand sending everyone off to bed earlier, but he was still turning down his help when it was just the two of them?
He raised a hand to the doorknob, the temptation to try and properly sway Ford into letting him help rising in his chest—
“Mr. Pines?”
Stan nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a voice from the other bedroom in the hallway, and he turned to see Soos standing in the doorway. “Everything alright? …I don’t have to punch anyone yet, do I?”
With an exhale, Stan forced his hand back to his side again. “Yeesh, Soos, don’t sneak up on me like that or I’m gonna be the one who starts swinging. But nah, everything’s fine. Just thought I check in on Ford, is all.”
“Alright,” Soos said with a small smile as he held up a fist of his own. “But I swear, I will throw a punch if I need to! I made a promise, after all.”
He paused, and switched the fist to another hand. “Although maybe I should use this hand,” he said thoughtfully. “Don’t wanna accidentally break my Shack-Brochure-and-Fanfic-Writing hand on his face, you know what I mean?”
He swapped back to the first. “Although it’s probably better to use your dominant hand to punch—”
“Go to bed, Soos.”
“You got it, Mr. Pines!”
He shut the door, leaving Stan once again by himself in the quiet hallway.
Stan cast a look back to the door in front of him, his hand moving towards the doorknob again.
The same way it had when Ford had called him to the shack all those years ago, eyes bloodshot and features sunken from a lack of sleep—four days, Ford?!—and he’d showed up without a second thought to help.
Despite all the time they had spent apart, Ford had relied on him enough to seek out his help. Despite everything, Stan had still held some worth in his brother’s eyes.
And how had Stan proven that worth to his brother?
By tossing him through some massive, otherworldly portal for thirty years, stealing his identity, and ruining his life.
By getting huffy over a simple thank you and nearly dooming the entire universe.
“But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”
By not doing the one thing that had actually granted him worth, and killing that stupid demon proper.
He slammed his hand back down to his side again in a balled fist, and headed back down the hallway.
Forget it, he’d try again tomorrow.
— — — — — — —
“So, how’d the fight go~?”
Not even Bill’s shrill tauntings could pull Ford out of his determined state as he returned to his chair and notebook, the tip of his pencil once again dancing across the paper with incredible speed.
From the floor where he’d fallen earlier, Bill cast him a sour look. “Oh, real mature, Sixer. You’re really not going to pick me up?”
Ford’s hand clenched tighter around the pencil as he went to scratch out his latest idea—one that joined the dozen other scribbled-out ideas above it—before moving down to the next empty row on the paper and starting again—
“Uh, hello? Stanford? I’m talking to you!”
Talk then, you vile little demon.
The tip of the pencil snapped and Ford was unable to bite back his frustrated grunt of surprise. Right on cue, a cackle started from the floor as he reached for a pencil sharpener. “Hehe, I heard that~!” Bill chimed in a singsong voice. “Guess we know who lost the fight, eh, Grumpypants~?”
Ford paid him no mind as he quickly sharpened the pencil back into a point and returned to his work with that fierce determination from before.
No matter how many scribbled-out ideas he had to toss into the fireplace, he was going to find a solution to this problem.
No matter how long it took, no matter how much he had to verbally endure at Bill’s hand again—
—he would make certain that his brother’s sacrifices hadn’t been in vain.
“...Okay, seriously, are you going to leave me down here all night?”
— — — — — — — —
Mabel couldn’t sleep.
Ever since she’d settled into bed—a snoozing Waddles curled up at her side—her eyes had stayed glued to the ceiling. At first she’d tried distracting herself by holding mental conversations with the mold spots permanently stained into the old wood, but not even Daryl could lift her spirits at a time like this.
Every few minutes, her gaze would move to the bed across the room, a question lingering on her tongue for a moment before she returned her attention to the ceiling.
It was around midnight before she finally vocalized her lingering question with a quiet: “You awake, Dipper?”
Her answer immediately came in the form of blankets shuffling as Dipper rolled over to face her. “Of course I am.”
She rolled over to face him proper as well, both pairs of eyes shifting to the triangular window of their room. The moon hung high in the night sky, its beams of light shining through the glass and illuminating the floor in a way that would normally be comforting.
Tonight, however, the sight of an eye-shaped object through the triangular frame was just a painful reminder of what waited for them just a few rooms below.
“I can’t believe he’s back…”
Dipper turned his gaze from the moonlight and back to his sister at the sound of her voice. “Did you see Grunkle Ford?” she asked quietly. “He was so scared…”
“I don’t blame him,” Dipper admitted, placing a hand to his forehead. “We went through all of that trouble to kill Bill, and it didn’t even work.”
He slid the hand down to cover his eyes, but immediately lifted it again to peek over at her. “Hey, you saw it, right? How much he looked like me…”
There was more shuffling—this time on Mabel’s end—as she sat up in bed completely. “It was like when I saw him during the puppet show,” she said, pulling her legs to her chest. “Except the hair and eyes were different this time around. His left eye wasn’t all—”
She covered her own left eye with one hand. “His hair color’s different this time, too. I wonder why?”
“Who knows?” Dipper said with a shrug. “Although I guess meeting—or re-meeting a guy who looks like me isn’t the weirdest thing to happen in this town, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Mabel agreed. “Still…why’d it have to be that guy? Why does he have to ruin everything?”
A sad hum escaped her as she hugged her knees close. “So much for getting to spend more time with Grunkle Ford this summer…”
Dipper let his arm fall before he sat up in bed. “Hey, come on, you really think it’s gonna take all summer for Grunkle Ford to get rid of Bill?” he asked. “He’s spent the last thirty years traversing the Multiverse! He’s explored more dimensions than we could probably even think of on our own—dimensions where everyone lives underwater, dimensions ruled by talking robotic octopi—”
When Mabel plopped sadly back against her pillow again, Dipper paused for a moment to think. “—dimension where the air is made of cotton candy instead of oxygen?”
As he’d expected, the concept twitched the corners of her mouth with mild curiosity. “Ugh, I’ll bet that dimension is soooo tasty,” she said. “I wonder what they do when it rains, though? All the cotton candy would just melt and then they’d have no air—ooh, I’ll bet they have like, a ga-ZILLION of those cotton candy-making machines ready for when that happens!”
“Anything’s possible in the Multiverse,” Dipper said with a nod. “My point is that Grunkle Ford’s been around, and he’s probably picked up a lot of different ways to get rid of Bill! Even if the methods he’s tried already didn’t work—and even if we can’t use stuff like the Zodiac or his Quantum Destabilizer—I’m sure he’s got something up his sleeve.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And if none of those work, we could always come up with some ideas for him! Like—like—”
She flumped her arms across her blanket with an exasperated huff. “Well, I’m too tired to think of anything now, but I’m sure we could think of something!” she said, scrunching her face in concentration. “What if we…I dunno—”
“Oooh!” Dipper snapped his fingers with inspiration. “What if we got one of those time travel devices, strapped one to Bill, and then rocketed him to a date so far into the future that he’d never be able to get back to our time?”
Mabel pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, but her amusement faded almost immediately. “Nah, that wouldn’t work. He could always trick and possess someone super far in the future, and they could help him get back here,” she pointed out. “Like what he did with that Blendin guy, remember?”
“Oh, yeah…”
The two fell silent again, the only noise that could be heard was the gentle summer wind rustling the forest outside their window. “We should probably sleep for real,” Dipper finally said. “We can just…do what we told Grunkle Stan we were going to do and take shifts, right?”
“Well then, you sleep first,” Mabel said, once again in an upright position as she reached over to pull Waddles close to her. “And like I said I was gonna do, I’ll let Waddles stay on your side and be your guard hog while you sleep.”
Waddles followed up her remark with a groggy little oink of reassurance, and Dipper let out a chuckle. “Yeah, and what’s he gonna do if Bill pops up in my dream?”
“I mean, you can always dream up a dream Waddles to eat him,” Mabel suggested. “He looks like a corn chip, right? I’ll bet dream corn chips taste just as good as real ones!”
She plapped a hand against the top of Waddles’ head. “Plus then when you wake up, you’ll have the real Waddles right there to comfort you!”
This got a full-on laugh out of Dipper. “Alright, alright, point made. Send him over.”
Mabel leaned over the side of the bed and gently set Waddles to the floor, giving his little rump an encouraging pat. “Go on, boy! Go protect Dipper from the dream nacho!”
With another tired little oink, he ambled on over to Dipper’s side of the bedroom and oinked up at him for assistance. “Go ahead and set an alarm on your phone, Mabel,” Dipper said, and reached down to pull him up onto his bed. “What should we set it to? An hour? Hour-and-a-half?”
“An hour works for me,” Mabel said. “But if you don’t actually sleep for that hour, I will not hesitate to stay up longer out of spite!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sleeping…”
Dipper settled back down under the covers while Waddles snuggled up next to him, and it wasn’t until Mabel heard Dipper’s light snoring that she finally dared to tear her gaze from him and reach for her phone.
That was good. At the very least, he’d be getting some sleep tonight.
She looked to the window again—the moonlight still lightly illuminating the darkened room—and crawled out of bed to stare outside properly. Despite the tall trees that surrounded the shack on all sides, there was little to block the ocean of stars that painted the night sky.
After staring for a bit, she turned and crawled back into her bed. With another look at her brother to make sure he was still asleep, she dug her hand between the mattress and wall, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips in determination as she fumbled around for the unseen object she sought so desperately.
She knew it was a longshot that it would’ve remained in the same place for nine months—given the dustless state of their room, Soos would’ve been the most likely candidate to find it if he searched-slash-cleaned hard enough—but eventually her fingers brushed against something and she pulled it out to investigate.
It was an old, dusty piece of paper, the same one she had crumpled and tucked in its hiding spot almost a full year ago. The edges were frayed and torn and the tint of the paper was a sicklier yellow than she remembered—but the jagged writing on the front was still just as legible as the day she’d found it in Stan’s car:
“Note to self: Possessing people is hilarious! To think of all the sensations I’ve been missing out on—burning, stabbing, drowning. It’s like a buffet tray of fun! Once I destroy that journal, I’ll enjoy giving this body its grand finale—by throwing it off the water tower! Best of all, people will just think Pine Tree lost his mind, and his mental form will wander in the mindscape forever. Want to join him, Shooting Star?”
Mabel stared hard at the paper for what felt like an hour—although in reality, it was probably no longer than a few minutes. She read and reread several times over, every cruel word like a knife to her vision and gut, before finally crumpling the paper in an angry fist and shoving it back down between the wall and her mattress where it belonged.
She settled back against her pillow again, and turned back to Dipper’s bed. Still fast asleep, with nothing more than the occasional twitch or shift in place.
He was sleeping, supposedly without nightmares. That was all that mattered.
She continued to stare at him until the sight made her drowsy, before turning her attention back to the various mold spots on the ceiling.
Daryl was going to have to work overtime tonight if he really wanted to lift her spirits.
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