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fahrni · 1 year

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Saturday Morning Coffee

What a week! That dude that took over Twitter is driving it in the ground with a gigantor hammer all while we watch from the cheap seats sipping our soda and eating popcorn. What a spectacle.

This week was a busy week at work, promotion time. Lots of meetings. I’m all Zoom’ed out.

Enjoy that morning elixir of life. I certainly am. ☕️

Wired

Eugen Rochko looks exhausted. The 29-year-old German programmer is the founder of Mastodon, a distributed alternative to Twitter that has exploded in popularity in recent weeks as Elon Musk’s ownership of the platform has rained chaos on its users.

I’ve heard some folks doubt the survivability of Mastodon and doubt hate can be squashed there. In my experience on the platform it’s quite the opposite. If you’re running a server full of racist white nationalists, Nazis, or other hate groups it’s extremely easy for the admin of your server to block federation of that entire server.

I’ve found Mastodon to be so much better for conversation with folks outside my little friend bubble on Twitter.

Brent Simmons

For writers, artists, podcasters, journalists, and people who make things in public, Twitter was the one social networking site we all had to use.

Brent is a long time blogger, Mac programmer, creator and leader of the NetNewsWire team, and all around great guy. If you’re a consumer of RSS point your feed reader to his site. It’s a great read.

Platformer

Musk went on to say that “Twitter will be much more engineering-driven,” and that while design and product “will still be very important,” engineers “will have the greatest sway.” And then Musk presented employees with an ultimatum: click “yes” on a Google form affirming your desire to “be part of the new Twitter,” or leave in exchange for three months’ pay.

I’ve heard from a friend that most of the US Engineering staff left. That’s just wild.

Last week, I made the decision to leave my role leading Trust & Safety at Twitter. Today, I'm sharing a few thoughts about what comes next for the site. https://t.co/QPAQR6zpqU

— Yoel Roth (@yoyoel) November 18, 2022

I don’t have a NY Times subscription but I’ll bet this piece by Mr. Roth is quite good.

Daring Fireball

If you had told me three weeks ago that Twitter, as a company, would today be embroiled in turmoil — perhaps outright existential crisis — over a company-wide email from Elon Musk centered around the phrase “extremely hardcore”, v-1 is not the scenario I’d have imagined.

In my career I’ve worked for some hardcore companies, like the old Microsoft, it’s not fun. Don’t do it.

NEW: Email from Elon to the engineering team: "Anyone who can actually write software, please report to the 10th floor at 2pm today. Before doing so, please email me a bullet point summary of what your code commits have achieved in the past 6 months" 1/

— Zoë Schiffer (@ZoeSchiffer) November 18, 2022

I don’t understand why he continues to ask for snippets of code from his employees. It’s just some random metric he’s using to what what end? What about the devs who made Twitter better by removing code?

CNN www.cnn.com/2022/11/1…

Amazon confirmed on Wednesday that layoffs had begun at the company, two days after multiple outlets the e-commerce giant planned to cut around 10,000 employees this week.

It’s been a rough couple weeks in the tech sector. I’m sorry to see so many folks having to deal with this. Here’s hoping they land on their feet quickly.

Fresnoland fresnoland.org/2022/11/1…

While Central Valley agricultural leaders warn of jobs loss during California’s ongoing drought, some local leaders say it’s time for less water-dependent economic opportunities.

California is in deep trouble so the United States food supply is in deep trouble. You’ll see it at the grocery store.

Becky Hansmeyer

When I tweeted my way into the iOS community so many years ago, I felt the same energy and excitement, if not necessarily the same level of closeness. You all gave me the confidence I needed to keep going with programming when I felt like giving up. We’ve person. Like her I lament the loss of the Twitter we knew but all good things come to an end, right?

America, America

I’m not anywhere close to assuming redemption for Rupert Murdoch or his publication for their role in empowering the dangerous desecration of the last six years, particularly since Fox News showed reluctance in quitting the man by airing nearly all of his sour announcement. (For me, the announcement at Mar-a-Lago had more of the air of a man running from the law than running for the presidency.)

How TFG avoids jail time at this point is beyond me.

The Register

Microsoft Azure CTO Mark Russinovich has had it with C and C++, time-tested programming languages commonly used for native applications that require high performance.

Russinovich is a legendary software engineer. It’s gonna be interesting to see how many new products come out of Microsoft and other companies written in 100% Rust.

The Brookings Institution

In this second edition of our October 2021 report, we review the investigation and its basis. We assess the publicly known facts and relevant law and analyze the extent to which the former president may be held criminally responsible for his conduct in Georgia. We conclude that Trump is at substantial risk of criminal prosecution in Fulton County.

At substantial risk? How is he not already in handcuffs? If any of us “regular” people had done this we’d be thrown in a dungeon.

Jalopnik

Haas’ Kevin Magnussen just scored his first-ever pole position in Formula 1 during the Brazilian Grand Prix. Yes, I intended to write that sentence. It’s not April Fool’s Day. Kevin Magnussen is polesitter for Saturday’s sprint race.

I support Haas. It’s an American F1 team and I’m happy for Kevin Magnussen and Haas. Now, get some podiums! 😂

PZ Meyers

Between the Church Militant and Nick Fuentes, it’s pretty clear what the theocratic Right wants to do: they want to kill you or force you to be as mad as they are.

Nick Fuentes is a piece of work but at least he’s not hiding his White Christian Nationalism behind dog whistles, no sir, he’s just saying it out loud.

From: @twittereng To: @elonmusk Subject: pic.twitter.com/EiDADFtMCN

— DM of Engineering 🎲 (@dmofengineering) November 17, 2022

Go check out that tweet thread. It’s full of Twitter Employees saying goodbye after the hardcore time limit expired.

It’s a sad day for the social network. How long will it stay up?

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

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Henry (Part 2) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Naga Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Naga, Amphiptere, Friends to Lovers, Best Friends to Lovers, Demisexual, Graysexual, Content Warnings: Cam Worker, Cam Model, Sex Worker Words: 4467

The reader breaks a rule and meets Henry’s family, where awkward questions make for an awkward dinner. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

After two and a half months, Henry finally had the money he needed to open up the second location even without renting out the opposite apartment, and the two of you were scouting for the new place. You’d decided that you would run one of them and he would run the other. You were sad that you wouldn’t be working together anymore, but the two of you lived together now, so at least you’d be able to spend time together at home. Henry was also talking about hiring on additional employees if the second location did well, so the two of you wouldn’t have to work so hard.

“What do you think of this place?” He asked. “It’s a little small for what I was thinking, but it’s right next door to a popular wedding venue. We could do special deals for the weddings.”

“That would generate a lot of business, even in the slow season,” You replied. “And it wouldn’t matter if it was small if we had two locations. We could just deliver what we didn’t have here from the main building. It’s only ten minutes away.”

“Right,” He agreed. “So? Is it a yes to this one?”

“Well, it’s your decision, babe,” You said. “It’s your money, your business.”

“And you’re my girlfriend,” He said, pulling you into his arms. “And my business partner. You input matters to me. We make all decisions together.”

You smiled at him fondly. “God, I love you.”

He grinned down at you. “I love you, too. So?”

You looked around one more time and said, “It’s a yes. I like this place. It’s got character.”

“Right? It’s charming. We can work with charming. I’ll pay the deposit on Monday.” He picked you up and swung you around, as well as he could with his long tail in the way. “I’m so excited! Owning my own shop was my dream, and I never expected to be able to expand!”

“I’m so happy for you, babe,” you said, kissing him. “For both of us.”

He kissed you back twice and set you back down on your feet. “So, you’re still up for this weekend? Meeting the parents and everything?”

“Of course, I’m dying to meet them,” You said. “Do… they know about your side job?”

“No, they don’t,” He said firmly. “And I’d like to keep it that way, please. I mean, you know I’m not ashamed of my job, but it’s still my parents. All parents know their kids jerk off and stuff, but they definitely don’t want to talk about it.”

“This is slightly different, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “It’s still embarrassing to tell them that I take my clothes off for money, even if there’s no touching involved.”

“Well, they won’t hear it from me, then,” You said. “Your secret is safe.”

“Thank you,” He said, smiling. He took your hand and led you out of the vacant building and toward the bus stop. There was a bus for larger non-humans that came twice a day.

“Have you told them much about me?” You asked, sitting on the bench to wait.

“I never shut up about you,” Henry said ruefully. “I’ve been talking about you for years, even before we met. I think they knew I was in love with you before I did. My sister literally told me to shut up once, because I kept gushing about you.”

“That’s sweet,” You said.

“You don’t talk to your folks much, do you?” He asked.

“Not really,” You replied, sitting at the bus stop with him sidling up to coil next to you. “Lots of stuff went down when I left that my parents weren’t cool with, and they said a lot of things that I wasn’t cool with, so we’re just not cool with each other in general.”

“Hmm,” He said. “Well, my sister will like you.” His eyes narrowed. “That may not be a good thing. She keeps trying to steal my girlfriends.”

You laughed. “Well, she doesn’t have a chance. I’m over the moon for you.”

He grinned at you. “That’s good to hear.” He lay his head on your shoulder briefly. “I’m madly in love with you.”

“Yay,” You said softly, kissing the top of his head, careful not to stab yourself on his horns.

“Can we go home and have celebratory sex?” He asked.

“Absolutely. Then we’ll order dinner and play a round of Final Fantasy XIV.”

“It’s a date. I do have a cam session later tonight, though, so I have factor that in.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, we should wait on the sex,” You said, looking down the street and seeing the bus approach. You stood up. “You should be fresh for your clients. We can have all the boning we want afterward. Anything fancy planned?”

“Nope, just a show and share, standard stuff. But it’s a new client, so that’s typical. ”

“Have you dropped a client? You usually don’t take new ones unless one either stops buying slots or you ban someone.”

“One of my old patrons moved on, so I held an auction for his slots. The money from that auction was the final monetary push I needed for the new location,” He said, following you to the curb as the bus stopped in front of you.

“Well, thank you to that person,” You said with a laugh, getting up into the bus. Henry followed you.

After getting home, the two of you ordered some sushi and played video games. Around eight o’clock, he set the controller down.

“Time for the session?” You asked, powering down the game console.

“It will be soon. I need to get ready. Want to help out?”

“Always. That new purple bolero would look lovely, and we can put some spray glitter in your hair.”

“That shit takes forever to get out!” He whined.

“Yeah, but it looks so cute! And I’ll help you wash it out later.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” You said. “Come on, I’ll get you all dressed up and looking pretty for your new client.”

“You’re the best, babe.”

You had gotten pretty adept at getting him ready for his shows quickly, and honestly it was a great bonding moment between the two of you. He stayed still and obedient like a puppy while you were doing in and he always looked like a total snack when he was done. Not that he didn’t normally, but the costumes were a great garnish.

When you were finished, you kissed him, said, “Have fun,” And left him to his work.

He’d moved his camming desk and rig to the bedroom so that the two of you could set up his and hers gaming stations in his old office, where the two of you spent a lot of time.

You’d just sat down to play some Among Us with friends when you realized that you’d left your phone in the bedroom. You swore at yourself for being so thoughtless. The number one rule was never interrupt a camming session, it could cost him clients if they found out he had a girlfriend. Some might even want you to participate, and that was not something you were up for.

But you also didn’t want your phone to ring while he was in a video chat. You were usually so careful, so this made you really mad at yourself. Henry couldn’t afford to lose customers right now, with opening the new location. He’d need every penny he could earn.

You knew he kept his Discord up when he was working, in case any emergencies arose and you could notify him, so you pulled it up and typed, >I forgot my phone in the bedroom. Can I come get it?

He typed back, >Sure, just try to be quiet, please.

You tip-toed to the bedroom and pushed the door open gingerly. Henry was talking to his new client playfully. He flicked his eyes over to you and gave you a quick wink before returning his attention to the screen.

Henry’s desk was circular and facing inward toward the wall, so there was be a solid background rather than showing his clients your bedroom. Your phone was on the nightstand next to the bed-nest, out of frame.

“So, tell me a little about yourself, sweetheart,” He said sultrily. “What do you like? What do you like having done to you?” Henry was wearing an earpiece through which the client responded. This prevented you from having to listen and the client from hearing you rattling around in the apartment. “Mmm, that sounds fun. You want to show me, or would you like me to show you first?”

You stealthed across the room and picked up your phone, turning it to silent. When you turned back around, Henry had removed the bolero jacket and was touching his chest suggestively and biting his lip.

“You look so pretty when you do that,” He said with a low-pitched growl in his voice.

Watching him in his element was… kinda hot. Instead of leaving, you sat down quietly on the bed-nest and watched him. He flicked his eyes over to you again for a millisecond, and you heard him typing.

>What are you doing?

>Admiring you. You responded. >You look so sexy.

>You’re breaking the rule.

>Then tell me to leave.

You could tell he was suppressing a smirk, but he didn’t tell you to leave.

>Just be as quiet as possible and you can stay, just this once, He texted you.

>Promise.

He continued the session with you reclining in the nest, watching him work. Normally in the first session with a new client, he didn’t go all the way, so to speak. It was more of a peep show and less of a full service. Usually it was a strip tease and some light touching to entice them to continue their subscription.

The way he was putting on a show for the camera, the exaggerated movements, the low, husky voice, the touching, the sly smirk on his lips, did things to your body. You squeezed your legs together and squirmed slightly, but he didn’t notice.

How much would he let you get away with, you wondered? Slowly, you let your hand slip into the sleep shorts you were wearing, spreading your legs a little.

This time he noticed. A minuscule flick of his eyes made them widen slightly, and he turned back to the keyboard while still engaging with the client.

>Stay quiet, He said. >Don’t make a sound.

He lowered his lashes and took a covert look at you, and you nodded.

He continued with his flirty introduction and laid the flattery on thick to the client, while every once in a while stealing a glance at you. You rocked your pelvis against your hand, massaging your pearl and biting your wrist to keep silent, all while watching him. You saw him pull his tail around under the desk and began stroking his slit in circles, the heads of his dual cocks just starting to peek out.

Just as you were getting to your first orgasm, Henry said, “Well, darling, our time is up. I hope I’ll see you again. I had a wonderful time with you.” He dipped his head down and looked up through his eyelashes, pouting slightly. “Come back soon. Until then, you take care, okay darling? Good night and sweet dreams.”

You came hard, gripping the sheets in one hand as you struggled to stay quiet. Henry exited out of the video chat, tore his earpiece off and threw it onto the desk, and darted toward you, pulling your hand out of your shorts and over your head.

“You…” He said with a dark, gruff tone. “You have been very… very… bad.”

This was a new side to sweet, cuddly Henry. “And what will you do?” You taunted, feeling a little thrill up your spine.

Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach and snatched your shorts and underwear off. He pushed himself into you, not in a way that hurt, but definitely hard and unceremonious. Since you had climaxed already and were a bit sensitive, it was almost sensory overload, but it was so good, and you gave yourself over to it.

He took both of your hands and held them behind your back with only one of his while he used the other to grip your hip to pull you harder against him.

“Don’t be quiet now,” He growled at you. “Make noise. Moan for me, scream for me, let me hear your voice.”

You were happy to obey, being a little louder than you normally were. You grunted and groaned as he pounded into you roughly, a way he’d never been with you before. He was always gentle and affectionate, and you loved it, but this was on another level. It was hot and passionate and wild, and you were enthralled. You loved Sweet Henry, but Feral Henry was incredible.

Henry came violently against you, growling, and withdrew, thrusting the second cock into you and going full-throttle again. You were used to Henry’s stamina by now, so you could hang with it. Another burst of pleasure crashed into your body, and you screamed his name.

“That’s a good girl,” He snarled into your ear.

A third orgasm, and then a fourth, and by the fifth, you were getting tired. He released one last shot inside you and let you go, collapsing next to you in the nest. You lay face down and gasped.

After a moment or two, he got up on his elbow and stroked your back.

“Are you okay? Do you need some water? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked softly.

Ah. Sweet Henry was back. You loved Sweet Henry. He was the best.

“No, I’m okay, babe,” You turned your head to look at him. “What was that? You’ve never been like that with me before.”

“I don’t know,” He said, looking a little shocked at himself. “I’ve never been like that with anyone before. Was it bad?”

“No, on the contrary, it was amazing,” You replied, turning on your side to face him. “I was just playing with you, I didn’t know I’d bring that out.”

“Me neither,” He said ruefully, laughing self-consciously and scratching the back of his head. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’d have said so if you did, you know that,” You said, reaching up to stroke his face. “I won’t sit in on sessions again, I know it’s bad for business. But… maybe we could roleplay Feral Henry one night. That was fun.”

He grinned wickedly at you, kissing the inside of your hand. “I look forward to it.”

That Sunday, the two of you took a trip across town to see his family. Despite living in the same city, you hadn’t actually met them yet. They traveled often for work, as they owned an advertising company and worked with businesses across the country. Their daughter, Henry’s older sister, was their secretary and did most of their scheduling.

Henry didn’t want to be an executive with the company and preferred to stand on his own two feet… so to speak. Thankfully, his family was understanding and didn’t object when he decided to follow his dreams instead of staying with the family business. After all, the advertisement company had been his parents’ dream.

You and Henry took a large-race cab service out to the richer end of the city, where his parents lived. They’re house had been built with nagas specifically in mind, so it had been built all on the ground level, but it was huge. There were at least six bedrooms, as far as you could tell.

Henry’s parents, Ruth and Richard, met you at the door. Ruth’s scales were a solid bright blue from waist to tail. Her skin was a burnished bronze and her eyes were gold in color. She had a long, lovely set of wings in blues and gold. She wore a long halter top in a deep brown that matched her tumbling hair and complemented her skin tone.

Richard, on the other hand, did not have wings and as such, wore a simple button up shirt. He was grey in color, both scales and skin, with black rings along his tail and grey horns jutting up from the top of his head out of his pitch black hair.

Naga women didn’t have mammary glands, since their diet at birth was strictly meat, transitioning to other foods as they aged, so nagas often didn’t feel the need to wear clothing. Henry didn’t typically wear clothing unless he was camming or in the shop, in which he wore a basic white t-shirt specially made with a panel in the back to accommodate his wings. Sometimes an apron, if he was feeling fancy. Otherwise, he went without clothes. Today, he went super posh with a blue t-shirt, since this was a special occasion and everything.

“Henry!” Ruth said, rushing out to meet her son. “You look so handsome!” She hugged her son tightly, their wings touching lightly. “And is this your girlfriend? She’s so lovely! Come and give me a hug, sweetie!”

You walked into her muscular arms and she gave you a warm, motherly hug that felt really nice. Since you weren’t speaking to your own family, this was a type of touch you really missed.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You said as you stepped away. “Henry has told me all about you.”

“Likewise!” She said, cupping your face. “Gosh, he’s talked about nothing else besides you for years!”

“Honey, don’t embarrass our son,” Richard said, coming out to shake your hand. “It is lovely to meet you at last.”

“You too, sir,” You replied.

“Oh, please, call me Richard. Come in, come in, dinner is almost ready,” He said, putting a hand behind your back, stopping just short of touching you, and ushered you inside.

You could smell a savory smell that made your mouth water as soon as you came inside. You followed Richard into the kitchen, where there was a large, high bar in place of a dinner table and a single barstool.

“We actually had to buy a chair!” Ruth said. “That was exciting. We did measurements and everything.”

Her excitement made you smile wide and feel a little shy. Henry grinned down at you and took your hand, leading you forward toward the barstool. You sat down and looked around the enormous, beautiful kitchen.

“Is she here yet?” A voice from the doorway said. Henry’s sister, Rea, entered unclothed, looking much like her brother but having her mother’s coloring.

“Rea, put on a shirt! We have company!” Ruth said.

“No, really, it’s okay, I’m used to Henry not wearing clothes, so it’s totally fine.” You hopped off the chair and went over to greet her and introduced yourself.

“I’m Rea, it’s great to meet you.” She looked you up and down. “You weren’t lying, Henry, she’s as hot as you described her.”

“Hey,” Henry said warningly, coming up behind you and hugging you close to his chest. “She’s taken.”

“For now,” Rea said to her brother, smiling slyly. He growled.

“Don’t fight,” Ruth said. “Come now, dinner is ready.”

Henry helped you pop back up on the stool and the naga family simply sat back on their tails. Dinner was rare steak and garden vegetables tossed in a homemade dressing and a dry white wine.

“Are you both amphiptere?” You asked Ruth and Richard.

“Yes,” Richard said. “But it’s less likely for the males to have wings than the females. Even among our own kind, Henry is rare.”

“Aww,” You said, patting his cheek. “That doesn’t surprise me one little bit. He’s special.”

“In the head, maybe,” Rea said, shoving a large piece of steak in her mouth. Henry shot her a dry look, but his mouth was too full to retort.

“Well, I’m glad he finally found someone who understands and appreciates his value,” Ruth said. “We were beginning to think he’d never get married.”

Henry choked on his wine, spitting it across the table. His parents and sister had to shield their plates.

“Mom, we’ve only been dating for a few months, it’s too early to be talking about marriage.”

“Oh, please, it’s inevitable, you’ve been in love with her for years!”

“Yes, but she wasn’t aware of that until recently!” He responded. “This is all new for her.”

“But you love her, right?”

“Mom, for the love of God,” Henry groaned, massaging his temples. “Yes, I love her, but it’s still basically the beginning of our relationship. You’re going to scare her off.”

“Well, what do you think?” Ruth asked, turning to you. “You’d marry him, wouldn’t you?”

You opened your mouth, taken aback.“I…”

“You don’t need to answer that,” Henry said. “Mom, really, don’t make her feel uncomfortable. Neither of us are thinking about marriage right now. Can we please talk about something else?”

“Mom, really, leave Henry alone,” Rea said.

“Alright, alright, I’m just saying--”

“Honey,” Richard said stiffly. “Please.”

Ruth sniffed and sighed, but fell silent. What followed was a rather awkward dinner.

As the two of you were leaving, Ruth apologized for being so pushy, having thought about her words over the strained silence. You told her it was okay, and that you were looking forward to seeing them again.

Back on the taxi heading toward town, you started thinking about it. Did he really not think about getting married one day? You were kind of hoping that eventually you would. Not soon, but eventually.

“Don’t worry about my mom,” Henry said, taking your hand. “She has that mom habit of not knowing when to stop.”

“No, it’s totally fine, she just caught me off guard, is all,” You replied.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked, tilting his head down a bit to look at your face. “You seem bothered by something.”

“It’s just…” You tried to think of a way to phrase it that wouldn’t spook him but failed. “No, it’s nothing really.”

“No, no,” He said, bumping your shoulder with his lightly. “Come on, I know there’s something on your mind. I’m your best friend, right? You can tell me anything.”

You sighed. “Are you really not thinking about marriage at all? I don’t mean right now or anything, but like in the future? Maybe a few years from now?”

“Well…,” He began, his brow furrowing. “I mean, yeah, of course I am. I’ve been thinking about marrying you since before we ever met. But our relationship is new and I didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on you. And we’re opening a new shop! Who knows how long it’ll be before the chaos of that subsides long enough for us to even begin to plan a wedding? It could genuinely be years.”

“So… it’s a possibility, then?”

“More than a possibility, I’d say,” He said with a gentle smile. “But we need time to feel this out. Just because we love each other is no reason to rush into something we aren’t necessarily prepared for, you know? Marriage is… a lot.”

You nodded. “Yeah. And I agree with you, but I was just worried that you weren’t even considering it.”

“Well, don’t worry. It’s definitely on my mind.”

“Good.” You laid your head on his shoulder, linking your arm with his. “Do we still have ice cream at home?”

“Nope, I ate it earlier.”

“Boo, you suck.”

He chuckled. “We’ll stop at the store on the way home. Mint chocolate chip and some cookies?”

“You know me so well.” You raise your head and puckered your lips, and he bent down to kiss you.

“I do think that before we start talking seriously about marriage or anything like that, I want to stop camming.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, when I got into it, I never intended to be a career, it was just a side job to help me pay bills. It’s fun and I like it, but I don’t want to do it forever. There is a risk to it, and I worry that you might be affected by it, and I don’t want that.”

“Risk?”

“Yeah. In fact, I think I’m going to end the camming early this year. I’m booked through the month, but I think I’ll make a post tonight saying that I’m going offline for the season. We’re going to be run ragged getting the new place set up. Some people will be upset about it, but they can deal with it.”

“People will be mad?” You asked. The taxi stopped and he took your hand, escorting you out and down the sidewalk toward the small store near your home.

“Yeah,” He said. “A lot of people get that I have a normal life outside of my side job, but some people can be obsessive. Usually, they just wait until next season opens up and book all of my openings they can afford, but some get personal. I block the ones that are too aggressive or start trying to get too close.”

“Too close?”

“Trying to find out who I am and where I live,” He replied.

“That happens?” You asked, alarmed.

“It’s only happened twice. One of them got the hint when I got angry and I didn’t hear from them again. The second one I had to call the police on. I still have a restraining order out against her.”

“Jesus,” You responded. “I didn’t realize it was so… dangerous.”

“It usually isn’t,” He said off-handedly. “That’s the beauty of anonymity and the internet. But I am a rare breed, so it’s easy for people to match my face in real life if they really dig. I mean, you did, right? I have a VPN and pretty hardcore protections on my computer that prevent hacking it remotely, but people can be persistent.”

“That’s… scary,” You said, frowning.

“Don’t worry,” He said, flexing his arms and stomach muscles. “I can handle just about anything.”

“Just about,” You echoed under your breath, and followed him into the store.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Boyfriend #Naga #Reader Insert

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staysaneathome · 3 years

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This Was Not A Dare, Reigen

Jon glares at each of the— the suspects traitors in front of him, tape recorder clutched tight in one hand.

Martin, wringing his hands uselessly, eyes wide and beseeching. Tim, fists clenched hard enough for his knuckles to go white and returning his gaze with a death stare of his own. Sasha, arms folded to form a barrier between Jon and herself, expression a perfect mask of concern. Reigen, radiating disappointment in every one of his gestures and quips. Elias, eyes weary, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Some intervention this is turning out to be.

Jon wants to scream. Wants to reach out and shake someone, anyone, until they admit he’s making sense and it’s the rest of the world that’s gone mad.

Every single one of them (except Martin) could’ve killed Gertrude. He knows he has no proof that they did, but he has no proof that they didn’t either, can’t they see that? If they don’t want him to suspect them, it should be easy for them to actually give him proof of their innocence (like Martin did), instead of just repeating platitudes of “you know this isn’t acceptable adult behavior, Jon” and “you’re better than this, Jon”.

Who cares about knowing better or acceptable behavior when it’s your very life on the line? He’s half tempted to throttle the con artist, see how dignified or adult he is when he’s the one with a murderer on his tail!

…Not that Jon is a murderer. It’s just the principle of the thing, is all.

“Jon,” Elias says, tone soothing in all the ways he doesn’t want it to be. “This is absurd. This goes far beyond an unhealthy work environment. I’ll admit it’s partly my fault for letting it get this bad, I should have intervened earlier.”

Reigen cuts in with a hand gesture that is as effusive as it is dismissive. “That doesn’t make his behavior okay, Bouchard-san. It may be bad here, but Jon chose to follow me, Tim and Sasha, and yell at Martin, rather than going to the police or paying a detective, like Herlock Sholmes or something.”

Jon sputters. “Wh- It’s Sherlock Holmes, not—and he’s fictional!”

Reigen blinks sleepily, one eyebrow raised. “Oh? That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Jon all but shouts, rapidly reconsidering his stance on braining the sardonic little git with his tape recorder. “Don’t you even—an-and you’re deflecting again! Just like with your ridiculous ‘haunted gun’ nonsense!”

“I’m not!” Reigen says, clearly deflecting. “I’ve seen this kind of thing loads of times as the number one psychic. When a weapon kills lots of people over 100 years, the bad energy gets bigger and bigger until the gun grows an evil spirit and is hungry—”

“I refuse to believe Gertrude Robinson was murdered by a sentient blunderbuss!!”

“Be that as it may,” Elias interrupts, shooting them both a stern frown. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about, Jon. Given how badly it’s affected your work ethic, I will be taking direct action to ensure it does not continue.”

Jon can feel his shoulders hunch almost against his will, dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of whatever punishment is about to be unjustly inflicted on him.

Only Martin looks half as worried as he feels, glancing between him and Elias nervously. By contrast, Tim looks downright triumphant, smirk nasty and vindictive. Sasha’s somewhere between those two, not openly celebrating his soon-to-be-downfall, but not acting like she’d lift a finger on his behalf either, though he’s unsure why that feels like it should surprise him. She’s always been as neutral as Switzerland.

Reigen, oddly enough, has more in common with Martin than with Tim. He’s staring at Elias like he’s waiting for a bit of news he knows he won’t like.

Jon thinks he’d appreciate that more if he wasn’t about to be unfairly lambasted simply for trying to stop a murderer and bring justice for an old woman who probably died frightened and alone. Much like Jon probably will once he’s been hobbled by whatever Elias is about to say next.

“Such as by restricting access to the archives from members of the public who are ultimately doing you more harm than good.”

…Wait.

What?

“What?!” Tim, Martin, and Sasha echo.

Reigen glances between them all, blinking in confusion.

Jon shares the sentiment entirely. His punishment is…for someone else to be removed from the archives? Someone he doesn’t employ or even like that much, no less?

He must have misheard, surely.

Though maybe not, given how Tim looks aghast, glancing between Elias and Reigen. “Okay, no, Reigen’s clearly not the problem here—”

“I’m very sorry, Tim, but Jon has made several remarks about the disruptive nature of Mr. Arataka’s presence in the archives.” Elias sighs. “From the arguments like the one we just witnessed to the nonsensical purchases of oddities inspired by his presence, such as Duolingo subscriptions,” Meaningful glare at Jon who resists the urge to clutch his phone guiltily, “That are now billed on the Archives’ expenses, it unfortunately seems as though he is dragging down productivity for all of you as an active stressor.”

“But we’re much better equipped to take statements from people who don’t speak English because of that!” Martin protests, stepping forward. “Isn’t it an advantage to have a more, more international perspective for our work?”

“One positive in a sea of negatives does not an advantage make.” Elias says, sounding infuriatingly like he’s misquoting something. “And really Martin, how realistic is it that this would help in more than a few isolated cases? I expected better from you.”

Martin’s face crumples, and his shoulders hunch, making himself smaller.

Jon finds his own mouth opening to—what? Say something? What would he even say?

Luckily, Sasha intervenes before he can dig his own grave further. “That’s as may be, but he’s a wonder for morale. He and Jon are funny, not anything serious, and I don’t think we’d have come to you about Jon‘s behavior unless he encouraged us to—”

“Which only fits into the delusion where Jon feels an outsider is rallying his subordinates against him, which is not good for his paranoid outlook.” Elias replies calmly. “And it’s never a healthy work environment when one employee feels the others are making them the butt of a joke.”

“I’d say that’s not as bad as when the boss feels he has the right to violate everyone’s privacy whenever he wants to just ’cause he’s feeling sad!” Tim growls.

Elias begins to answer, before Reigen finally speaks up.

“Sorry,” The con artist says carefully. “But you are…«I know this one…» banning me from the Archives? Yes?”

“That is the long and short of it, yes.” Elias says, grudgingly

“Why?” Reigen challenges, eyes hard and searching. “What have I, personally, done that’s wrong here? What behavior do I need to correct?”

There’s a moment of silence. The whirring of the tape recorder sounds uncomfortably loud.

“Mr. Arataka, are you currently under the employ of the Magnus Institute?” Elias asks, brow furrowed.

“Ah, no, no, but—”

“Are you looking to become employed by the Institute at this point in time, as a prospective member of the Archival Staff?” He fires off rapidly.

“Su-Sorry, but if you could just go a little slower—”

“Then I am afraid that unless you’re looking to fill out an employment contract or a Statement form, we cannot help you, Mr. Arataka.” Elias spreads his hands wide. “We are an academic institution, a place of research and learning. The Institute cannot allow for social dalliances on company time, especially not when those visits are negatively contributing to the work environment and the wellbeing of our staff.”

Tim throws up his hands, “I-I cannot believe this!”

Reigen’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment.

“Arataka is my…what do you call it? First name?” He says, at last. “Using it in this context is…inappropriate. Please call me Reigen, if you would, Bouchard-san.”

“Of course. My mistake, Mr. Reigen.” Elias does have the decency to look somewhat abashed. “Though, regrettably, I am going to have to ask you to leave the premises within the next twenty minutes, or I will be forced to call security.”

Reigen nods, jerkily, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Jon almost wants to call out to the fraud as he turns to go, grab him by the shoulder, pick another argument, something. He knows he should be happy, be glad that this thorn in his side will finally stop bothering him, but instead he just feels—befuddled. Off-kilter.

What happened to the man who once spent three hours arguing for the “spiritual effectiveness” of entirely performative and useless rituals, saying that ensuring his clients left his office fooled and contented was better than actually uncovering genuine supernatural forces and learning all there was to know about them? Why is he going so-so easily now, when he’s made Jon fight tooth and nail in every debate he’s had with the so-called psychic?

At the door, the con man pauses.

“Bouchard-san. You said I could come back if I had a statement to give?”

Elias shifts in his seat, looking bemused. “W-well, yes. That is a service we do provide. Of course, the statement would have to be genuine, and verifiable as such before we let you back into the Archives.”

“We don’t even do that for most of the rubbish we do take,” Tim mutters under his breath, and though Jon is glad he’s not the one being shot a quelling look, he does have to agree.

The con man turns back.

He’s got that smirk on his face that immediately puts Jon’s hackles up on instinct, prepared to argue against whatever inane point he’s come up with now to defend his phony psychic title.

“Gotcha.” Reigen says, far too cheerfully. «Ja ne.»

Then he strolls out of the office, as cool as a cucumber.

Jon could even swear he hears him whistling as he makes his way down the stairs.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“I’d do him.” Sasha pipes up, unhelpfully.

“Sasha!” Martin hisses, scandalized. “D-don’t you have a, a—”

“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that.” She remarks, far too blasé for someone in a newly committed relationship. “Tom’s heard about him too, and he agreed he’s just our type.”

“And I’m not?” Tim jokes, but there’s a hard edge to it that Jon’s found himself increasingly familiar with in the past few weeks.

Sasha shrugs with a mischievous little smile, as if that mattered very little to her.

Elias coughs. “Right. Well. Whatever your relations to Mr. Reigen are, please try to limit them to outside the workplace in future.”

The rest of the intervention is surprisingly subdued. Elias gives Jon access to the footage from the cameras in the rest of the Institute, and Tim bodychecks him on the way out of the office, muttering about how nice it must be to never face any consequences for his actions. Sasha follows, the way she won’t meet his eyes a condemnation in its own right.

Even Martin doesn’t say anything to him, just bites his lip and hurries past back down to the Archives. It doesn’t sting. It doesn’t.

Even as he settles in to watch and rewatch the CCTV records of Gertrude’s last week alive, Jon can’t shake the ridiculous feeling of foreboding that’s dogged him since Reigen left.

Most of him wants to say it comes from the fact that despite the fact that Reigen has not appeared in any of the camera records for the Magnus Institute before he started his term as Head Archivist in 2016, isn’t banning him from the Archives just letting the con man run around London with impunity, with no way for Jon to ascertain his movements or motives? That instead of solving a problem, Elias has just given a potential murderer free reign to escape?

But a small part of Jon, one that never could deny the sensation of being watched, that is frozen in second-hand terror whenever he reads a Statement, knows, Knows that it this stems more from the idea that the fraud will actually accomplish what Elias has unwittingly challenged him to do.

The illogical but pervasive surety that he will do so.

Jon’s not sure if he’s more afraid that Reigen Arataka will vanish entirely, another unfortunate victim become an unsolved mystery.

Or that he’ll come back, and bring whatever he’s managed to unearth on his insane quest with him.

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igotbulletproof-insomnia · 3 years

Text

Adopting Bangtan 06

01, 02, 03, 04, 05

Park Jimin & Kim Taehyung, age 8

Song Jieun is your favorite secretary at the school you work at. She’s like some coffee fairy the way she seems to magically know exactly when you need a fresh cup and you only needed to tell her how you liked it exactly one time. She is also endearingly sweet and hardworking, even if she has a penchant for losing things easily. It’s for that very reason why you are rarely surprised when Jieun approaches your desk in the staff room, like she does now, wearing a sheepish smile.

“What did you lose this time?” you question teasingly.

“I… may have misplaced a few copies of the kids’ grade reports…” she winces at the admission. “I think I threw them away by accident. I spent some time clearing out my things yesterday.”

“That’s right, my coffee fairy is moving to Gwangju,” your face twitches into a brief, playful pout. “How are the boys dealing with the change?”

“They’re fine,” she says quickly. “I’m a bit worried, but they’ll be okay, I’m sure.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” you ask, beginning to sign the small stack of papers. You flip the bottom half of the sheets up just enough to see the line at the bottom that you need to sign. You read them all just a few days ago, there’s no need to do it again.

“My fiance has been hinting that he doesn’t want to raise any step-children,” she explains, her voice tense with worry. “He’s especially concerned about my step-son from my last marriage… Heesung wants me to leave them in a boarding school here in Seoul. He’ll pay for their tuition but… I don’t really feel comfortable. They’re so young... I just don’t want him to leave me this close to the wedding.”

“He’s an idiot if he wants to leave you for being a good mother,” you tell Jieun firmly, but gently. “But I guess I understand the concern. I know you’ll do what’s best for the kids, you’re a good woman like that.” You pause, then flash another teasing smile. “I mean, you could just give them to me. I’m apparently running an orphanage at home.”

“Your boys are still bringing home strays?”

“I think I’ve gotten them to understand that they can’t bring home every sad kid and expect me to keep them. They usually have to go home eventually.” You finish signing the last of the forms.

“They have big hearts, I’m sure they learned that from you.”

“Yes, I taught them how to love,” you scoff indignantly. “If only they would learn to pee in the toilet, I might be a little nicer.”

“You love them,”

“Yes, I really do.”

Saturday evenings are chaotic.

As the parent of four preteen boys (and one first grader), almost everyday is chaotic. There is homework and music and video games and dance practice and guitar playing and piano lessons and why are all of these kids so dramatic, you didn’t raise them like this!

“Yah, I have three years more experience than you, how are you going to tell me --”

“Hyung, the answer is literally right there,” Namjoon sniggered, pointing.

“Listen, you brat --”

“The only brat I see here is you, Seokjin,” you sigh, breezing into the kitchen. Seokjin and Namjoon are perched on stools at the kitchen island, occupied with their homework. They were both clever kids, but Seokjin tended to get frustrated easily, and Namjoon was too quick for his own good. The two fought a lot, but they also depended on one another a lot; Namjoon would help Seokjin with the parts of his homework that became too frustrating and Seokjin would fluster Namjoon to the point where the kid acted his own age. “The others finished already?”

“Yoongi decided to stay at school and work with his friends,” Seokjin answers. “Hoseokie is playing with Kookie in their room. I think they’re building.”

“Okay, good,” you nod, “but that doesn’t explain why the TV is blasting Epik High.” Seokjin doesn’t bother verbalizing an answer, just turns to pointedly stare at Namjoon.

“They make good music!”

“And I am not arguing that point,” you agree. “I’m just saying that I could hear Mithra all the way down the hall before I even got to our floor.”

“That’s impossible, the volume isn’t that loud.”

“Namjoon,” Hoseok comes running into the kitchen. “You need to turn the music down our --” Hoseok stops in his tracks, almost slipping on the kitchen tile. “Oh, hi!”

“What were you saying, Hoseok-ah?”

“Um… I got a text, Joonie. Turn the music down.”

“Uh-huh, and how long ago did I send that text?”

“Uhm… about seven minutes ago?”

“And where, Namjoon, would I have been seven minutes ago?”

“Downstairs…” Namjoon suddenly finds the kitchen lights very interesting, the expression on his face imitating innocence.

“Uh-huh. Go fix it, please,” you roll your eyes. “This is the second time I’ve had to talk to you about your music being too loud. If it happens again I’ll be a week late paying for your subscription.” The fact that it had only been a guess that Namjoon had been blasting his music again was going to go completely unmentioned.

“Got it, won’t happen again,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Hoseok-ah,” you address the kid sneaking out of the kitchen. Your tone implies he’s in trouble and he stiffens. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering which of his shenanigans you may have found out about and which ones would have actually gotten him into trouble. Hoseok is a bit of a wild child when he gets into the right mood, but for the most part he’s actually the easiest one to take care of. They’re all relatively easy and well-mannered children, but they all have their bouts of difficulty. “Please try to deliver my messages promptly, not ten minutes later.” You let the scolding settle before adding, “Also, it’s your turn to choose dinner.” The face Hoseok makes in response, the sheepish, oh, right, I forgot, grin is adorable and you can’t help but smile in response.

“Can we get takeout?”

“Depends where from,” you reply as the doorbell rings.

“Can we please not do Jiwon-ssi’s dumplings again? I’m going to be sick,” Seokjin whines.

“Jiwon-ssi makes the best kimchi!”

You leave the boys to argue in the kitchen while you go answer the doorbell, which rings for the second time. Whoever is at the door is awfully impatient, you think, either that or just obnoxious. The apartment isn’t that big, although it is the biggest one you could find on your budget. Three bedrooms, one toilet, a balcony, kitchen, and living room. Yoongi and Seokjin share one room together with Jungkook while Namjoon and Hoseok share another. The space was a bit cramped, but It isn’t the one bedroom apartment you had when you adopted Namjoon, and it isn’t the two bedroom apartment from when you adopted Seokjin and then Hoseok a few months ago. It’s comfortable, and that’s what’s important.

“Seokjin,” you call while walking to the door, “it’s Hoseokie’s choice. Hoseokie, if Jiwon starts flirting with me again, I will hide your lucky sweatpants in some place you will never find them again.”

You open the door, Hoseok’s indignant spluttering and Namjoon’s cackling behind you. It’s a sort of chaos you’ve grown accustomed to, and it fills you with a warm feeling in your heart. You love these boys and are so happy to have met them and received the chance to raise them.

There are two more kids on the other side of the door.

“Um. Hi.”

“Hello!” One of the boys greet and they both bow to you. You blink at them. They’re cute, but you don’t exactly understand why they’re asking for you. “Thank you for taking us in!”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“You said you can’t adopt more!”

“I… don’t…” you trail off, lost and confused. “What?”

“Mommy said me and Jiminie can live with you when she gets married,” the same boy who spoke earlier explained. His face is rather round, dark eyes framed with thick eyelashes. The other one is paler, features softer, prettier. “She said to give you this.” He holds out a piece of paper, one detailing the transferring of parental rights from Song Jieun to yourself. With your signature at the bottom.

“You’re Song Jieun’s kids?” you ask them, just to be sure. Both boys nod.

“Mommy also wanted me to give you…” the same boy starts searching through his pockets, mumbling to himself that I know I had it somewhere… I had it when we left… did I lose it on the bus? Eventually, the smaller one taps his brother on the shoulder and points to the front pocket of his bookbag. “Oh right! Thanks! Here.” the kid thrusts yet another piece of paper at you, this one a handwritten note written on good cardstock.

“Saem,” Seokjin speaks from just behind your shoulder now, “did you seriously fall for the same trick twice?”

“What trick?” You ask absentmindedly, reading the heartfelt apology. Apparently, that day when you signed those grade reports, Jieun slipped in a guardianship form and you unwittingly signed it.

“I gave you a bunch of things to sign and you didn’t even read them, you just signed it all,” your eldest replies. “I did that three years ago. How did you not learn yet?”

“Is that what happened?” You gape at him.

“Yes, but we aren’t talking about me right now,” Seokjin deflected. “We’re talking about you adopting more kids.”

“Um,” that same kid, the one with the thick eye lashes, cuts in. “Can we come in?” It’s a fair question, and in spite of the confusion and frustration in your heart, you know you aren’t going to send these kids back to Jieun and her new husband. She had already expressed her concern for these kids, and they aren’t even old enough to start middle school. How are they going to live in an apartment on their own? You stole Yoongi for that exact reason so you aren’t going to be a hypocrite now and turn these two boys away, even if you have no idea what you would do with seven children.

At least these two come with an added paycheck. And okay, that is bad, that is very, very bad. It isn’t nice to think of these innocent children as a paycheck, but it helps. You are struggling to take care of the five you already have, receiving extra money for the extra mouths is nice. At least Jieun was considerate about throwing her kids at you.

“Hello,” Namjoon waved. He hasn’t moved from his seat on the sofa, remote still in hand. Map the Soul is playing at a more sensible level, and it's a testament to Namjoon’s interest in the situation because he normally skips this song. “I’m Namjoon. Welcome to our home.”

“I’m Seokjin,”

“I’m Hoseok,”

“And I’m Jungkookie!”

“When did you get here?” you ask your youngest, surprised to see him.

“I heard the doorbell.”

“Right, my children are nosey, awesome,” you mumble to yourself. “Hoseok, let these boys stay with you and Joonie for now, okay? Boys what are your names again?”

“I’m Taehyung,” says the same child who’s done all of the talking so far. “This is my brother, Jimin. He’s quiet and doesn’t like to talk.”

“That’s okay. We were going to order dinner soon. Are you boys hungry?”

“I’m always hungry,” Taehyung grinned.

“Of course you are, you’re a young boy. This lot will eat me out of house and home if I let them.”

“Your house is your home, you’re being redundant,” Namjoon scoffs, going back into the kitchen to finish his homework.

“I fail to see where I’m wrong though.”

“I volunteer to not tell Yoongi we’re adopting more kids,” Hoseok laughs as he leads Jimin and Taehyung away.

“One, two, three, not it!” The rest of the boys shout.

“Hey, I’m the parent here! Why are you behaving like I’m afraid of a twelve-year-old?!”

#bangtan #bts fic #bts scenarios #Kim Taehyung #bts v #park jimin #bts jimin #kid fic #kid bts #taehyung fanfic #bts jimin fanfic #BTS ARMY #cross posted on ao3 #Dark Balance #collecting strays

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stonefreeak · 3 years

Note

I absolutely love your chancellor kenobi series and am so grateful that you've written so much of it, you have sparked much joy for me. I wanted to ask your advice as someone who has written & published a large AU with many moving parts. How do you choose what order to publish things in? Do you have an outline that you stick to, do you publish as you write it, do you go with the flow?

Hello! Thank you so much, I'm glad to hear that you enjoy it!

Now, I could probably tell a few horror stories about how I was structuring my files and writing early on before @veilofadyingstar clowned on me enough times to get me to not write more than 5 different fics in the same google doc, separated only by headers (yes really), but I don't think that's very conductive to your questions, so I'll leave it at that, lol.

Chancellor Kenobi (CK) started as directly-into-tumblr ficlets. As in, I wrote everything directly into the text post editor and then just tagged it and pressed save and that was that.

It was also, early on, sort-of-not-really a prompt fic. Basically, I started by writing a ficlet on an idea, and then people wanted more of that ficlet, so they sent me asks. Sometimes they did manage to hit on what I imagined would happen, sometimes they didn't (in which case I would tell them what actually happened). I have so many asks still that I planned on replying to with a ficlet but just forgot, which is why my inbox currently has 156 messages in it, lmao (sorry everyone who sent me an ask!)

Back when this was the format CK was in, back in December 2016, I posted ficlets in whatever order I wrote them. I updated daily back then, sometimes even twice per day. After 10 days of this (so on the 13th, with about 10ish ficlets to the story) I asked if people wanted me to collect everything in a masterpost, which they did, at which point I had to go back and actually double check the order of events.

This was all so early on in the story that I just posted ficlets as I wrote them, haphazardly adding them into the timeline where they belonged, without caring about posting order at all.

I had an idea of what would happen, and as it grew more complex and I got further into the story, I realised that posting things out-of-order wouldn't be feasible anymore. The ficlets were becoming far too context dependent (because of the complexity and details of the plot) so even though I was still writing ficlets in the order of "whatever strikes my fancy", I now had to wait with posting until it was actually the next bit of the plot, this is when my updates started to slow down a lot, because yeah...

I started writing down an outline of events, but I never finished that, and I've since lost it lmao. So the actual plot, the story, the details... all of that lives only inside my head. I'm mentally keeping track of everything.

Which, honestly, I don't think I recommend that LMAO

After all, keeping it all in your head means that if you forget something, lmao, it's gone. bye bye

However, I did mention fairly recently that I'd done some organising of my files where I properly placed files out in order and name them, which now kind of works as an outline, lol (I use a writing subscription service for a gamified writing experience called 4thewords). However, there are a few blank files in between the named ones because I know I need more stuff in there in between the named events so it's not really a proper outline either.

So. I still write the fic out of order, which is something I can easily do due to the format I'm writing it in: interconnected ficlets as chapters. This means that I have ficlets that are far in the future of what I have posted, but they cannot yet be posted for the simple reason that the plot is now so complex that things need to be posted in order, otherwise it won't make sense.

As such, I no longer publish as I write, though I used to. At this point, the fic has grown too large and has too many moving pieces for that to be feasible.

Generally, I usually like to finish a fic before I post it, because that means that I can go back into early parts and edit them if need be (say I come up with something cool I need to foreshadow, or I realise that I mentioned something too early, or I realise I introduced a plotline I dropped so it's better to edit it out etc etc). That's not really possible with CK anymore (though, I mean, I guess I could go back and secretly edit stuff and pretend like nothing's up, lmao) so it's entirely possible that this fic has some inconsistencies etc (though I do my best to ensure there aren't any, there's always the risk I've missed something).

Writing CK and sharing it with all my readers has been an amazing experience, and I dearly hope people are not only willing to stick with me to the end, but also that they will feel like the pay-off was worth it.

For some people, finishing a fic before posting doesn't work because they need engagement to keep going, which is absolutely valid! For that, I think having a more structured outline is very useful in order to keep things clear and avoid accidental plot holes. It's no guarantee of course.

Ultimately, how you post and how you write comes down to you as an individual writer.

For me, it's rather flexible. Sometimes I write things in a strictly chronological order from start to finish and that's it. Sometimes I skip around in the story and need to make sure I leave very large empty spaces (metaphorical or literal) so I know where there's missing content that need to be written before the story is finished.

All of this is of course very much personal to me, and what works for one writer might not work for another. But I hope it gives you some help and some insight, perhaps.

Happy writing, anon!

#Supreme Chancellor Obi Wan Kenobi #writing #I got an ask!#anonymous #how I write #writing tips #well #kind of #long post

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fictionalabyss · 4 years

Text

SinfullySlick

Pairing : Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader, Sam (unspecified)

Word count : 1,221

Written for : @spnabobingo

Square : selling slick.

Warnings : A/B/O dynamics, buying/selling slick, slick as lube, masturbation, oncoming rut, sex toys mentioned.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

SPN A/B/O Bingo Round 5 Masterlist.

“Any packages?” Dean asked as Sam returned from a run into town.

“No. Why, you waiting for something again? What the hell do you keep ordering?”

“Nothing. Shut up. Mind your business.”

“Dean-”

“I’ll check tomorrow.” Dean left the war room and headed off down a hall.

Sam sighed. This has been happening for a few months now. Dean would get antsy about a package coming, and then when he finally got it, he’d disappear and Sam would never find out what it was. He was curious what his brother was getting, wondered if it was some kind of subscription box since it seemed to come pretty regularly. It was obviously something embarrassing that he didn’t want Sam knowing about. Henati? No, Dean didn’t pay for porn. Figures? Where would he even hide them? “Hmm.” he shook his head and headed towards the kitchen with the bags.

“What do you got for me today.” Dean mumbled as he pulled out the key for his PO box and placed it in the lock. “Please please please.. Yes!” he pulled out the slip that let him know a delivery came. Locking the box, he headed for the counter with a grin.

He handed over the slip, his ID, and waited, fingers drumming on the counter top as the employee headed for the back.

“Here you go.” The small brown box was placed on the counter. “Anything else I do for you?”

“Sweet. No, man, thanks a million. Have a good one.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Dean tucked his ID back into his wallet, popping it back into his back pocket before scooping up his prize and exiting with a grin. 30 minutes later, he was parked in some overgrown field outside of town. He couldn’t go back to the bunker, not yet.

Licking his lips, reached over and brought the package into his lap. Pulling the pocket knife out of his jacket pocket, he cut through the tape before tossing the knife into the seat beside him for now. Opening the box, he began to gingerly peel back all the protective wrapping that kept the item safe. When he felt the bottle under his fingertips, he held his breath as he pulled it free and held it up to the sun, eyeing it for a moment before he brought it back down and finally, carefully, opened it and took a deep breath.

“Jesus fuck.” he groaned as the scent hit him and had him salivating in seconds. “So fucking good. Always so fucking good.” He was rock hard in his jeans in moments. He wanted to coat himself in it, hell, he wanted to bathe in it. Whoever the hell this girl was, her username was dead fucking on. SinfullySlick, and fuck was her slick sinful.

Licking his lips, he decided to chance it. Maybe he’d be able to sneak past Sam and hit the showers before he could smell a strange Omega’s scent on him. He closed the bottle back up, putting it in the box and putting that aside for a moment so he could get his jeans undone and free himself. Then he opened the bottle, poured a bit of slick into his hand and began to stroke himself.

“Fuck, yes.” his head went back with a groan. Taking a deep breath, he let the scent overtake him and growled. “Omega.”

“Dean-”

“No, Sam. Let’s just get this over with and get back home.” Dean’s rut was coming and Sam had dragged him out on a hunt. He was miserable. He wanted to be back home with his bottle of slick and his toy. Yeah, he had both of them with him, but as always the brothers shared a motel room and he didn’t need Sam knowing he was paying for slick like some loser who can’t get a date.

Sighing, Sam continued down the street walking alongside his brother until a group of women coming their way cut between them. Sam flashed a dimpled smile at one of them, and he got a wink and a giggle in return, making his smile widen. When he came out the other side, it took a minute for him to realize Dean wasn’t at his side anymore. “Dean?” Turning, he saw Dean had stopped and he was staring after the girls. “Look, I know your ruts coming, but that doesn’t mean you can-”

“Hey!” Dean called out, and the group of girls stopped. He had his eyes on one in particular, however. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so..”

“You smell.. You smell familiar.” Dean stepped closer and sniffed at the air. “I know you, you’re-”

“Guys, go ahead, I’ll catch up in a sec.” You cut him off. They asked if you were sure and you nodded as you moved closer to Dean.

“You’re SinfullySlick. I’d know that fucking smell anywhere.”

“Sinfully who?” Sam moved closer to you and his brother with a confused look on his face.

“Look, buddy, I don’t know who you are, but-”

“Impala67.” he put his hand to his chest and he felt his heart swell as recognition lit your eyes.

“Oh shit.. You’re like... my best customer..” a soft chuckle escaped your lips on a breath. “I gotta say, with all the money you spend, I did not expect you to be so..” you looked him up and down. “Hot.”

Dean’s smile widened at that, his sour mood from earlier completely gone as he took in how beautiful your smile was, how sweet your voice sounded to his ears. “Yeah, well.. You’re just as beautiful as I imagined.” He almost melted as your smile turned shy. “Where you headed?”

“Uh, bar. Lucky’s. Happy hour starts in about 20 minutes.”

“Want company?”

“I had company.” you teased, motioning to your friends continuing down the street before they disappeared around a corner.

“Want more?”

“Dean, you shouldn’t. You're about to hit your rut, it’s not a good idea.” Sam cut in.

“That’s why you rushed the order? Ruts coming up?” Dean nodded. You gave a soft chuckle. “When?”

“Maybe tomorrow, maybe day after.”

“What a coincidence. Heats due to hit in about two or three days. Probably why you were able to recognize me by scent.”

“Jesus..fuck.” Dean groaned.

“How about we meet up tomorrow night and I give you a fresh batch of slick for your rut. On the house. Nice and warm.”

“I could kiss you.” he groaned.

“I wouldn’t say no to it. Also wouldn’t say no to you coaxing the slick outta me.” you bit your bottom lip and took a step back from him. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Impala.”

“Dean.” he called out. “My name’s Dean.”

“See you tomorrow night, Dean.” Turning from him, you started towards the bar and your friends, but couldn’t help glancing back at him.

Dean watched you go until you were out of sight and then he let out a sigh. “Okay, maybe I don’t hate you for dragging me out on this one.”

“Wait..” Sam held out his hand. “You buy slick?”

“Mhmm.” Dean nodded.

“From her..”

“Yeah.”

“And now-”

“And now I’m in a good mood, Sammy. That’s all that matters.” He clapped Sam on the chest and started back the way they had been heading. “Let’s get to work. I’ve got a hot date tomorrow.”

*If you like this, please consider supporting my work*

Tagging : Dean - @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets @evyiione @karikatz12481 @idksupernatural

SPN - @sandlee44 @just-another-busy-fangirl @mrswhozeewhatsis @deanandsamsbitch @deans-baby-momma @thebescht @67-chevy-baby @supraveng @musiclovinchic93 @holyfuckloueh @ksgeekgirl @hobby27 @maddiepants @roxyspearing @onethirstyunicorn @fandom-princess-forevermore @kalesrebellion @deanwanddamons

All tags - @sorenmarie87 @artemisthebadger @winchesterprincessbride @iflostreturntosteverogers @akfonkin @rebelminxy @foxyjwls007 @onethirstyunicorn @shaelyn102 @supernaturalenchanted @kazkingdom @babypink224221 @emoryhemsworth @ilovefanfic86 @pie-with-hunters @deanmonandnegansbitch @lazinessisalliknow @feelmyroarrrr @letsdisneythings @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose @xostephanie @marvelmenmusicandroses @ilovedeanspie @defenderrosetyler @amandamdiehl

#a/b/o bingo #selling slick square #dean x reader #alpha!Dean #dean winchester #dean #dean fic #dean winchester fic #reader insert #sam winchester #a/b/o #spn #spnfic #supernatural #supernatural fic

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rinharu-purple · 3 years

Note

Hi Rinharu~ just wanted to say I enjoy reading your analysis on MLQC (mainly the Gavin content). Just wondering what particular things you didn't like about his new birthday karma? Although I understand with the edit mistakes made :/ At least they were called out for it.

A happy Sunday to you lovely anon and a grandios thank you for your support! 🤗🤗🤗

To answer your question, I'd love to take you for a detour to my post here and show you what my expectations of this event were. As you can see, none of my wishes came true (bummer). But that's not my main problem.

What bothers me is the sudden change of gear from 7th to 2nd in a matter of seconds. For example, if you ever try to turn down your cars torque that fast, your engine chokes and you experience one nasty shock of drive flow disturbance (watching some sports car review videos while writing this but the association is accurate, trust me on this :D)

How is that you might ask, and that's a legitimate question. If we take a look at the momentum of Gavin dates in the last 12 months in CN server, the sudden drop can be observed better. But I need to use spoilers for that, I hope that’s ok for you.

I'll be using @cheri-translates input for the following, so please consider taking a look at her account and leave her a like or subscription if you feel like it ^_^

The timeline of Gavin dates after his birthday event '20 in CN server looks roughly like this:

Spoilers start below this line

- Late Autumn Date: MC is dedicating the rest of her life to Gavin and they share one really steamy make session. This was plus-minus around the same time as his birthday, so we should actually get it in the ENG server soon.

- Same Path Date: This date belongs to an AU for the Double Seventh festival. This date ends with Gavin saying “I helped your village resolve the flood. In return, I will take the most beautiful lady on the altar.”

- Return from Afar Date: Aside from being one of my favorite dates, Gavin takes MC to a venue which is used for fake weddings and brings a gem with him.

- Deep Longing Date: A wholesome fluffy date where Gavin and MC visit a Scandinavian country for Xmas.

- Obsession/ When the Galaxy Falls Dates: If you haven’t seen these yet, then I wouldn’t spoil these for you. One word describes these: Perfection

- Blessings Date: Another AU date with Gavin proposing to MC.

So as you can see, during last year, MC and Gavin’s relationship has gradually evolved into a firmly established, long-term relationship which is slowly entering the “future plans, engagement/marriage” phase. Taking that into consideration, the rational move for Gavin’s birthday would be something that fits into the pattern and scheme of the dates in the last 12 months. Papergames could’ve done so many other things or even just enrich the date with the elements suitable for current Gavin x MC dynamics.

- For example they could’ve switch the badge with the actual badge that Gavin had sent to his father, perhaps even going one step further and explaining how MC retrieved from his father, accompanied by a small dialogue between MC and Gavin’s father. Allowing us to have an insight on his father’s approach to things and maybe add a sparkle of humanity into him, thus presenting the fans a tiny bit of relief.

- The date mentions kids being around the playground, where MC and Gavin hang out. Wouldn’t that be a nice detail, if they’ve spent some with the kids. Picture this: one of the girls ask Gavin if he would play piggy back ride with her and Gavin offers her playing the pilot, him being the plane and MC watching him from afar. He would then fold a paperplane for her and give her a pep-talk.

- What about adding his younger brother into the mix? Yes, I know that PG has changed their mind about Shaw being the younger brother. However Gavin still has a younger brother in the canon story. Wouldn’t that be nice touch if his brother had given him a call or just sent him a small box with trivial things to show Gavin his feelings? Both the R&S and the date are lacking emotions and quite dull if you ask me.

- Since Gavin opened up about his memory with the competition, why not take MC to the gravestones of his grandparents and his mother? They are so intimate and far in their love and trust, they should visit places that mean more to their story. Not just an old airbase to which Gavin doesn’t have any personal bond.

- The matching outfits don’t have any specific back-story to it. That’s why neither Iridescent nor the edited Caelum mean anything for the players. Funny thing, for Gavin and MC we have so many alternative options! Loveland High uniforms, STF uniform, STF drill track suits, motorcycle outfits/ or helmets or hell matching jerseys from a team, because Gavin and MC help them for a fundraising event. So many options!

- Last but not least, the dialogue between Gavin and MC is not romantic enough for a couple spending the fourth birthday together. Gavin and MC are together since four years! Sure, the older a relationship gets, the every-dayish it becomes. But this is MLQC, we are in a fantasy world and me as a player want to read a neverending romance-story.

I’m not saying its a bad date, but the way its written, it would be more suitable for a regular SR karma. I was just expecting more depth and intimacy from Gavin’s birthday karma. What MC does is also a very nice gesture, but it doesn’t look like an action one would do on her boyfriend’s birthday. Papergames usually pays much attention to previous events and sew threads between them. However everything in this date feels random: The location, the dialogue, the cake, the gift, everything.

Plus they don’t even kiss, are you kidding me?! Who doesn’t kiss her bf on his birthday?!

You see, dearest anon, I was quite felt let down by this year’s Gavin birthday event in CN server because I had very high expectations :/

How did you find the date and the R&S? I would really love to know :) <3

#anon asks #birthday #Happy birthday #relationship development #mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc baiqi #mlqc haku #mr. love queen's choice #mr. love dream date #mlqc analysis #mlqc spoilers

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orangeoctopi7 · 3 years

Text

It’s Fine (It’s not fine)

@forduary week 1 is Hurt/Comfort. The one’s definitely more on the hurt side of things, but I promise there’s some comfort at the end!

Stanford Pines is six years old. He’s in his bedroom, reading quietly. He’s just getting to the climax of the adventure story he’s reading when his brother Stanley crashes into the room. It wouldn't normally be a problem, Ford is really good at tuning out the world around him while he reads, but Stan is complaining loudly.

“I’m booooooard!” The boy moans, grabbing onto the post of their bunk-bed and dangling off it dramatically.

“Whaddaya want me to do about it?” Ford asks in irritation, not looking up from his book.

“Let’s go play on the beach! Or go to the comic store! Or… or something!” Stan suggests. “Anything but just sit around here doin’ nothin’!”

It was a hot summer afternoon. Ford didn’t want to go down to the beach or the comic store when he knew for certain anywhere they went today was bound to be crowded with people. He just wanted to sit and read in his room and enjoy some time to himself.

“Can’t you go by yourself?”

“Are you kiddin’? Ma would throw a fit!”

Ford heaves a long-suffering sigh, places a bookmark to hold his place, and snaps his book shut before thumping it down on his bed.

“Well we don’t hafta go if ya don’t wanna.” Stan says lamely.

“It’s fine.” Ford assures him.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine.”

* * *

Stanford Pines is ten years old. He’s at recess, trying to lie low. Stan got held back for the whole half-hour because he’d been caught trying to sneak the class pet, a newt, into his backpack. This of course leaves Ford at the mercy of Crampelter and his thugs, who have little to no mercy on any given day.

“C’mon freak, fight back!” The towheaded bully taunts him, holding Ford back by the forehead as he tries to struggle past the blocking arm for his backpack, held just out of reach. “I know I seen you taking boxing lessons back at Mel’s Gym!”

“It’s ‘I saw’ or ‘I have seen’, and just b‘cuz I’m taking lessons doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to pick a fight I know I can’t win!” Ford protests.

“Pfft, you’re no fun.” Crampelter scoffs, before grabbing onto one of Ford’s hands while he continues to reach vainly for his backpack. “But y’know what does sound fun?”

“Let go of me!”

“Seeing how flexible your extra fingers are!” Crampelter starts to push Ford’s pinky finger back with his thumb, stretching it to its limit.

“Stop it! That hurts!”

But Crampelter just keeps pushing and pushing until Ford is sure some tendons are going to pop, when a shrill whistle echoes across the playground.

“Hey! Crampelter! Drop the freak!” The teacher on recess watch commands.

The bully finally lets go, and Ford stumbles to the ground, holding his injured hand close to his body.

“Here, lemme look at that.” the teacher pulls Ford’s hand away to check it. “Eh, ‘snot bleeding or broken, you’re fine.”

As they walk back from school that afternoon, Stan rants over and over that Crampelter Will Not Get Away With This, plotting various methods of revenge, most of them too fanciful to ever come to fruition.

Ford is silent the whole time, his gaze turned towards his shoes.

“Hey.” Stan suddenly stops his ranting and places a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

“It’s fine.” Ford mumbles.

“I promise I’ll try not to get held in for recess again.”

“I said it’s fine.” Ford assures him, knowing that hoping Stan won’t get held back from recess again is like hoping it won’t snow in January. Technically possible, but highly unlikely.

* * *

Stanford Pines is fourteen years old. He’s a freshman in highschool, and he and his brother are in detention after he was caught letting Stan look off his algebra test.

It’s not that Ford has anything against sharing his answers with his brother. It’s not like he has any sort of moral high-ground here. It’s just that Stan is always so carelessly obvious about it!

“I said I was sorry, alright!” Stan hisses at him, trying not to draw the teacher’s attention.

“We’re not in middle school anymore, these things actually go on our record now!” Ford hisses back. “You have to be more careful!”

“Well maybe if you would actually slip me your paper instead of making me crane my neck over your desk! Nobody’s gonna notice if you hand your test in two minutes before everyone else instead of five!”

“That’d be even more obvious! Maybe if you wore your glasses for once!”

“Maybe I would, if you could hold your own in a fight!”

“What does that even have to do with anything!?”

“You don’t wear glasses in a fight, genius! That’s just asking for them to get broken! And I know I’m always having to step in and save your skin, so why would I even bother wearing them in the first place?”

“Hey!” The teacher overseeing detention snaps at them. “No talking!”

The boys shut their yapps and go back to studying, or at least pretending to study.

“I’m sorry.” Stan murmurs, once he’s sure the teacher is no longer paying attention to them.

“It’s fine.” Ford grunts back.

* * *

Stanford Pines is 17 years old. He is begrudgingly walking down to the beach with his brother.

“C’mon Ford, it’s October, there’s only a few more days of weather nice enough to work on her left! And the dumb science fair isn’t until April!”

“I still have so much research to do before I can even start!” Ford complains. “Not to mention procuring parts, testing different models--”

“That all sounds like stuff you can do once it gets cold.”

“I should be in the building phase by then!”

“Alright, look,” Stan jabs a finger in his brother’s direction. “If you wanna spend the last few warm days of the year cooped up in the library, that’s your problem. But I’m gonna enjoy the sunshine and the beach, and finish fixin’ up the Stan’o’war. We’re so close, I can practically taste the treasure and babes!”

“...Fine.” Ford grumbles.

“No, no. You go do your nerd thing. I’ll put the finishing touches on this thing we’ve been working on together since we were pipsqueaks.”

“I said it’s fine.”

* * *

Stanford Pines is 17 years old. He’s just come back from the most humiliating moment of his life (thus far). He confronts his brother, the offending evidence crinkling in his clenched fist. Stan tries to play it off like it’s not a big deal. Like he expects his brother to say It’s Fine.

It is most definitely not fine.

* * *

Stanford Pines is 20 years old. He’s showing his new roommate around their humble apartment.

“I really ‘preciate this, Stanford.” Fiddleford McGucket tells him for the sixth time that day. “Most folks wouldn’t offer to put their TA up in their apartment, ‘specially not when you’re lucky ‘nough to get yer own place!”

“Well, I’ll be starting the Doctorate program myself, next year! That makes us equals, in my mind.” Ford says proudly. “And I’m happy for the company! The only reason I have the apartment to myself is because my last roommate and I parted over… differences.”

“Heh, you too, eh?” McGucket chuckles. “Least you weren’t kicked out, like I was!”

“Why were you kicked out?”

“Oh, several reasons. I think the robot in the kitchen was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

Ford laughs. “Well, I for one would love to have a robot that does our dishes and cleans the counters.”

McGucket grins and leans against the table.. “See, I knew we’d make great roommates!”

Unfortunately, McGucket’s leaning is more than the wobbly table can take, and it tips over on its side, scattering textbooks and papers everywhere. The two friends begin cleaning up the mess, McGucket apologizing profusely.

They’ve almost finished putting everything back onto the table when Fiddleford picks up an old photo of two little boys standing before a derelict little boat.

“Well bless my soul! Is this you, Ford?”

Ford’s heart skips a beat. He hadn’t realized he left that photo lying on the table!

“Ah, yes, that’s me. That was the day I decided I wanted to be a researcher--”

“And lookit this little fellah next to ya!” Fiddleford interrupts Ford’s soliloquy. “He looks just like you! I can’t believe I’ve known you for three years, and you never told me you had a twin!”

“Er… it just-- it never came up.”

“How in tarnation does yer own twin brother never come up?” Fiddleford asks incredulously. “So, what’s his name?”

“Stanley and I are not on speaking terms.” Ford says stiffly. “I haven’t spoken to him since I was a teenager.”

A multitude of expressions dance across Fiddleford’s face before Ford can hope to interpret any of them. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He finally says.

“It’s fine.” Ford says tersely, snatching the photo back.

* * *

Stanford Pines is 21 years old. He’s trying to get a good night sleep before his first dissertation tomorrow.

Trying being the operative word.

The past year rooming with Fiddleford McGucket has been great, for the most part. Ford loves spending time with an intellectual equal. McGucket accepts all of Ford’s idiosyncrasies, and Ford accepts all those of his friend.

Well, almost all of them.

It didn’t take long after they started rooming together for Ford to realize one of the several reasons McGucket had been evicted from his last apartment had nothing to do with his penchant for robotics, and everything to do with his penchant for late-night banjo playing. As much as it cut into Ford’s sleep schedule, he didn’t have the heart to complain to his roommate about it. He knew he had plenty of his own bad habits that were difficult to deal with, like his coffee addiction, his antisocial behavior, his tendency to start a project and just leave it laying wherever he was around the apartment, and his few dozen subscriptions to cryptozoological newsletters.

The digital clock on Ford’s bedside table reads 2:20 AM when the music finally, thankfully stops. He sighs and turns over in his bed, hoping to finally fall asleep.

When he wakes in the morning, groggy as a hung-over sailor, Fiddleford at least has the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, did I keep ya up last night? I kinda got lost in the music an’ lost track of time.”

“It’s fine.” Ford mutters as he pours himself a large mug of the strongest coffee he can brew. This is the first roommate he’s gotten along with since… since he started college. He can put up with this.

“Well, if’n ya need me to, I can start headin’ up to the practice rooms in the assembly hall fer my jam sessions--”

“It’s fine.”

* * *

Stanford Pines is 31 years old. He’s spreading thick globs of slimy aloe vera on his hands. He’s been letting his muse take control of his body while he sleeps for about a week now. Bill says he’s not used to the limits of a physical human body. He’s injured Ford’s body just about every night so far, but last night, when he picked up the hot coffee pot by the pot instead of by the handle, was the worst by far.

“This keeps on happening, Bill. You need to be more careful.” He gently chides his muse.

“WELL HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT’D HAPPEN? WHY DIDN’T THE IDIOT WHO DESIGNED THAT THING INSULATE THE WHOLE CONTAINER INSTEAD OF JUST THE HANDLE? YOU COULD DESIGN A COFFEE POT WAY MORE EFFICIENT THAN THAT!”

Ford smiles, blushing. “Perhaps I’ll get around to modifying it someday. But for now, as I was saying, could you please be more careful with my body at night?”

“HEY, YOU’RE ACTUALLY LUCKY THIS HAPPENED. IF I HADN’T DROPPED THAT POT, I WOULD’VE TRIED DRINKING IT THE SAME WAY I DO IN MY NORMAL FORM, AND THEN YOU’D PROBABLY BE BLIND. SO WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT, YOU SHOULD BE THANKING ME!”

Ford pales. “Er, perhaps I should help you practice using my body first, just to decrease the risk of that sort of thing.”

“OH, I’M SORRY! DO YOU NOT WANT MY HELP? DO YOU NOT WANT TO ACHIEVE GREATNESS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE?”

“No! No of course not! That’s not what I meant!”

“DON’T FORGET, I’M DOING THIS FOR YOU, SIXER! I’M AN AGELESS BEING OF PURE ENERGY! THE ONLY REASON I’M HELPING YOU SPEED UP THE PROCESS ON BUILDING THE PORTAL IS BECAUSE I KNOW HOW PATHETICALLY SHORT YOUR MORTAL LIFE IS. YOU’RE JUST GONNA HAVE TO TRUST ME. OR ARE A FEW BUMPS AND BRUISES TOO MUCH FOR YOU TO HANDLE?”

“Of course not! It’s fine! I’m fine!” Ford insists, finishing bandaging his burns.

* * *

Stanford Pines is… probably 45? He’s not quite sure. He’s lost track of time after traveling the multiverse for so long, especially after the Do-Over Dimension.

He’s making his way through a crowded alien market, hoping to find something he’ll be able to use in his Quantum Destabilizer, and also hoping not to be recognized by any bounty hunters. It’s annoying, having to wear a hood and goggles and mask everywhere he goes, but that’s just the way it has to be now.

It’s fine.

It’s only until he can complete the Quantum Destabilizer. After that… it didn’t matter what happened after that.

It’s fine.

* * *

Stanford Pines is 62 years old. He’s sitting in a hospital bed. Despite what that may suggest, his life has finally taken a turn for the better. Bill is gone, Weirdmaggeddon is over, and, miraculously, no one died. Stanley was going to be ok. The kids didn’t hate him. He’s achieved his goal of destroying Bill Cipher, and survived! He’s fine. They’re all incredibly, wonderfully, fine.

The doctor is giving his vitals one last check before officially discharging him from the hospital. It’s obvious that under normal circumstances, Ford would not be leaving the hospital any time soon, but thanks to the incredibly persistent insistence of his family, and the fact that the hospital is already absolutely filled to the brim with people who were injured during Weirdmageddon, and the fact that Stanford was instrumental in stopping Bill, they’re making an exception.

“Alright, you’re free to go!” The doctor finally says, handing his clipboard over to Ford to sign.

“Hooray!” Mabel cheers as her uncle signs his exit papers. “Now you’ll be able to help us set up for our birthday party!” She slings an arm around his neck to hug him, completely forgetting about the thin layer of bandages around his neck. Ford can’t suppress a yelp of pain.

Mabel reels back, hands flying to her mouth. “Ohmigosh, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine.” Ford forces a smile.

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“Mabel, really, it’s fine.”

“Ford.” Stan says firmly. Ford recognizes the expression on his face from the last few days. It’s the look he gets on his face when he’s remembering something painful. “You gotta stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He asks, confused.

“Saying ‘It’s fine’ when it’s not.”

Ford raises an eyebrow. “Stanley, it was just an accident. It really is fine.”

“Oh, yeah, of course this was…” Stan stammers, apparently coming back to the moment. “Mabel’s not-- this was just an honest mistake. But you say… uh, or at least, you used to say that a lot. Even when I could tell it wasn’t really fine. You gotta stop that.”

Ford shifted in his bed uncomfortably. “I’m just being polite.”

“There are ways to say things aren’t fine while still being polite.” Dipper points out.

Ford can feel himself flush. “I’m not good at that. I always come off as rude… or angry.” Saying it’s fine is just easier. He can just move on and forget about it. Control his emotions. Remove them from the equation for the time being, process them later when he’s alone, so nobody gets hurt.

Stan takes a deep breath before he speaks again. “You just gotta trust us, that we’re not gonna leave you just ‘cuz you get angry sometimes.”

Is that really what he’s been afraid of this whole time? That certainly seems to be a part of it, but not the whole. All the same, he does at least feel that he can trust his family. And he can try to be more honest with them when something is bothering him.

“I think I can do that.” he says as he gets up from the hospital bed, ready to go home.

#Gravity Falls #Stanford Pines #Fanfiction #My Writing

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