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Triangulum - Chapter 3 - An Unwelcomed Guest

— — — — — — —

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 cut off 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 completely, 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 he 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 to 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, Grunkle 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 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 pencil 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 mild 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. “Hmm, 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 mixed 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 amusement. “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 faintly 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.

#Hayley Writes Triangulum #Gravity Falls #Triangulum The Fic #Bill Cipher #Stanford Pines #My Writing #Long Post #(More characters in the chapter; they are just tagged for the art)#(Stan and Mabel get some decent screentime in this chapter as well)

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corrodedbisexual · 1 year

Text

The ultimate shadow ban survivor guide

I've seen multiple people I follow, or their mutuals affected by shadow bans lately (makes me wonder if it's @staff's attempts to fight bots going totally haywire). As someone who survived a 2-month-long shadow ban on my main this winter, I thought I'd make a post.

First step of being shadow banned: calm down and take a breath. A shadow ban is just a stupid glitch in tumblr's anti-spam system. You're not losing your blog. You're gonna need a whole lot of patience, and deal with inconveniences, but it's fixable.

Read the incredibly useful post All About Shadowban by @that-damn-girl. It outlines the symptoms quite well. The only thing I'd point out is "your original posts won’t be visible to your followers either" - afaik that doesn't happen. Everything you post and reblog will still be visible to your followers, and also they can interact with your posts - like them, reblog them, reply to them.

Just like the post says, contact support. I recommend using a different email than what your banned blog is registered to; not because your ticket won't go through (mine actually did, as I found out when they finally replied), but because you might not receive an email confirmation for your ticket (it's somehow tied to the anti-spam thing, I think), and you're going to worry and try to send more tickets, like I did.

Now wait. And wait, and wait, and wait. They are SLOW. I've seen some miraculous 1-day unbans in the #shadow ban tag, but most people, like me, wait around a month for support to reply. Those are the same guys going through thousands of bot reports every day in addition to user tickets.

If you're going to wait, might as well keep blogging. Now if this is your sideblog that's shadow banned, consider yourself lucky. Make a new temporary sideblog, use it to post your original stuff so it goes into tags (mind that it might take a few days for a new blog to start showing up in tags). Reblog everything to your shadow banned blog so you still have all content in one place and your followers see it. If it's your main that's banned, you can still do that, but there's the extra pain of not being able to reply to posts or send non-anon Asks, since that is only done from main. Might need to register a separate account for that.

Some more fun facts under readmore.

Fun fact #1

Trying to send support follow-up emails in the request confirmation email isn't going to do anything to speed up the process. But I did tweet at them using this tumblr support summoning picture by @cornmayor and offered a raccoon blood sacrifice to resolve my issue when it was like a month with no response. This is what they replied.

3 hours later I got an email that my shadowban was lifted. I honestly don't know if it was a coincidence, but I mean, this is tumblr staff. Maybe they do accept blood sacrifices.

Fun fact #2

If you're wondering why my shadow ban lasted 2 months if I got a support reply after 1 month, well. It's hard to say exactly how their ban/unban system works bc support replies exclusively with pre-written template sentences, but basically they fucked up. The first time they told me my blog has been restored, I gained pretty much all functions back, except that my posts were still not appearing in tags. Which means probably that being hidden from tags is some kind of different flag on your blog that they forgot to remove. So I had to send a follow-up ticket and wait another month.

My advice is, when they tell you it's fixed, don't take that at face value, go and check all the functions you'd lost (replies, messaging, asks, tagging, appearing in notes, getting mentioned by others).

#tumblr #shadow ban #shadowban #tumblr support #reference

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gold-rhine · 1 year

Note

For the ask game, what about edging, dollification, collars with Albedo, Diluc, and Heizou?

warnings nsfw

hmm, edging and collars work for basically anyone, lets start with dollification. i'm leaving albedo out of this bc it feels both the most obvious and also bc he has his unhealthy hang ups on being an artificial creation which i wouldn't want to touch. now, both diluc and heizou would be fun, but in completely different ways.

like, if u told heizou "hey baby, today you'll be my pretty little doll," he'd be SO excited. he's into roleplay in general, loves feeling helpless and completely in your power, loves being manhandled and things being done to him, would adore to be dressed up and pampered and showed off as your pretty treasure. the problem is that he can't keep still for longer than 5 minutes or his hyperactive ass will die. so it wouldn't be so much dollification, as "enthusiastic heizou vibrating at high velocities for few minutes, trying to not move before breaking into giggles, whimpers and writhing." like he'd still be fun, just not very on theme.

now, diluc tho, that'd be a complicated case, i'm almost tempted to actually write it out. is he straightforwardly into this at first? no, but diluc is so repressed, he doesn't know shit about what he wants until it punches him in the face. he'll be open to try bc you asked, but dismissive like he doesn't even see the point. though passivity will be secretly appealing to him bc he's awkward and always anxious about doing something wrong or being too wooden and weird, so the fact that there's basically nothing for him to fuck is comforting. he'll see this as a challenge, bc diluc sees everything as a challenge, but it has clearly defined rules and expectation by which he can judge his performance, so that works well for him.

the thing is that diluc is already on several layers of dissociation, he sees his body as this kind of meat puppet, a tool to do things with, sometimes useful, sometimes inconvenient. so forcing him to ground himself in the sensations, in his body by focusing on it, being hyper-aware of positioning and movements might be very good for him, while also providing him safe space to realize he enjoys things without the psychological struggle to allow himself it first, bc it's not his decision, it's you playing with him as with literal doll.

so like, dressing him up in a pretty dress, positioning him carefully in front of the mirror, so he has to see himself, scars and all, being treated like a fragile and precious thing. leaving him for some pauses so he has to stew in this view, going back to make adjustments, touch him almost casually, nonchalantly, pretending not to notice that he's getting riled up, bright blush, cock getting harder. moving him to more and more provocative positions, until he's half undone, playing gently with his hair, while the sweet shame and desire and softness melt through his barriers, until it turns from a challenge to maintain stillness to actually relaxing and letting go of control, so when you fuck him, he's pliant, tension finally gone, trusting and open with his body.

collars - heizou would be into it, but i've already wrtten a fic with leashplay for him, and the social aspects of collars are kinda lost with him, bc like. he's just like THAT anyway. he's already wearing a choker, shirt with the sides cut off, his gloves are a combo of red ties and fishnet. he can show up to work wearing bedazzled "Master's little cumslut <3" collar and no one would blink an eye, except kujou sara who'd yell at him for dishonoring the tenryuo commission and he'd be like show me where in the regulations it says i can't be a cumslut, no i dont care about the spirit of the law, show me the exact paragraphs. so like it'd be fun, but i feel like it also derails the prompt lmao

albedo tho is that kind of introverted clingy where he won't be actively pestering you for attention, but he will drop anything if you ask him to spend time with you for as long as possible, and will be unashamedly open about it. he's also pretty direct about showing preferences to ppl he likes in public and in companies, as we've seen in few events now. so i think he'd actually be into collars unironically, as the symbol of belonging and being connected even when not together, an open unspoken secret that he's yours. he'd have very tasteful narrow leather collar, dyed darkest blue to match the darks of his outfit, with the golden ring in the center framing the gold diamond mark on his throat. like, it passes quite easily for fashion accessory for most ppl, for these in the know its like - is this ring for what i think it is??? or is this his artistic shit to accent the skin mark?? and like since albedo can be quite a mischievous smug troll, he can catch the confusion and press on it with absolute poker face, until the person is embarrassed that they were even assuming it, and then he'd drop a banger of double entendre that suggests, but doesn't confirm anything, again with innocent poker face. albedo would have a lot of fun with it

but also, the imagery of his "imperfection" framed, left open, just for you. the clasp of the leash, when closed, touching the gold diamond. silent acknowledgment of his nature and acceptance of it, the triple secret meaning of vulnerability under the already existing layer of suggestiveness. him sitting at your feet, surrounded by papers and drawings for his research, working as usual, but content to be close, glowing softly when he feels your fingers gently run through his hair from time to time, reaching up both eagerly and obediently when you tug up his leash. much to play with a little prince.

edging - heizou is so fun to tease <3 put him into your lap, hold him close, take your time. he's sensitive, responsive, eager, he'll squirm, whine, whimper, beg shamelessly, tease, cling to you, try to catch your hands if you don't tie him up, but get back to behaving if you scold him, pout, writhe helplessly, arc, moan, never shutting up for a second, regressing into some incoherent sweet and horny nonsense in the end. mwah best kitten.

#rhine talks #rhine writes filth #sub heizou #sub diluc #sub albedo #genshin smut

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mochegato · 2 years

Text

Star Struck

It wasn’t the first hit that got to Marinette, she wasn’t that petty. Not to mention, she’d had her fair share of accidents that ended up with the people around her getting pelted with random items. She really was in no position to judge. It wasn’t even the second hit that upset her. It was the fourth hit with the paper that had been folded to look like a star that had gotten to her. Four hits and no apologies, just mildly exasperated grunts each time, as if it had been an inconvenience to him that she had gotten hit.

Markov had scanned them and assured her they were unfamiliar to him, so it was unlikely to be a vendetta. His prevailing theory was that the man was just really bad at their game of table football. But Marinette knew it had to be on purpose. It had to be. There was no other explanation for hitting her in the exact same spot every time. If whoever was doing it had that kind of precision, surely they could get the star… ball… thing where it was supposed to go. Unless, where it was supposed to go was her head, which it had to be.

“Look on the bright side,” Alix offered, not bothering to conceal her laughter at the fourth imbedding itself into her hair, “if seeing a falling star is supposed to be lucky, being hit by four has to be a guarantee for a golden future, right?”

“Let’s just go,” Nino offered sympathetically.

“The movie is going to start soon anyway,” Max agreed.

They got up and turned toward the exit just in time to see another flying star coming directly toward Marinette’s head again. She squawked and flinched back, tripping over a table leg and landing on her bottom just in time for the paper star to hit her in the head… again.

To their credit, the men jumped out of their booth as soon as they heard the commotion and rushed over to check on her but stopped a few feet from her, eyes wide in surprise. “Oh, are you okay,” the one with dark hair asked, his body shaking from poorly concealed laughter. “Sorry about that.”

Marinette glowered at him. Any other time she might have been tongue tied attempting to talk with someone that ruggedly handsome and eyes that brilliantly, penetratingly blue made softer by the crinkling in the corners. But not today. Not after being hit FIVE times. Not after that gorgeous crinkling was there because he was laughing at her. This was no longer normal Marinette mode. This was battle mode. She was being attacked and she was not going to back down. “What is your problem?” she growled.

The man’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked over at the other man, who was also stupidly handsome, Marinette noted, as if looking for an explanation for her outburst. “What?”

“You’ve been hitting me all night!” she exclaimed standing up on her own despite the several hands outstretched to help her, because she didn’t need help damnit. She could handle this on her own. She shoved her hair out of her face and stomped up to him, shoulders squared, legs firmly set, clenched fists perched on her hips. “Did I do something to offend your delicate disposition? Did I laugh too loud for you? Did I take the last gallette? Did I breathe too loudly? What exactly did I do to deserve this targeted attack?”

He gulped in shock, his Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes growing even wider. “What? No, I… Did one of my stars hit you before?”

But Marinette was not in the mood. The fifth star had done it. That was the line, and he didn’t just step over it, he hurdled over it all while laughing… at her. She held her hand up with the four stars in it. “FOUR of them. In the head. Each one. I even moved and you still hit me!” She grabbed the fifth star to add to the pile, further accentuating her point.

This time, he raised an eyebrow and his lips quirked up in amusement. He felt bad, he really did, but she just looked so adorable, glowering at him with her hair sticking out where she’d pulled out the stars, like a kitten that was pet the wrong way. “Sad I haven’t been hitting on you? I’m willing to resolve that. I’m Jason. What’s your name, Sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart?” Marinette’s body became even more taut. Her previously angry eyes narrowed, indignation and anger flaring in her glare.

“Uh oh,” Nino gulped, taking a step back out of self-preservation, a concern Kim did not seem to share as he started vibrating with excitement and stepped closer so he could see better.

“Oh, I’m not sad you haven’t been hitting on me, I’m horrified by your terrible aim,” her voice held a dangerous edge to it. “How terrible do you have to be at hitting a mark to get it that wrong. God, I’d hate to see you in a hostage situation with a gun. You’d accidentally shoot the hostages… being held in a different room!”

Jason’s cocky smirk dropped. “Uh oh,” Roy sighed. He sat back down on the bench seat and took another drink. They were going to be there a while.

Marinette leaned in closer to him and lowered her voice as if it was just the two of them, despite the entire café being able to hear her words. “Stick to embarrassing yourself with your terrible aim, Cupcake. You’re out of your depth here,” she snarled. Her shoulder bumped into his as she pushed past him.

Jason narrowed his eyes at her. He had excellent marksmanship. He was better at it than almost anyone else alive… except Deadshot, but that man was a freak… not that Jason wasn’t but… Not the point! “This is harder than it looks, Baby Doll,” he called after her.

“Baby Doll?” Her eyes flared for a moment before she covered it over with ice again, the picture of calm and cool. She quirked her head to the side in consideration. She narrowed her eyes calculatingly at the catapult. It was some kind of hastily slapped together conglomeration of binder clips, coffee stirrers, rubber bands, and a plastic spoon. “Who even engineered this? And what else have they done? I just want to know what deathtraps to stay away from.”

“Excuse you. I made that,” the redhead squawked.

“Dude, don’t sound so proud,” Nino scoffed, even though he was kind of impressed that he had managed to put that together with the things he’d found around the café.

“I was making better contraptions than this in collège… you call it middle school? High school?” Marinette looked to her friends for confirmation.

“High school,” Max confirmed. Marinette nodded and looked back with a self-satisfied scowl.

“She really was,” Alix snickered.

“Ooohh, do you remember that thing she made for our service project to serve up food in bulk at the shelter but Lila tried to sabotage it and ended up getting covered in eggs and syrup?” Kim laughed. “That was beautiful.”

Roy looked at his catapult more analytically. He really hadn’t put that much effort into it. It had just been something to keep his hands occupied while he and Jason talked about the mission. “Well, I mean, I didn’t… this wasn’t my best…” Roy stuttered, motioning weakly toward it.

“And it doesn’t look so difficult. How about a deal? If I can do a better job… actually, let’s make it harder than that because honestly a toddler could do better,” she snarked. “If I can make a… goal? Is that considered a goal?” She looked over at Kim who shrugged and made a non-committal sound. “You two stop terrorizing the patrons and admit you are terrible at aiming.”

Jason took her in, small, tripped a few times already, didn’t look like she’d touched a ball in her life, let alone a gun. He scoffed. “Sure thing, Sugar Lips. And when you don’t, you admit I’m an excellent marksman… and let me apologize properly.” His eyes flickered with sincerity, but Marinette rolled her eyes. It was too late for sincerity, sweetheart. Battle Mode Mari didn’t care. “I’ll even give you a test shot first,” he offered.

Max sighed heavily and plopped down on the bench next to the redhead. “We could be in our seats with popcorn already,” he grumbled.

“This is more entertaining than a movie,” Kim hushed him, turning his eyes back to Marinette as she worked with Jason to move the catapult. He fell into the seat on the opposite side of the booth from Max and the other guy.

“Why are you planning on getting popcorn if you just had food?” Alix quipped. She pulled out a chair and spun it around to sit next to their table and watch the chaos unfold.

Max adjusted his glasses and set his jaw. “Popcorn makes movies 32.7% more enjoyable,” he answered.

“Budge over,” Nino nudged Max, his phone already out and recording. “I need to get a good angle to record this or Alya will call off the wedding. Alix, move closer to Kim.” Alix huffed but did as requested.

“Since when is a sure thing entertaining?” Max grumbled but moved over, causing the redhead to have to move over until he was pressed against the wall. He turned tiredly to the man. “I give your friend a 99.9% chance of losing this. Something could happen, I’ve seen miraculous things,” Kim barked a laugh, “but prepare to lose.”

“She’s that good?” Roy asked curiously. He reassessed the woman. He hadn’t thought she wasn’t much more likely to deliver on her threats than Oliver was to hug him, but looking again, she was definitely confident. There were no telltale signs of nerves or second thoughts. She was fully confident she could do this, and Jason wasn’t thinking straight enough to realize the danger he was in, or more likely, was too blinded to care.

Alix scoffed. “When you piss her off.”

“Or challenge her,” Max added thoughtfully.

Kim shuddered at a memory. “Even I won’t challenge her anymore when she’s pissed off.”

“Your boy is about to go down in a blaze of glory,” Nino commented, a gleeful cackle.

“Epic takedown,” Kim nodded wisely.

“He doesn’t go any other way,” Roy sighed. He turned away from Jason to face them. “So, what movie are you seeing?”

“Glory Days Return,” Nino said. His eyes lit up mentioning it.

Roy perked up. “Oh, that looked good. I didn’t realize it was out yet.”

“Yeah, we’re excited. Or we were,” Max groaned looking at the time on his phone.

“We have extra tickets if you want to come,” Nino offered. “My fiancé had to drop out at the last minute for a work assignment and our other friend finally asked out the girl he likes, so it would just be a matter of getting your friend a ticket.”

Roy bobbed his head to the side in consideration. “When does it start?”

“About 15 minutes. Just enough time to grab popcorn and something to drink,” Max answered. “If we leave now.”

“Perfect. I’m Roy by the way.” He waved awkwardly to the other people at the table.

“Nino,” Nino said waving back. He motioned his chin toward the others as he spoke. “Kim, Alix, Max, and the one about to annihilate your friend is Marinette.”

“Okay, let’s do this,” Jason announced, holding up his fingers like a goalpost. He was seated at one of the café tables while Marinette and the catapult were set up on a second table that they had dragged over to give more room for the catapult. She scowled at him before lining up her shot. “Not too late to back out, save face,” Jason taunted.

“Does this look like a face worth saving,” Marinette snarked. She pulled down on the spoon but froze as the words she’d just said replayed in her head. She opened her mouth and snapped it shut, quirking her lips to the side and narrowing her unfocused eyes as she considered ways to recover from that comment. Unfortunately, a moment later she realized what she was looking at; his lips, his very moist, full, very kissable lips. She let out a quiet groan, missing the scoffed ‘yeah’ before Jason froze too.

“See,” Alix smacked Kim, in lieu of Max, who was too far away, on the shoulder, vibrating in excitement and ignoring his pout, “more entertaining. Tell me you got that on film, Lahiffe.”

“Of course I did,” he scoffed. “20€ he’s in love by the end of this,” Nino offered

“No bet,” Kim said instantly.

“With that attitude and that face? He’s probably halfway there already,” Roy proffered.

“97.3% likelihood he’ll fall for her,” Max sighed. “The lower probability is whether she falls for him. Especially after he called her ‘sweetheart’.”

“Oh, those odds I’ll take,” Alix argued. “She won’t be in love, but she’ll give him a shot and if he isn’t an asshole during the movie, maybe even a kiss. You guys saw her staring at his lips, right?”

Marinette cleared her throat and shook her head to focus. This was about proving a point, not getting lost looking at luscious lips. She narrowed her eyes at him again and didn’t even bother rechecking her aim before she let go of the spoon, hurtling the star through his fingers and landing it solidly against his chest. “Huh.” She quirked her head to the side in mock confusion. “That must be a mistake though right? It’s too hard for me to get it right the first time. We agreed on a test shot. That should be considered a test shot. Let’s have another go. Fair?”

Jason stared at the paper star laying in his lap before looking back up to nod at her in a daze. He hadn’t expected her to get it, especially on her first shot. Nobody got it on their first try. They always either overestimated or underestimated the tension. That’s why he’d given her a test shot that she clearly didn’t need.

Marinette pulled the spoon down again, laying the second star that had hit her on it before letting go. It sailed through the air and hit him in the same spot. She scrunched her face in bewilderment. “Maybe, it’s just that you’re making it too easy for me,” she offered helpfully. “Let’s try it again, a bit more distance this time.”

She moved to the table behind her and set the catapult on it. She carefully lined up her shot again and pulled the spoon back further this time before laying the third star on it and letting go. The star sailed through the air and Jason’s fingers easily, striking him just an inch above where the other two had hit him. “Beginners luck. That’s the American saying, right?” She asked Jason who nodded absent-mindedly. “Must be beginner’s luck. Why don’t you make the goal smaller?”

Jason was staring at her slack jawed almost not registering her words. This is nothing like what he had expected to happen. This confidence, this sass, and the skill to follow it up? He didn’t know how to respond except to do exactly as she asked.

“I should mention,” she looked up with a devious smirk, “I’m really lucky. I guess you were right though…” She let go of the spoon that was already loaded and ready to go with the last two stars, and watched as they arced through the air, well above his fingers, but clearly between where they would be, one hitting him in the same spot on his chest and the other hitting him in the middle of his forehead. “…it is really hard to do this without hitting someone.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, we have a movie to catch,” she stood up with a smug grin curling her lips up. “Darling,” she drawled. She strutted past him with a swing in her hips. “I believe we’re done here.” She glanced over to her friends who were already up and cheering for her and bobbed her head toward the exit.

Kim grinned and jumped in Jason’s face. “Boom, bitch.” He threw his arms out as he walked backward toward the exit and running into the door.

Alix almost fell down cackling at him. “God, I hope you were still recording, Lahiffe.”

“Pinnacle of my career,” he grinned. He turned back to Roy with a questioning look.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Roy said quietly. Nino and Max nodded and followed their friends out the door.

When Roy made his way over to Jason, he was still staring at the door Marinette had left through, a lovesick smile on his lips. “I think I’m in love.”

“Of course you are,” Roy sighed. “So… we going to that mov..”

“We are going to that movie!” Jason affirmed loudly, already moving to follow them.

@maribat-calendar-events @jasonette-july-event

#maribat #jasonette #jasonette july #jasonette july 2022 #prompt - star

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dialovers-translations · 9 months

Text

Diabolik Lovers CHAOS LINEAGE ー Laito [13]

ー The scene starts in the forest

Laito: Haah, haah...

It doesn’t seem likeーー the others are following us. I guess we should be fine all the way out here.

Can I put you down?

Yui: S-Sure.

*Thud*

Yui: Uhm...Laito-kun? What exactly is going on? Wanting to escape the manor all of a sudden...

Laito: Don’t worry, I promise to explain everything. Both the things I did...as well as how we’ll move forward from here, okay?

Yui: Okay...

( He’ll actually tell me even though he’s been dead silent about it this whole time...? )

( He’ll finally tell me how he actually feelsーー )

Laito: I suppose I should apologize before that? ...I’m sorry for making you cry. It must have been inconvenient to be chained to the bed?

Yui: Ah, well, yeah...

Laito: Also, I must have hurt you pretty badly by saying that I didn’t care who you got together with.

Yui: ...Yup.

Laito: I’m sorry. But I don’t even want to think about giving you away to someone else.

Yui: Eh...?

( What did he...say just now...? )

Laito: Everything I did was in preparation of our escape.

Well, coming up with plans or strategies has never been my strong suit, you see.

So when I tried to come up with something on my own, the only method I could think of was to stir up commotion.

Yui: Eh...? Escape...?

But I thought you didn’t mind living there...?

Laito: Right. I do think it’s not a bad option, but...

...Do you remember the time when I got my memories back?

Yui: Y-Yeah. When I got kidnapped by Ayato-kun and Kanato-kun, right?

ー A flashback ensues

Laito: You two...You’re trying to burn the wrong girl...

In the past...We ended that woman’s life...

Don’t you dareーー make that same mistake again with her.

ー The flashback ends

Yui: ( Kanato-kun threatened me with fire, which is when Laito-kun... )

Laito: Honestly, it was the worst possible way to remember. It gives me the shivers.

If possible, I would have preferred for a sweet, heartfelt moment between the two of us to have been the trigger instead.

Yui: It was a bad memory...from when you were young which ended up triggering it, right...?

( He’s speaking in a cheerful tone now, but back then, he seemed to be genuinely suffering... )

Laito: Still, due to that intense memory from the past, I was able to recall both you, as well as everything else...

I also realized that we had gotten caught up in some kind of odd situation.

Back then, I did find myself thinking for a split second that perhaps this kind of life wasn’t too bad...

Yui: To live here at this place in this situation forever, you mean...?

Laito: Yup, exactly. Like I mentioned before, in the city we lived in before, we constantly kept running into problems, didn’t we?

Yet here I am not being tied down by anything, isn’t that great?

Yui: ( I understand. Why Laito-kun would prefer this lifestyle which is free from any constraints... )

Laito: ...But then I reconsidered and realized I couldn’t do that.

Yui: Eh...?

Laito: I mean, in this World, you’re the key to becoming the Supreme Overlord, no? Everyone will fight over you.

To me, the scariest thing imaginable...would be to lose you.

To be separated from you would be unbearable, more so than anything else.

Yui: ...!

Laito: I just want to have fun. That isn’t a lie. Howeverーー

Without you, my World is empty and gray.

I won’t...let anyone have you.

Yui: ( This is...Laito-kun speaking the truth. His true feelings he kept hidden inside this whole time... )

...I thought...

Laito: Eh?

Yui: I thought you had actually given up...

I thought about it the whole time while I was in your room...

That you actually didn’t care as long as you got to enjoy life...

and that you probably wouldn’t mind even if we were to become separated when Carla-san becomes the Supreme Overlordーー

This whole time...I was so scared.

Laito: ...You silly girl.

Yui: ( ...Ah... )

ー Laito embraces her

*Rustle*

On certain CGs, little black roses will appear on the screen. If you click on them, you get an extra line of dialogue.

“Mmh. You can touch me even more. Confirm that I’m right here until you understand that I will never, ever give you up, okay?”

“There, there...I’m so sorry for scaring you?”

Laito: ...You really are a fool.

Yui: That’s easy for you to say. I swear I was actually really anxious...

Laito: Right. I guess I’m quite the fool as well for making my girlfriend worry like that.

But I couldn’t tell you any of this inside that manor, because who knows who could have been listening in on us.

Yui: Still, you didn’t have to go as far as to lock me away and attach a chain to me...

Laito: I guess that was a little much. But if I hadn’t done that, who knows when Kou or one of the others could have targeted you for your blood?

You always leave yourself wide open after all.

Yui: ( I can’t deny that... )

Laito: ...I’m sorry.

Rest assured now. There’s no way I’d risk losing you.

Yui: Okay...

Laito: Ahーah. You’re tearing up. You really are such a crybaby.

Your eyes will become red and swollen again. ...Nn...

*Smooch*

Yui: S-Sorry...I didn’t mean to cry...

*Rustle*

Laito: ...Don’t worry. You can cry all you want.

I’ll do this until you calm down.

Yui: ( His hand stroking my head feels so very nice... )

...Thank you.

Laito: ...You’re welcome.

Yui: ( I feel really at ease in his arms... )

( For the first time in a long while, I feel like I can let loose a little... )

*TIMESKIP*

*Rustle*

Laito: I guess you’ll be fine now?

Yui: Yeah. I’ve calmed down quite a bit thanks to you.

Laito: I’m glad that’s the case. Don’t hesitate to tell me when you want me to dote on you again, okay?

I’ll keep my arms wide open for you at all times, okay?

Yui: Fufu, gotcha.

( I can’t believe he still manages to act like his usual self despite the circumstances...Actually, I guess that’s normal. )

( I thought it was strange while I was chained inside the room as well. )

( How he could stay so calm while everyone could potentially be in a lot of danger. )

( I’m sure that was also...his way of showing kindness, as he didn’t want to burden me with it... )

Laito: Well then, the real challenge starts now. Carla completely messed up my plan after all.

Yui: Your plan? Right, you said you’ve been planning our escape this whole time.

Laito: Exactly. At this rate, you’d have to become Carla’s. I wanted to prevent that, you see...

I volunteered to do the interrogations so it’d give me a chance to talk to everyone but none of them showed any signs of regaining their memories.

Yui: ...! That’s why you interrogated them?

Laito: Pretty much. But not even Ayato-kun or Kanato-kun got any closer to remembering.

For me, I would get those dizzy spells every time I sucked your blood, so it could be that it’s triggered that way...

Yui: In which case, they might remember if I have everyone drink my blood!?

Laito: Listen, do you really think I - as your boyfriend - would allow that?

Besides, with how violent they are in their current state, you might just get killed if you’re not careful.

Yui: Uu...

( That...sounds a little too familiar. )

Laito: In which case, there’s only one way to get out of this situation. We have to get out of the country.

Yui: Can we do that?

Laito: Who knows? I don’t know since I’ve never tried it. I have no idea where this country even is, or how big it is.

But, I’m sure you also realize that once we get out, the Supreme Overlord of some tiny, enclosed garden will mean nothing to us, right?

As long as we can get out, we’ll be able to release the others in no time as well.

Yui: We better hurry then. I’m sure that over at the manor, things are currentlyーー

Laito: Right. I wouldn’t want it to turn into a bloodbath. I strategically positioned Carla and had everyone gather together in the dungeon to prevent that from happening.

It might have been the only thing I could think of to get us out of there...It’s still a sticky situation.

I guess brainwork is more Reiji’s field of expertise after all. I’m just not cut out for it.

Yui: No, that’s not true. You’ve been trying your hardest all by yourself this whole time.

Thank you...

Laito: I’m the one who should say that. You’re the one who continued to fight alone this whole time, no?

But from here on out, it’ll be us two against the World.

Let’s escape this place together, Yui-chan.

Yui: ...Yeah!

Uhm...Laito-kun?

Selection

→ Sorry for doubting you (🖤)

Yui: I’m sorry for doubting you...I didn’t pick up on your plans at all.

Laito: Of course you didn’t. I deliberately chose my moves so not even you would realize.

Still, I had a hard time. Seems like I’m not cut out to come up with plans or strategies.

I guess each of us brothers has their own skills we should stick to.

Yui: Yeah...You’re right. That’s one more reason whyーー

Laito: We need the others to snap back to their senses and quick, right?

→ Thanks (♡)

Yui: Thanks. I felt happy when you said that you wouldn’t let anyone else have me.

Laito: Why of course. I’m the one who can’t survive without your love, honestly.

I promise that no matter what lies ahead of us, I won’t let go of your hand.

Yui: Laito-kun...

Laito: Just kidding~ But I pulled off those lines aplomb, didn’t I?

Yui: Fufu. Yeah! You did a great job!

Laito: Well then, let’s hit the road. I have no idea how long it’ll take us to get there though.

Yui: Where exactly are we headed? I know you said we’d leave these lands, but...

Laito: We are headed to what lies at the very border of these lands ーー To the end of the World.

Yui: The end of the World...? Is there a place like that?

Laito: Most likely. While I was gathering information from everyone under the guise of an interrogation, something similar came up.

This country is isolated. Nobody can come in from the outside, and we’re the only ones living in this confined space.

Yui: Now that you mention it, if this was the Demon or the human world, we could have very well run into someone by now...

It is strange how we haven’t met anyone for days, isn’t it?

Laito: Exactly. That’s why I believe we are trapped in here.

There are various manors on these lands, which surround the Church.

However, nobody has ever set foot inside the forest which lies beyond there.

Yui: In other words, if we make it to the other side of the forestーー

Laito: We might be able to get out.

Yui: Then, once we’re out...as long as we can find a way back home.

Then your siblings...as well as the others won’t have to fight, right?

Laito: There you have it.

I’m pretty sure chaos has broken loose inside the manor right now.

They’re tough cookies, so I doubt anyone will die, but you never know.

Let’s find the way back home before things go south.

Yui: Yeah!

( Just you wait, everyone. I promise that we’ll find a way out of this mess...! )

Subaru: Hold it!

Yui: Eh?

Laito: ...Uh-oh. This is bad.

Subaru: ...So this is where you’ve been...

Yui: Subaru-kun!?

( They caught up to us already!? )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #laito sakamaki #chaos lineage #diabolik lovers translation #cllaito13

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cottoncandy-cult · 7 months

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Obito Uchiha x Reader

(Y/n) smiled as she entered her beloved boyfriend's room in the Akatsuki base, though he wouldn't be back until sometime in the night she took comfort in being in his room. She knew the truth behind Tobi, as well as the past that had made Obito what he was. She loved both sides of him, he was one of the few that was patient when it came to her. She was a bit more like Tobi with her child like personality and large quantity of energy, though she was unlike Tobi in that she wasn't an official member of the Akatsuki. She had originally been a kidnapping victim; she had been a travelling medic as she had enjoyed helping people. Though she had left her village after the death of her parents as her tendency to be a handful had earned the girl her fair share of verbal and even physical lashings as she would sometimes act out or unintentionally cause trouble by getting on someone's nerves. It had been quite lonely as she had struggled to keep any friendship alive, that was where she was in life when she was kidnapped.

They had intended to ransom her back to her village, after all medics were considered quite important in these times given the ever-growing number of rogues. Though when they learned she had no family left and no ties to any village she was just kind of kept, made to heal their wounds and tend to the members as well as serve as a sort of maid. At first, she was afraid, some of the members were quite harsh and cold towards her. One day after being shrieked at by Hidan for something she didn't even do, the girl had hidden away in her room to cry, that was when Tobi appeared. She was hesitant and quiet with him at first, at that point she had already gotten in trouble a few times for certain accidents or just overall being too loud or immature in how she behaved and carried herself. But when Tobi had pulled her off her bed and outside to play tag she had loosened up, after a few hours of playing they had laid beneath the sky and spoke for some time. She'd tell him stories of her past and he would cry or get defensive on her behalf when she'd tell him of her punishments, it was after she had told him why she had been crying that Tobi suggested they prank Hidan for revenge since Tobi felt the jashinist was being a hypocrite.

Of course (Y/n) had refused, afraid of getting in trouble since she wasn't an actual member, and she feared any physical discipline that would come of it. But the next day Tobi had followed through with it, escaping the base before he could be throttled by an angry albino. Of course, he had returned after everything had calmed down and had slipped into her room, she had told him everything that happened when he left and giggled the whole way. After that anyone who made the girl cry was met with a swift kick of justice that was Tobi pranks, eventually they had learned to be a bit calmer with her purely to avoid the inconvenience that was a naughty Tobi. The (H/c) haired girl smiled at the memory as she crawled into the large bed that belonged to her boyfriend, slipping under the cover as she pulled one of his larger pillows close to cuddle with. She watched the sunset before she calmly slipped into sleep, when she was next roused the room was dimly lit by candles and a gentle hand stroked through her hair. Hazy eyes opened and gazed off for a moment, trying to push away the sleep. The soft scent of Obito's cologne made her give a lazy smile and nuzzle his hand, earning her a chuckle. "Hello dear, did you miss me?" His deep voice only seemed to make her smile wider and hum a bit. "Very much.... now come cuddles..." Her sleepy words were slightly slurred but still he understood and was quick to comply, always willing to do anything for the one he loved.

He had moved to lie behind her, settled on his side he faced her back before she had rolled over and snuggled into his chest. His chin settled on the top of her head after he pressed a gentle kiss to it, his free arm wrapped around her as he cuddled her close. "Go on back to sleep love, I'm pretty tired myself... When we get up tomorrow, I'll take you to town for lunch." Her reply was a soft hum, already falling back asleep even without his promise. The smile never left his face as he nuzzled the crown of her head, all day he had been a ball of stress and frustration. He hated being away from her for too long, and yes 2 days was exactly that. But now as he lay with her in his arms all of that melted away, he could barely sleep these past few days as he had gotten used to her presence and so he often found himself tossing and turning. But now that he was back at the base, now that he was back to sharing a bed with the one who mattered most too him, sleep had come so easy. He could feel his own eyes grow heavy and he didn't bother to fight it, instead he merely let them fall while he fell away into the first restful sleep he had since the night before he had left for his mission.

Morning had come and went as the two love birds slept in; it wasn't until just before noon that Obito had stirred. Obsidian eyes opening to gaze at the woman before him, still sleeping as peaceful as can be. The sight made him chuckle, as energetic as she could be the girl could also sleep for days if you let her. He gazed at her in the silence of the room, midday sun shone behind her making her look as if she was glowing. Gentle fingers brushed hair from Infront of the girl's eyes, laughing lightly when he noticed a bit of drool leaking from the corner of her mouth. His thumb brushed it away as he readjusted the pillow a little so that she wasn't laying in the damp spot. Of course, he wouldn't tell her that she drooled in her sleep, as cute as he thought it was, he knew she'd probably be mortified. After a few minutes of him quietly observing her as she slept that she began to stir, sleepy eyes taking a moment to focus before she gave him a goofy grin and uttered a soft "Good morning" Oh yes, for Obito it was most certainly a good morning. Because he got to spend it with her.

#candy cult vault #fluff #x reader #fem reader #naruto #akatsuki #obito uchiha #obito x reader

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ensnapemysenses · 2 years

Text

Teacher Appreciation Day

Snape fic SFW

Gender-neutral terms used for student, unspecified house alliance!

Summary: A first-year muggle born Hogwarts student decides to get their favorite professor a gift for teacher appreciation day.

Please be kind as this is my first ever Snape fic! I apologize for any errors you may find and I hope you enjoy it! :)

Word count: 1,113

Masterlists

The last class of the day is drawing to an end as Snape is sitting at his desk watching his first-year students panic as they finish up their potions. The students can feel the stress begin to rise in the classroom as everyone is scrambling trying to present their best potion to the professor. The booming voice of Professor Snape interrupts their concentration.

“Times up! Stop what you are doing and bring a vial of your potion up to my desk now,” Snape says clearly annoyed that his students seem to be struggling with making the potion today even though it is a pretty basic one.

As the students are putting the vials of their potion on his desk, Snape begins to tidy up his papers from the lesson glancing up for a moment to see that the class is emptying pretty quickly. His thoughts begin to wander to what book he is going to read over the weekend. His train of thought is interrupted by a student that says, “Professor Snape? Do you have a moment?”

He looks up to see that one of his best first year students is speaking. They always do fairly well in his class and he doesn’t mind teaching them like some of the other dunderheads. “I suppose I can spare just a quick moment,” Snape says though he is very annoyed at this inconvenience as it postpones his afternoon plans ever so slightly. He takes a seat at his desk as they walk down to stand in front of his desk

“Hi, Professor Snape!,” they say visibly excited to be speaking to their professor, “In the muggle world we have a celebration called Teacher Appreciation Day and I was just wondering… have you ever heard of it?” Snape is very confused at this interaction but he doesn’t show it. Instead, he decides to show annoyance because he is very annoyed that this student seems to want to engage in small talk with him and doesn’t have any actual questions pertaining to his potions class.

Raising an eyebrow Snape responds, “I am not aware of this… “celebration” that you are referring to, no.” Why would this student even be bringing this up? What do they want with him? All he wants to do is end this conversation and carry on with his day but instead, the student continues talking and he can’t help but roll his eyes a bit.

“Well… It’s a day where we let our teachers know that we appreciate them! Actually, that day is today!” The student pulls out a gift neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with a dark green ribbon and holds it out to Professor Snape before continuing. “Potions is my favorite subject, sir, and… you are my favorite professor so I got you a little gift to let you know that I appreciate you, your class, and all that you do here at Hogwarts!”

Snape stares at the student making sure that he doesn’t reveal any emotions on his face. Did he really hear them correctly? Did they just say he is their favorite professor? Surely this is a joke and there’s a prank in the box waiting for him. He makes no movement to receive the gift as he doesn’t want it if it’s just going to embarrass him. The student smiles a bit and takes a step closer to the desk as they continue speaking.

“I want you to have this gift, Professor Snape. Thank you for being a wonderful teacher and for teaching me how to properly brew potions. I am so happy that I get to learn from such a well-esteemed and respected potions master!”

For a quick moment, Professor Snape's guard is let down and the shock of this encounter shows on his face but he quickly returns back to being emotionless. He slowly takes the gift from the student and places it on his desk. “Are you going to open it?,” the student asks him before continuing, “I really hope you like it.”

Professor Snape clenches his jaw and unties the dark green ribbon and unwraps the brown paper to reveal a black box. As he opens the box he braces himself just in case this is truly a prank the Weasley twins put this poor first-year student up to.

Snape slowly lifts the lid of the box to reveal a black leather journal with the initials S.S. on it in silver foil as well as a beautiful and elegant matching silver pen. Professor Snape slowly and methodically examines the journal and pen turning them over in his hands a few times and opening the pages of the journal to inspect them. After a few minutes of silence, he begins to speak being extra careful to not show any signs of emotion.

“While I do not fully understand this muggle celebration day, I am honored that you think of me as your favorite professor here at Hogwarts as there are many other more… popular choices to choose from.” Wanting this awkward encounter to end as soon as possible Snape continues, “Now if you don’t mind I’ve got to get going. I have a meeting with the Headmaster I must attend and it is of the utmost importance I am not late.”

The student nods and simply says “I hope you like it, Professor! I will see you during the next class!” They promptly leave the classroom turning around at the door to give him one last small smile before exiting.

With a flick of his wand, Professor Snape closes and locks the door to his classroom as soon as the student is gone. He doesn’t actually have a meeting with the headmaster he just wanted an excuse to end the conversation with the student before he let his emotions get the best of him. He cannot show any of his students he actually cares about them as he has a reputation to uphold.

Snape smiles a bit as he takes one last look at the journal and pen before carefully placing them in a drawer in his desk. He’s never been one to seek recognition from his students and this is the first student he’s ever taught that has been brave enough to tell him that he’s their favorite professor. It is quite the shock for him to process but he is so grateful to this student for speaking up and giving him this gift. Perhaps he is actually liked and this journal and pen will serve as a reminder of that from now on.

Snape takes a deep breath and carefully composes himself as he heads out of his classroom and heads to the lake for his afternoon walk. He surely has a lot to think about today.

#professor snape #snape fic #severus snape #pro snape #pro severus snape #severus snape fic #professor snape fic #snape X student interaction #snapedom #snape oneshot #i hope you like it #its my first snape fic so be kind plz #any recommendations for improvement will be welcomed as long as it is kind #enjoy

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silver-ink-iron-words · 2 years

Note

Please continue "trying to leave" 😭

Heya! Thank you for the request, I hope you like it :)

Btw, we're returning to the villain's perspective

--------

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Trying to Leave, Part 5

The civilian had agreed to start eating again.

They sat at the dining room table, their chest tied to the chair, their arms free. They stared at the wall, their expression empty.

“I made your favorite,” the villain said, striding in with a jolly swing in their step. They placed a plate of chicken parmesan and summer greens in front of the civilian.

“I . . . thank you.” The civilian’s voice was quiet.

The villain settled down next to them with a plate of their own.

The civilian picked up their fork and knife gingerly, as though they were covered in filth. They took a quivering bite.

Their eyebrows shot up, and with rapid movements, they stuffed more and more food into their mouth.

“Seems you were hungry,” the villain said, a twinkle in their eye. “Ah – slowly dear. Make sure you chew all the way. We don’t want you to choke.” Their grin turned teasing. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

The civilian glanced to them, and swallowed their food. “Okay.”

They began to eat at a more moderate pace.

Satisfied, the villain started on their own dinner.

“We can watch something together, if you think you can handle being out of your room for an evening,” the villain said. “What would you like? The Office? Stranger Things?”

“Have you, um, heard anything?” The civilian stared down into their food. “About my family?”

The villain’s utensils made a little sound as they were placed back on the plate.

“You never asked about your family before.”

The civilian shrugged, their shoulders stiff. “I just want to know if they’re well.”

“You want to know if anyone’s looking for you.”

The civilian’s mouth pressed into a firm line.

The annoying thing was – they were looking. The civilian’s family was distraught, putting them on all the missing persons’ watch lists and posting flyers all across town.

As the civilian’s partner, the villain had been one of the first people to be interviewed. The police had even searched their house.

Thankfully, nobody knew about this property they had in the woods. As troublesome as the whole search process had been, it was ultimately little more than an inconvenience.

“Your family thinks you’re dead,” the villain said, starting again on their dinner.

The civilian’s knife dropped to the floor. “What?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? There was a fire at your place. A torched cadaver was found in your kitchen. Very tragic.”

Of course, the villain had done no such thing. Any kind of arson would have immediately grabbed the police’s attention. And faking a dead body was harder than it sounded. The dental records alone would have proven that the corpse wasn’t the civilian’s.

But the civilian didn’t need to know that.

“You’re a monster,” the civilian said.

“Eat your food, dear.”

“How could you do that? Why would you do that?”

“Because,” the villain said, reaching for the civilian, “it’s best if you have nothing left to go back to.”

The civilian flinched under the villain’s touch. The villain began to play with their hair.

“You make me sick.”

“I told you to eat your food. Do I need to blend it up, and get the pitcher again?”

Fear flashed in the civilian’s eyes. Their movements slow and robotic, they resumed their eating.

The villain watched as they finished. A few more days of this, and the hollowness of their features would fill in. They’d regain some of their strength. And they’d look more like their previous, beautiful self.

When the civilian was nearly done, they halted. Put their face in their hands.

“Come on, you’re almost there,” the villain said.

“I can’t,” the civilian said quietly. “I feel nauseous.”

“Do I look like I was born yesterday? You – ”

The civilian burst up. Or tried to. Their ties held, and the chair fell down again with a slam.

They eased over to the side, and vomited all over the floor.

The villain swore, and leapt up to help their partner.

----

Later, the two of them laid on the couch, the civilian wrapped in the villain’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said, stroking the civilian’s freshly washed hair. “I should have given you something plainer, after you’d gone so long without eating. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Please,” the civilian said, fingers gripping the villain’s shirt. They sniffed, and their voice wobbled. “I’m actually, literally begging you. Please, just let me go.”

“Do you recall the promise you made to me?”

A sob shuddered out.

“Exactly.” The villain kissed the top of the civilian’s head.

The villain felt the civilian’s tears pool on their chest as they drifted into the warm, pleasant embrace of sleep.

When they opened their eyes again, they felt the cold prick of a knife against their throat.

Part 6

------

Taglist:

@sweetpeaflower01 , @icarusignite , @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

#villain #hero #civilian #civilian x villain #villain x civilian #whump #whump writing #writing snippet #snippet #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #kiddnapping #captivity #not a prompt

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raayllum · 10 months

Note

In regards to your last post, they did do that with Soren (ik ik you weren't talking about him) but his character has depth and a more satisfying arc (relating back to the vulnerability is strength theme) so I'm cool with him

Here's the thing about Soren though, honestly. He's just jerky and loyal enough to his father (and the fact that Viren asks him to kill the princes rather than Claudia in the first place) that in S1 it's more of a tossup, even if I do remember being more worried about Claudia / her skewed worldview in S1 than I was about Soren.

TDP also has more complex explorations of morality (if not in some ways just exploring actual morality) than most shows aimed at kids/young teens do.

In She-Ra, the war is mostly a backdrop conflict used to explore relationship conflict, so when characters do defect from like, a conquering empire, it's because they've realized they aren't 1) treated well there by their 'friends' or 2) would rather be someone's friend than enemy. That's fine as a show focus, but it is more shallow in the morality department; thus, even though I have issues with how Catra's redemption arc was executed, I still always absolutely knew it was coming. To be clear, there's nothing with a predictable character arc (I love good setup and subsequent payoff and would take that over a 'subversives surprise' any day) but it did make her less interesting / harder to watch her be continually terrible to the people around her, even when they just risked everything to save her from death.

In The Owl House, every antagonist besides the main villain is either just misunderstood, misguided, redeemed, or all three (hi Hunter, Amity, The Collector, Lilith). There are a few others - Boscha, Kikimora, Odalia - but they're all regulated to small episode conflicts (each get like maybe 2 eps as an antagonist at most) and it's just... they all want power. Okay, cool.

What I'm trying to say through these examples is that's not a lot of moral depth in their character arcs, and to me, that makes a redemption arc less interesting to watch. However, Soren is a very morally driven character and he struggles with the morality of his choices and of his father's. His redemption arc ties in many other important relationships in his life and develops them (Claudia, Viren, Callum, Ezran) all in different ways. Ezran is his king and becomes his new purpose; Callum is a second chance and also kind of a little brother and also kind of an emotionally unavailable best friend who doesn't entirely trust you; Claudia is his sister turned enemy; Viren is, well... We're gonna get into how complicated that is even more, I'm sure.

I guess that's also what it comes down to me, the sacrifice / inconvenience element of the character doing the redeeming. Soren had, and has, something to lose by staying on the side of the good guys. He defects for his safety, yes, but he leaves behind his little sister and his previous idealization of his father on his own terms through a series of events and his own realizations. He shows up on the good guys' doorstep with "We're doomed." Even in S4, he's still losing things and at least somewhat on the losing side, with his entire family on the other side of the line. (Compare and contrast to Amity, whose entire family - all four of them - unanimously ditch her crappy mother or Catra, who defects after realizing she's effectively worthless to the new #1 villain replacing her, etc. They lose nothing, really, in the end.)

And again, I think Soren's arc works because well... it's the only one that TDP has had in this way. Rayla defects immediately, so her redemption arc works a bit differently. Claudia is still in the middle of her "what if I got worse haha jk... unless?" arc. So they all work as his primary arc foils in a very nice way. Now Viren is going through a bit of Soren's S2 arc, which we'll have to see how that goes, but full fledged died and resurrected and dragged through the mud by his daughter's determination to keep him alive sad old sack of an evil man isn't an arc you see often, now is it?

Soren realizes he's wrong without 1) a mentor figure or 2) heroes pointing it out to him and offering him second chances (save Ez sparing both him and Claudia in 3x02, which had an impact for sure but like - think of how much more reaching out, comparatively, even someone like Zuko got from protag team). Part of this is also because Soren starts off in an interesting place for a 'redeemed character' which is that he starts off on the 'right side' (protecting the king) so he has more of a restoration/maturation arc than an outright redemption arc, in some ways.

So Soren's arc is unique within his story, it's very well paced, there's a depth of morality, and it's tethered to theme so so well. It's *chef's kiss* and refreshing for someone who honestly doesn't truthfully love redemption arcs most of the time (at least not the classical kind) so it's just. Nice, y'know? It's really nice

#spop critical #toh critical #JUST IN CASE #nobody be weird about it please #thanks for asking #anonymous #tdp soren

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inkher0 · 2 years

Text

I've been seeing a ton of "ooo what if MEN got pregnant?? Wouldn't that be scary?? Its like revenge 😈" scenes from movies lately (obviously in response to Roe V Wade). As a transmasc person I find these scenes just kind of ridiculous.

Like I'm sure to an uneducated (*cough* or transphobic *cough) person the idea of a man giving birth is scary or horrifying.

But like. It's not breaking news. Men literally give birth all the fucking time. I know two men who have- one who did it more than once! And so these scenes are just really silly to me because they basically REQUIRE you not to acknowledge trans men as real in order to find the horror entertaining. I see them and I'm just constantly pointing to the trans men and going "I feel like you're being just a little overdramatic about this because you don't want to actually address the relationship between men and pregnancy"

Cis Men are raised to believe that everything is property, including other people- and, most importantly, they're raised to believe that anything they have a hand in is inherently theirs, no matter how little they actually put forth. It all ties back to being TAUGHT that if you are a man, you are "owed" everything you desire, no matter what. Let me stress this: THIS IS ALL *LEARNED* BEHAVIOR, IT IS NOT INHERENTLY NATURAL FOR MEN TO SEE OTHERS IN THIS WAY. (fuck off terfs, get your own post)

And sure, you can use pregnancy to show a "well what if it was you" scenario, but... Trans men already live this life. They already have to be dehumanized, be feminized, be talked down to, have their pain ignored. There are men, right now, who live the experiences these movies are painting as horror stories- they just aren't cis, so it's inconvenient for the disturbing gore porn filmmakers are trying to make.

Like...I want to see one of these "horror" stories actually focus on a trans man's struggle with pregnancy. Give me a gripping psychological thriller that forces the audience to question the relationship between childbearing and feminity, and confronts the real life horror that is being Transgender while needing medical help.

But no, they won't do it, because acknowledging those realities are 1000x more uncomfortable than any gory thing they put on screen.

#transgender #political #filmaking #pregnancy mention #transphobia mention #transphobia

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broadwaycutie16 · 2 years

Text

Why I Hate Luka’s Character Arc, Luka’s Fandom & Luka’s Romance with Marinette (But Not Luka Himself)

Luka Couffaine is Marinette’s alternate love interest, her temptation from Adrien Agreste. He’s everything she ever wanted—kind, sensitive, supportive, understanding, artistically talented. He always puts her first, above everything else, never says a word or shows a thought that conflicts with her own beliefs, and allows her to do whatever she wants, even if that means ditching him for Adrien time and time again. Everything Luka Couffaine does, he does to completely benefit Marinette, and, unlike other characters in the show, nothing he does so much as slightly inconveniences her.

And that’s the problem.

Literally the only reason Luka exists in the show is to be Marinette’s love interest, a rival for her affection for Adrien. It’s so glaringly obvious, it makes me nauseous. Literally 95% of his screentime is completely dedicated to her, to his feelings for her, to serve her character arc. The writers shove any opportunities to make him more than that. And they’ve had plenty of opportunities. Wouldn’t it be so much more interesting to see Luka struggle with accepting his father back into his life after walking out on the family? To see more of his brother-sister dynamic with Juleka? See him chase his dreams of being a musician? But no, 95% of all his screentime is focused on the romantic tension between him and Marinette, on his crush on her, on their relationship, on their breakup. There is barely a moment he has onscreen that in not tied to her in someway. Luka isn’t a character. He’s more like a glorified plot device, an accessory to Marinette’s story, used to further her own character arc and make easy drama for the show.

Before you argue with “Hey, if Luka is a plot device, isn’t Kagami one, too? After all, she was invented for the same reasons as Luka, to be an alternate love interest and rival.” Kagami may have started out as just another alternate love interest for Adrien and rival for Marinette, but she has since grown since then. She has screentime outside of Adrien. There was even a whole episode dedicated to Marinette, and the watchers by extension, figuring out there’s more to her than just someone competing with her for Adrien. Kagami is more than just a girl who loves Adrien. She is a lonely rich kid under immense pressure from her overbearing single parent, guarding her vulnerability through apathy, but who secretly wants friendship and love like any other kid. And over time, she befriends Marinette, developing a bond with her beyond just rivalry over a boy. Kagami even gets screentime after her breakup.

That is something Luka isn’t given. He doesn’t have any hidden depths revealed, doesn’t develop an actual friendship with Adrien. He’s just there to be temptation for Marinette. Moreover, Kagami has actual flaws, like a temper and “second place is for losers” attitude, and is too blunt for her own good, whereas Luka is bland perfection. Luka is what I call “a Ken doll”. Just like Ken was invented solely to be Barbie’s love interest and perfect boyfriend, Luka was invented solely to be Marinette’s perfect guy, the easier option than Adrien. Nothing else. There is only one character in the series that’s less developed than him, and that’s Zoe. Kagami has the potential to become a character in her own right, outside of her romantic ties with Adrien. Not Luka.

What’s worse, because Luka has no purpose other than being Marinette’s perfect boyfriend, his existence in the show further pollutes what is already a very toxic, negative fandom. Thanks to some controversial decisions that Adrien has made, many fans are quick to write him off as a selfish coward who is unworthy of Marinette’s affection and care. And when they cross him off Matinette’s love interest list, who is their next choice? None other than Luka Couffaine, the only character in the whole series who has never done a single thing to even slightly inconvenience Marinette and whose whole entire existence revolves around her.

I have no qualms against Luka having a fandom. In fact, I think he deserves it. But the problem I have is that most of his fans don’t like him because they admire his character or his story. Most of his fans like him simply because he is not Adrien. As you may know, 90% of thos fandom thinks it’s a crime punishable by death to have thoughts and moral and opinions and a perspective of your own that constrasts in any way with Marinette’s. Unlike Adrien, Luka has never shown to have any opinions or morals that differ from Marinette’s, or to be developing any friendships with any other character beside her, have any kind of personality outside if being her perfect boyfriend. Fans think Marinette is the only character that truly matters in the series, and that anyone who inconveniences her even a little bit deserve to suffer forever. Meanwhile, Luka, a character who only serves to benefit Marinette is just the kind of thing the salters gobble up. Because Luka is not his own person outside of being Marinette’s perfect loyal boyfriend. Because literally all he does is support her and build her up, instead of actually getting a life outside of pleasing her. At least half of Luka’s fandom was born not out of genuine love for the character’s traits and interests or personality. Half of Luka’s fanbase was born because he is one of the few characters who’s whole existence is completely dedicated to serving her positively, to loving her and helping her and nothing else.

Luka devoting his entire existence to Marinette may seem romantic on paper, but let’s face it—in real life, it’s extremely unhealthy. Abd this is evident in the series. Hypocritical fans keep saying the love square is toxic, that Adrien treats Marinette badly, that Lukanette is the healthier ship. But that is pure hypocrisy. Because Lukanette is even more toxic than the love square. Marinette treats Luka like $h!t. She basically uses him as a spare tire, a backup in case things don’t work out with Adrien. She strings him along, only going out with him when she thinks her chances with Adrien are over, then as soon as she thinks those chances have gotten better, she ditches Luka to go running after Adrien again. Even worse, Luka lets her do this to him. He even makes a beautiful heartfelt confession to her, and doesn’t say boo when she doesn’t give him a solid answer and just pretends it never happened. He supports her with Adrien, but despite knowing that she prefers him, Luka doesn’t make any effort to move on. He remains single, like he’d rather sit around and wait for Marinette on the off chance that she MIGHT change her mind and settle for him. Luka is smart, funny, handsome, sensitive, talented, and completely unselfish. He could have his pick of girls. Instead, he chooses to sit around and wait for the one girl who sees him as second to another guy. In what universe is that a healthy relationship?!

Now, if Luka was a person in real life, I’d love him. And I want to love his character, too, because he’s perfect. But his perfection is why I can’t really get as behind him as I can Marinette or Adrien or Kagami. He’s a Marty Stu, and serves no other purpose other than being Marinette’s perfect man. He needs to exhibit his own flaws to feel like a real character. He needs his fans to love him based on who he is as person, not based on his relationship with Marinette. And he needs to get over his unhealthy devotion to Marinette and find someone who deserves his undying loyalty, not someone who’s only keeping him around as a backup in case her first choice doesn’t work.

In short, Luka deserves better, from the writers, from the fans, and most of all, from Marinette.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #ml fandom salt #adrien agreste #ml salt #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous salt #marinette salt #miraculous season 3 #miraculous season 4 #luka couffaine #lukanette salt #lukanette #lukanette shippers salt #salt on salters #luka sugar #luka deserves better

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bowiebond · 2 years

Text

At Your Service

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41488101

Relationship: Stonathan aka Steve Harrington/Jonathan Byers

Summary: After the vandalism at the cinema, Jonathan lost his job and had to pick up another, at a cafe. His uniform is quite fitting, and Steve prods at him for being on the thin side, worried. All Jonathan can really worry about is how Steve’s hands fit entirely around his waist and how crazy it makes him.

CW: Dom!Steve, Sub!Jonathan, Dubious Consent, Steve worries about Jonathan’s eating habits but he’s healthly, trans!Jonathan (Steve knows so it’s not a reveal fic), rough sex, past Nancy/Steve, implied possible infidelity (Jonathan/Nancy), almost caught in the act trope, almost hatefucking, choking/breathplay, orgasm denial, fem language, blow job, subspace, coming inside because Steve will always have a breeding kink in my fics.

Words: 4.7k

Jonathan decided to work at a cafe as a waiter to help pay the bills after the whole fiasco with Steve and his lackeys, the fist fight that got him taken down town. Plus the vandalism from his ‘peers’ cost him his job at the movie theater.

So now he worked shifts at a cafe after school, and it wasn’t bad. He liked it well enough. The outfit was a little much, but it was provided so he didn’t have to pay any out of pocket expenses thankfully.

He felt kind of nice in it honestly; black pants, white collared shirt, black vest (they all fit unlike his goodwill collection) and a tie. Plus an apron tied around the small of his waist. It was expensive looking even if it wasn’t actually expensive, and his mom thought he looked handsome in it. Like a gentleman, even though Jonathan was pretty sure he looked more like a butler.

The cafe was small, quaint, and was frequented by parents and elderly more so than his school peers. Which made his life a lot easier. He didn’t need further teasing at school for having a job - which was ridiculous in itself, but some kids could be right assholes.

“Look, we can sit in here, I’ll get you something to eat, and you’ll let me finish my homework before we head to Mike’s, okay?” Oh god.

“But Steve,” Fuck his life.

“No buts! I drive you around, you deal with the inconveniences of it.”

“I should have just biked.” Dustin grumbled and Jonathan could hear their chairs scraping and squeaking as they took a seat at the booth. If anyone else had been on, Jonathan would have just gotten them to serve, but of course it was a slow afternoon and Jonathan insisted Bethany go home if she was unwell.

Jonathan groaned and sucked it up, pulling out his pen and pad. He peaked his head out and saw them chatting, going over the menu.

“Jonathan, dear, there you are.” Jonathan perked up at the older woman’s voice.

“Dot! The regular?” He liked her, she was sweet and always left a nice tip, plus her order was easy. One half-strength latte and a warm danish with a side of cream.

“Oh, you know me so well.” She reached up to pinch his cheek and he allowed it, chuckling.

“You’re here almost every day, how could I not?” He got behind the coffee machine to start her coffee and she tittered.

“I’ll just be at my usual table.” Fifteen. Her lucky number apparently. And right in sight of Steve and Dustin.

“Sure thing.” He held back the urge to sigh as he prepared her coffee and treat. He placed them on his tray and walked it over, giving her a small smile. “Have a good afternoon, Dotty.”

“It’s always ten times better after seeing you, Jonathan.” He’d admit, it was a bit flattering. Older ladies seemed to love him, even if they sometimes gossiped about the Byers family. Usually out of pity instead of scorn, but they rarely seemed to realize it was him too they were speaking of, not just his mother and brother who were well known by face nowadays.

“Jonathan?” He took a deep breath and turned around to the voice of surprise. Steve was hunched over his homework, hair falling into his face, with Dustin swinging his legs like he was trying to kick him, but the older boy had put his lower half just out of reach by pushing his chair back.

He tucked the tray under his arm and pulled out his notepad and pen.

“What can I get you today?” Jonathan drawled and Dustin jumped at the chance to answer but Steve shushed him with a hand.

“I thought you worked at the Hawk? The cinema?”

“Well, after a few ‘peers’ went and vandalized it, they thought it less trouble to just let me go.” Jonathan narrowed his eyes at Steve who sunk into himself with a guilty look on his face. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, smudging a bit of ink onto his skin.

“Yeah…I’m really sorry about that. I can’t believe Nancy didn’t tell me.” Steve pouted, dejected, and Jonathan rolled his eyes.

“She didn’t tell you because I didn’t tell her. It was easier to just get another job than whine about it to everyone that you lost me mine.” Steve winced.

“I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate the apology. Mostly because it looks like you’re trying to pull your own teeth out every time you say it.” He smirked and Dustin snickered.

“He sounds like a toddler being told to apologize, right?” Jonathan snorted at Dustin’s analogy and Steve made a pitched noise of offense in the back of his throat.

“I do not! And I really am sorry! I never would have done it if I thought it would cost him his job. Work is important! My parents would go nuts with boredom without their jobs.” Steve grumbled. “They’d be forced to hang around this tiny town more than once every three months.”

“Your parents suck, Steve.” Dustin said, point blank, and Steve colored with embarrassment.

“Shut up.” He mumbled, looking down at his homework. “Order your food.”

“I’ll have one Dutch apple, warm, an apple turnover, and an apple custard with an apple juice.” Steve looked up at Dustin with a bewildered expression.

“What’s with the apples, little dude? And why so many?”

“One, I feel like apples, and two, the apple custard is for Will because he likes them.”

“He does.” Jonathan chuckled. “Game night at Mike’s?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna kick monster ass just like I do in real life.” Steve rolled his eyes at that.

“If you heading over, I can pack you guys some pastries? I get a discount.” Jonathan winked and Dustin beamed.

“Really?!”

“Totally.”

“You’re the best!”

“Hey! I’m paying for you, numbskull.” Steve gaped.

“Yeah but, like…Jonathan made the pot sweeter with the discount stuff.”

“That’s still a lot for four kids.” Steve huffed softly, turning to Jonathan. “Hey, pack some stuff you think the kids with like and just put it on my bill, yeah? You don’t gotta go out of your way to pay for them.”

“I’m related to one of them.” Jonathan quirked a brow, reminding Steve, who’s previously clearing cheeks grew pink again.

“Still.” Steve mumbled and looked back down at his homework, obviously not having a proper excuse. Jonathan watched him stare at his paper in confusion before sighing and moving his hand aside, leaning down to place his own pen on the paper.

“Carry the four, not the two. And what do you want?” He turned his head just as Steve did and the pair flinched at how close they were. Jonathan stood up straight and smoothed over his apron, clearing his throat. “Well?”

“Just uh…” Steve’s voice came out hoarse before he coughed, fixing it. “Just a hot chocolate.”

“Can do.” Jonathan wrote down the order and walked away.

Hopefully today would be the only day he had to deal with peers at his workplace again.

——————

It was not. Steve came back the next week for more snacks for the kids. Then the week after. And the week after that.

Steve was becoming a regular. Dear god.

Jonathan didn’t hate Steve, don’t get him wrong, but…Steve was Steve. Preppy, assholey, rich boy Steve, who taunted him more than once over the years. But he had put himself in the way of danger more than once for his family and Nancy.

He knew Steve was getting better, and he was glad, because Will seemed to like Steve, Nancy liked Steve even if it was kind of awkward after their break up, but - over all, everyone liked Steve.

Except him. Because he didn’t hate Steve, but he couldn’t say he liked him.

“Have you always been that skinny?” Jonathan frowned at the words as he taped up the takeaway box. He picked it up and made his way around the counter.

“Uh, I guess?” Jonathan furrowed his brows and Steve looked him over with pursed lips.

“You’re too skinny, man. Are you eating?”

“I’m eating just fine.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not one your gaggle of kids.”

“That’s not- I can care about peoples well-being’s even if they aren’t close to me.” Steve floundered with his hands and Jonathan stared, deadpanned. “I can!”

“Yeah.” Jonathan offered the box to him but Steve didn’t take it, still staring at his middle.

“Can I just-? One second.” Steve disappeared from his sight as he slipped behind him and Jonathan opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was doing before two hands wrapped around the small of his waist and squeezed.

He almost dropped the box, standing straighter with a sound of startled distress.

“How the hell- you’re way too skinny! My fingers touch, man!” Jonathan inhaled sharply at the words, now very much aware of the fingertips brushing together over his navel and the thumbs pressed against his slightly crooked spine.

“Quit it!” He hissed. “I almost dropped your stuff, I can’t afford to pay for the damages.”

“Be honest, you are eating, right?” Steve prodded, squeezing his waist once more. A reflex to flexing his hands when upset, but it drew out another half-stifled sound from the shorter.

“I am. I just have a high metabolism!” He couldn’t believe he was justifying himself to this guy. Steve huffed and Jonathan felt it tickle the back of his neck before he drew his hands back. Jonathan shivered.

“If you say so.” Steve grumbled softly. “I always thought you just tied your apron too tight.” He hooked his finger into the back of it and tugged.

“Well, I don’t.” Jonathan blushed, slapping his hand away and turning to shove the box into his hands. “Just go already.”

He walked out back before Steve could even say a proper goodbye and sat down on an empty crate. He buried his hot face in his hands, groaning. The touch was still searing into his waist. He huffed and reached down to place his own hands over the space Steve’s had occupied.

He couldn’t touch them together. Not like Steve had. Something hot pooled low in his stomach the longer he sat there, hands caressing his waist absentmindedly. He cursed softly and snuck away to the staff bathroom.

He untied his apron and stared down at his black trousers. He unbuttoned them after a moment of hesitation and slipped his hand inside with a soft moan, trying to ignore the bubbling of shame in his stomach. His spare hand smoothed up his thigh, over his hip and into the gentle dip of his waist. With a squeeze, his cunt throbbed, and his knees grew weak.

Shit. He could not let Steve that close ever again. He was making him weirder than he already was.

——————

A few weeks later, arriving home after a shift, he was surprised to find Steve in his room. He had seen the group of kids, hadn’t been too surprised by that, but he didn’t expect Steve to still be there, or in his room.

“Uh, hey. Hi.” Steve offered a wave and Jonathan pursed his lips.

“Yeah. Hi.” He dropped his bag onto the floor. “So…why are you here?”

“Your mom wants me to stay for dinner, but won’t let me help cook. And the kids don’t want me to bug them during their art session. So now I’m here.” He gestured to the room.

“Brats.” Jonathan smirked. “Kicking their chaperone out of playtime. Exclusionary behavior.”

“That’s what I said!” Steve laughed. “Nice, uh, nice place, by the way. Nice room. Homely.”

“That feels insulting from a guy that lives in a mansion.”

“It’s not a mansion.” Steve flushed at Jonathan’s teasing. “It is kinda big though. Too big for one person.” Steve chuckled lamely.

“I can imagine.” Jonathan untied his apron and tossed it over his desk chair. He unbuttoned his vest, loosening his tie and flipping his collar up, and Steve made a pitched noise of confusion at Jonathan’s blatant stripping. “What? You shower with guys after basketball, I’m just getting changed.”

“Yeah but - that’s different!” Steve looked away, cheeks red.

“You came into my room.” Jonathan shrugged, turning away as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it free from where he tucked it. His clothes were damp from wash up, so he flicked his tie over his shoulder to hang up properly in a minute. He didn’t want to mix it with his wet clothes that needed to be washed. He slipped the shirt down his arms and threw it over his chair, walking to his dresser to rummage for a shirt.

He flinched when warm hands touched his chilled skin. Wrapping around his waist. Arousal stirred deep in his gut as he left out a shaky sigh.

“Seriously, Jonathan. You gotta be smaller than your mom. That can’t be healthy.” He squeezed and an intense throb rippled through his pussy, clenching as he felt himself begin to leak.

“Quit that.” He breathed, unable to get it out any louder, and Steve’s hands froze. Slowly, they went lax and his fingers trailed up his ribs. Jonathan grabbed them before they touched his chest, nape burning as Steve’s breath caressed his bare shoulder, goosebumps scattering along his skin.

“Hey, are you…” Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut in mortification as Steve’s chest pressed against his back. “…turned on, right now? From that?”

“Shut up.” He winced out, in more mental pain than physical.

“Let go.” Steve said, voice softer now as he eased his hands out of Jonathan’s grasp. Jonathan bit his lip hard as Steve’s hands roamed down his sides, pressing his fingertips into the muscle beneath skin, into bone. Jonathan shivered noticeably and Steve smoothed his hot hands down his hips, teasing the waistband of his pants.

He unbuttoned them without a word and Jonathan held his breath, leaning back into Steve’s chest as the boys tugged his zipper down and hooked his chin over his shoulder.

He gripped his hips, hard. Jonathan grimaced.

“Those fucking Nancy’s?” He said it tightly, and Jonathan couldn’t tell if it was anger or restraint.

“No, fuckin’ hell, Steve.” Jonathan knew they weren’t because he and Nancy never did anything in his house. It was weird, they were a thing but not and Jonathan hadn’t asked yet if they were boyfriend and girlfriend or just friends who fucked. He liked her, she was pretty and had soft skin, made sweet sounds when he went down on her. She was kind of a princess though, wasn’t too interested in returning the favor. Not that Jonathan had many issues with that but a guy had needs, okay? Just a hand would be nice.

Them having similar underwear was a coincidence. Small town, same places to shop. Jonathan had had this pair for years, they were getting tight honestly.

“Sure.” Steve didn’t seem to believe that though. Jonathan gasped in surprise as his hand stuffed itself into the space between the seam of his pants and his pale blue underwear. His fingers rubbed against the wet patch growing between his legs and Jonathan moaned, wanting to curl into himself as pleasure spiked up his spine, only making his arousal burn hotter in his belly.

“Stay still.” Steve slipped his arm around his middle and kept him in place as he rubbed circles into his clothed clit, Jonathan’s knee jumping up in an attempt at stopping the intense sensation. It was different from touching himself. He didn’t know what Steve would do next, couldn’t be prepared for it, and it was making his body tremble all over as he squeezed Steve’s forearm.

“F-fu…”

“Thin walls. Don’t forget.” As if to remind him, he heard the kids laughter travel through from the living room and he bit his lip harder to suppress a groan.

“Q-quit it then.”

“You like it.” He said it with a certainty, like he knew better than Jonathan, his fingers leaving his pulsing clit to slip into the side of his drenched panties. He moaned, Steve’s thick fingers smoothing up and down his slick pussy lips. “See? It isn’t hard to just admit it, Jonathan.”

“Shut up, shut up.” Jonathan’s lips parted in a silent ‘o’ as Steve slipped a finger inside, soft and warm as he worked it in and out, shallow with the awkward angle. He raised his arm to wrap around his chest; tiny, perky things with hard dark pink nipples. He held firmly, forcing the lanky boy to stand straighter against him, giving him a more comfortable angle to work with as he pressed his own hot cock against the small of his back.

Jonathan groaned, cheeks ruddy and eyes shut as he twitched into his hand, accepting the second finger with barely a whimper.

“God, you’re totally hot for it.” Steve laughed breathlessly, pulling his fingers out to shuck his pants down around his thighs, underwear stained with his slick that smeared along his inner thighs as he fucked the first two knuckles into his cunt, not stopping or giving more as Jonathan squirmed and whined.

“C’mon.” Steve rutted his cock against the dimples of his back, only pausing in his ministrations to hook his thighs over his arm, driving his fingers in to the last knuckle. Jonathan bit back a whine, head falling back on his shoulder with a low moan instead.

“Tell me you like it. Tell me how good it feels.” Jonathan didn’t think he had enough brain functions to do either, tongue heavy in his mouth as he tried to focus on keeping his voice quiet. A dangerously pitched whine left his lips when Steve caught his nipple between two fingers, twisting it.

“Tell me.” He hissed into his ear and Jonathan swore.

“It’s good- shit, it’s good, okay?” He panted, griping Steve’s bicep to keep his balance as the brunet teased his clit with little circles before dipping back into his cunt, the obscene squelch making Jonathan’s face burn, flushed down to his chest.

“Better than Nancy, right?” Jonathan groaned at the mention of her. He didn’t want to talk about Steve’s ex and his current unlabelled something when he had Steve’s fingers steadily bringing him to a climax that already had his legs shaking.

“She doesn’t even- touch me, okay?” Jonathan’s head fell forward, a few strands of hair sticking to his temple. “Shit, I’m gonna cum.” He squeezed Steve’s arm, begging for him to keep doing exactly what he was doing. He was so fucking close.

He near sobbed when Steve pulled out entirely, the hand covered in his juices gripping his thigh. His pussy convulsed around nothing, so close to an orgasm yet too weak to be called one and it made Jonathan want to cry.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck you, Steve, please.” If he still had an inch of dignity, he was sure he’d feel mortified by his own begging, but he was desperate now. His rational mind felt miles away.

“Fuck.” Steve dropped his leg and pressed his face into the top of the dresser, undoing his belt one-handed with practiced ease. Jonathan groaned, aching to cum by any means necessary, even though he was pretty sure he should be denying all of this. The hands on his waist, the hot press of a cock against his right ass cheek, the fact that it was Steve’s cock. Steve who he didn’t even really like outside of how big his hands were, how nice they felt on him, inside him. How good his cock felt sliding along his throbbing pussy, wound up so tight from the denial of his last orgasm he thought he might die if he didn’t get some kind of stimuli to his painfully sensitive clit.

He’s pretty sure he should point out that he didn’t even have any condoms because he didn’t expect to be fucked like, ever. That he should ask Steve if he has any, or offer to jack him off if he lets him fucking cum, but not much rational thinking can come to the forefront of his mind when Steve was pushing the fat head of his cock into his hole, sliding in slowly as Jonathan gasped and exhaled and whimpered until he was pressed into the hilt.

Jonathan moaned against the wood, clenching around his cock. It sat hot and heavy, buried so deep he was sure Steve was kissing the deepest part of him. He was embarrassingly wet, hot flashes plaguing his body as his slick dripped down Steve’s balls. He prayed he wouldn’t comment.

He didn’t, but his hands squeezed the smallest part of his waist, his grip firm as he rocked in and out of the silky heat.

“If Nancy hasn’t touched you,” Steve chuckled, airy and low. “That means I’m the first, right?” There was a smug satisfaction in his tone and Jonathan would have punched him again if he had half a mind to. Unfortunately, his irritation was quickly doused by a steady stream of pleasure as Steve started to thrust, shallow and quick; maddeningly shallow. Steve wasn’t even getting half his cock inside him and it was driving Jonathan insane.

He rocked back into him, knowing his words would be slurred and unintelligible, and Steve grinned. He snapped his hips, shoving the brunet further into his dresser, and Jonathan moaned louder, gripping the edge of it. The pace was near punishing, fast and brutal, and Jonathan wouldn’t be able to keep himself upright if not for Steve’s hands on his waist, securing him in place.

Steve was the first to hear it, Jonathan too far gone as his voice got louder without his knowledge. Jonathan gasped and choked as Steve stilled completely, his tie wrapped around his fist as a knock sounded. Jonathan reached up to the loop of the tie pressed tightly against his throat. Steve tugged harder and Jonathan felt tears well in the corners of his eyes. Steve was still buried inside him, so deep he could almost feel the tip of his cock against his cervix, and it was dizzying, struggling on the tips of his toes. He hadn’t really noticed the height difference before now, but it felt vast when he was struggling not to completely impale himself in Steve’s cock. The mere idea made him throb and Steve groaned softly.

“Jonathan, is Steve with you?” Fuck, his mom. He prayed she wouldn’t open the door, for the love of everything holy, she did not need to see her eldest son getting railed by his brothers babysitter.

“We’re in here, yeah.” Steve answered for him, able to play unaffected and Jonathan bit his lip to stifle of whimper. He didn’t know how long he could keep himself like this, trembling all over.

“Oh, good, good, well, dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Make sure you boys wash your hands, okay?”

“Will do, Mrs Byers. We aren’t five.” He joked and Jonathan begged for him to just shut up. He felt light headed and grabbed at the tie to gain a gasp of air before Steve tugged it back into place. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Oh, I know, but you know...hard to grow out of those habits even as your kids grow up!” She laughed. “I’ve always been like that, even Jonathan could tell you that.”

“No, really?” This fucker was playing him, he knew it. Torturing him. He had to be. He eased the restriction just a tad, allowing him to swallow in air, to possibly get a word in. To save himself.

“Mom!” He said it too quickly, too suddenly, and Joyce made a sound of surprise.

“What? Are you alright?”

“I-” He tried to conjure up an excuse, mind hazy, and Steve pulled him like a dog on a leash, lips against his ear.

“Quickly...finish your excuse.” He ordered and Jonathan swore quietly as he eased the loop around his neck. He shuddered out a breath, taking in a deep one.

“I just, um, don’t let dinner burn!” He fumbled, but he knew his mother well enough. She cursed and he could hear her footsteps disappearing down the hall. She always got distracted, it’s why he cooked more often than not.

“Nice save.” Steve grinned against his ear and wrapped his arm around his hips, bringing him down harshly on that last inch. Jonathan gave a soft cry, fisting his jacket sleeves as the older rutted into his tight pussy.

It was like he had found a new toy, the way he pulled the tie taunt around his neck as he pushed him forward, holding him down with one hand between his shoulder blades. Jonathan slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his moans, the relief of breathing again after being deprived of it beginning to feel like it’s own little climax.

Steve’s hand eased off the tie to reach down between his legs, playing with his swollen clit as Jonathan gasped and panted, tears streaking down his cheeks. He doesn’t remember when the first tear fell, but it was a steady stream now, body so ready to cum it hurt to even think about.

“Steve, Steve, please,” He begged, dragging out his name, and the brunet listened, swirling his clit even he cried and tried to shy away from it.

“Gonna cum,” Steve groaned, hips smacking against his ass, his dick so wet it threatened to slip out with every thrust, and Jonathan groaned.

“’ot inside.” He slurred, eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as Steve pinched his clit, rolling it.

“Inside?” Steve chuckled, panting hotly against his shoulder and Jonathan would have corrected him if not for his orgasm ripping through him. His cry of pleasure was choked, sputtered out weakly in time with Steve’s harsh thrusts as he shuddered, pleasure flooding through his body and out of his cunt. Steve fucked him through each wave, the floor and Jonathan’s pants beneath them soaked in his release as he sobbed in relief. He was twitching and sensitive as Steve sought out his own finish, hands back on his waist, digging his fingers into the soft skin hard enough to leave bruises.

Jonathan moaned when he felt it, Steve’s hips stuttering and cock sinking in deep to fill him with hot spunk. He thought it ended after the first few spurts, but then Steve started to move again, fucking his cum deeper if possible as he continued to stuff him full. When he pulled out, he could feel it dripping out of his cunt, a thick drop of it sliding down his clit and hitting the floor as he caught his breath against the dresser, afraid to move in case he collapsed. His knees were locked, but the slightest breeze might cut his strings like a puppet.

He was proven right when Steve reached around to his face, cupping under his chin, and Jonathan crumpled to his feet. Slick and cum smeared along his thighs, onto the carpet, and Jonathan found it hard to process any of it. Steve’s hand came back to his face, tilting it up to look at him and Jonathan’s head fell upon his thigh. Steve stared down with an unreadable expression.

He swiped a thumb along his lips, applying the softest pressure. Jonathan accepted, parting his lips to take the digit into his mouth. Steve’s eyes softened into something near fond.

“You know, Jonathan,” He guided his jaw down, opening his mouth wider. Jonathan didn’t resist. “I think the service industry is your calling.”

Jonathan blinked up at him, looking half-asleep even as he was offered the tip of his cock, covered in the both of them. He suckled the tip, lazily dragging his tongue over the length, cleaning it with soft sucks and wet licks.

They had a few minutes to spare. He’d just say Jonathan wasn’t feel well and wanted to take a shower to cool off. It sounded like the perfect excuse as he petted soft brown strands back from the younger boys face, feeding his cock past his lips, nice and slow.

Steve was willing to test his limits while he had him pliant and so, so willing to service him.

#stonathan #stonathan smut #trans jonathan byers #ftm jonathan byers #jonathan byers #steve harrington #lemon #steve harrington x jonathan byers #jonathan byers x steve harrington

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skye-huntress · 1 month

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MagiRevo Volume 6 Thoughts

Back again with everyone’s favourite royal couple. This time we learn about Lainie’s mother and meet more vampire. There’s also a lot more action compared to previous volumes. And we finally address the inconvenient fact that Euphie and Lainie are effectively immortal, and their lovers are not.

You know the drill, spoilers are below.

Okay, so Ruella, from the prologue, total tsundere. I’m making my prediction now that she is actually into this Tiris girl.

From what we’ve heard, vampires in this world are basically brainwashed into continuing the research of their predecessors. Doesn’t seem like Ruella has ever even questioned why she and the clan should pursue “eternity” for the sake of some dead people.

I’m with Tiris, why seek eternity, when you can make the most of the time you have to do something that is actually meaningful to yourself?

‘Tis a bit of a shame, but I suppose Anis had to grow used to Euphie’s shows of affection sooner or later. She’s even reciprocating them of her own initiative. Even so, I guarantee Euphie is still the top in this relationship.

Why is Tilty gloomier because of the rain? Pretty sure she’s so adverse to being in direct sunlight, it’d make the uninformed question who is the actual vampire of their friend group.

In conclusion, it took only three months for them to make Lainie kind of OP in both swordplay and magic. If all vampires had just as much potential in general, and a lot more than three months to hone their skills, they’d be able to give even Euphie trouble.

We had a good balance in the detached palace. 4 girls, 2 couples. Royal couple attended to by the maid couple. I’m not too eager to see that change.

Interesting to think about, Ilia chose to be as reclusive as Anis and isn’t too fond of bringing in more people.

It’s not something I’m interested in, however I will say there may be a potential ship with Garkie and Navre.

Excited we are getting more Lainie and Tilty, sad that we’re splitting up our couples.

And of course, Euphie threatens Anis with a good time when she gets back.

I see Anis is still not comfortable with PDA, even though compared to Euphie’s coronation, a small peck in front of their friends is nothing.

Lainie’s mother is Tiris from the prologue? The plot thickens.

Tilty’s guess about a disease that affects vampires might have been on the money, but it’s early still.

Wow, Lainie actually went there. The anime touched on it but the novels haven’t really done so yet. The issue of how Euphie is immortal, and Anis isn’t. She was already willing to throw away her humanity in pursuit of magic, so doing so to extend her time with Euphie isn’t a huge leap for her.

As for Lainie, not surprised she’s already thinking about Ilia’s mortality. The considerable age gap aside, Ilia’s close to 30 already, and the average life expectancy in their world is probably shorter than what we take for granted.

Must be nice to at least have the option of extending your life, even if it means throwing away your humanity. In our world without magic or monsters, we just have to make the most of the time we have.

Makes sense that Anis quit adventuring. Now that her work has official support, she no longer needs to acquire her own funding and materials. Plus, her wife would never allow her to continue going off on her own.

Well, I wasn’t expecting this level of horror, not in this series. I’d expect this from some of the other series I’m into, but wasn’t expecting MagiRevo to hit me with this kind of body horror six volumes in.

I came here expecting vampires, and got an abomination that is an amalgamation of countless lifeforms that the vampire apparently consumed. Guess we know where all the monsters and animals in the forest went.

Everything about this encounter feels so messed up. We started with flaming horned guy trying to kill Anis and Garkie, to now mourning him and all he lost. We don’t even know his name!

So Ilia is resistant to the idea of becoming a vampire because then Lainie can’t feed off her blood? Fair point, I can respect that.

I had a guess we’d see Ruella again, but this is far from what I pictured originally.

So what happens after generations of brainwashing and overzealously accumulating knowledge, the vampires inevitably made a monster that is a reflection of how twisted and mad they’ve become.

They called Tiris a heretic and traitor, but she was probably the only sane one among them. However, Ruella did say she was exceptional enough to potentially become the matriarch of the clan, so perhaps Lainie really is OP, not because she is a vampire, but because she inherited her mother’s exceptionalism.

Anis lesbian-ed so hard she made the villainess instantly fall for her. Normally I’d be for this kind of development if Lilana wasn’t all the more determined to devour Anis especially. Nobody makes a meal out of our Anis, except Euphie!

Euphie finally had a chance to show off again, and it started out totally awesome, kind of reminded me of Weiss’ Arma Gigas summon. Then it backfired and we found out this girl can just absorb magic. I call hacks!

Anis did talk about throwing her humanity away to become immortal, but I didn’t think such a change would be forced on her. Guess the dragon’s prophecy was spot on, Anis really did become a dragon, albeit still in human form, with some vampiric powers thrown in for good measure.

Props to Anis for trying to give Lilana an out. I’ve been around the internet enough to know there are indeed people who’d be down for what she’s offering.

And of course for her final move, Lilana decides to turn into a freaking dragon, too. Anis, pretty sure that one’s on you this time.

I’m fine if she and the other vampires like her devour monsters, but leave the poor animals alone!

So Lilana stole Euphie’s move and made it her own, then Anis takes that same improvised move, puts her own spin on it and uses it to finally take down Lilana. Brilliant! Anis beat her at her own game!

Of all the shocks and twists this volume, the biggest might be Anis pulling a Euphie on Euphie herself. She’s certainly gotten bolder but she still doesn’t hold a candle to Euphie. We’re talking about the girl who used her coronation speech to declare her love and made out with Anis in front of all the attendants. We know who’s the top in this relationship and Euphie will no doubt remind Anis of that fact later, and they’ll both enjoy it.

With a battle like that, it almost feels like a finale of sorts but there’s still a lot of loose ends. There’s Ruella and the other vampires. Would also love to get a follow up on if any of the demi-human clans are still around. I do not want to think about the possibility that Acryl is probably the last of her kind.

We also don’t know how Tiris died, which poses an unknown risk to Lainie, Algard, and possibly even Anis.

Also it goes without saying I want to know what’s up with the changes to Anis’ body and what the reactions will be.

Well, at least I know how long I have to wait this time. The official translation for Volume 7 is apparently dropping in late July. So see you all again in about 4 months.

#magirevo #the magical revolution of the reincarnated princess and the genius young lady

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kingeorgey · 10 months

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i keep you clean (you surrounded me)

Jason Todd x OFC/Reader, 4.6k words

based on the Jason Todd fanfictions on ao3, written by Minniears and Janaswow . rosalie is a combination of the main characters in those books, and the oneshot draws inspiration from both fics.

please rb, like, and feel free to message me or leave asks / drabble requests! i highly reccommend checking out my ao3, just look at my other posts or search up my username on there. i just wanted ot test what happens if i post the full fic on here instead of linking to my ao3.

enjoy!!! :-)

The most stressful part of all this is making the calls to fix the sunroof. Really. And, honestly, truly, seriously, not even that is so stressful, since that task is reduced to an email for Rosalie. Admittedly, a hooded vigilante breaking into your property for the third (fourth? fifth?) night in the last two weeks was not an ideal situation for anyone but the window repair company, and at least the cost wasn’t coming out of her pocket.

What, then, had Rosalie failed to consider, in her attempt to bend over backwards making sure the vigilante knew that he was of no inconvenience to her? The (decidedly less ideal) consequences of the recurring vandalism-

His enemies catching on.

It had all happened in a blur. Between the fight or flight instinct, it was true that she had always drifted towards the lesser-known, and less convenient, ‘freeze’ instinct. The steely chill of a blade against her neck, a cacophony of gunshots and knife-on-knife scraping, and someone calling out her name had all fallen on ears that were as good as deaf at the moment.

It wasn’t that she was ignorant to the dire situation she was in, and the unfathomable level of danger surrounding her. Rosalie was an intelligent person, despite society’s eternal crusade to muddle kindness with weakness. She had managed just fine in Gotham on her own, and had not gotten involved with the many gangs and vigilantes of the city she called home. However, as life in Gotham went, the time had apparently arrived for her rite-of-passage gang involvement.

Everything in Rosalie’s line of sight became one massive blur of motion, shaken only when she was tackled. Instinctually, she awaited the impact that was to come- expecting the cement of the greenhouse, maybe a flower pot if they had been so unlucky. The result never came, however, and when she began to come back to reality she was confronted with the warmth of the arms that had her wrapped in a death grip, and radiated off of the jacketed chest that shielded her.

The scene Rosalie was enveloped in finally began to come into focus. Beaten, bloodied gang members were tied up to the feet of various display tables, droplets of their sweat and tears joining their puddles of blood and broken glass. It was silent, though, save for the voice of her protector coming into focus.

“I got you,” The voice rushedly repeated, the baritone bringing her further into the present moment. That was when reality finally set in, when she was no longer in a frozen stupor, no longer chasing the present second-

and, she crumbled.

In one extended motion, Rosalie was pushing herself from the Red Hood’s embrace with trembling arms and legs, bounding out of the shop’s front door. A series of choked gasps (that she hardly registered as being her own) quickly transitioned into a fit of sobs- which, for someone of her disposition, meant more noiseless, strangled sounds.

With legs that felt as weak as gelatin below her, she all but tripped out of the door and onto the pavement in front of the shop, a quivering arm pressed up against the brick facade. Droplets of her own blood soiled the roughened sidewalk, her gaze transfixing itself on each crimson bead instead of the door behind her slamming open, then closed. No frenzy follows- just the scraping of boots as the Red Hood sits next to her, leaning against a streetlamp with a blade-holding arm lazily draped over his knee.

“More will be on their way.” Breaks the quiet. The voice modulator, husky and reverberant, doesn’t strike fear (or even curiosity) anymore. It is familiar, and she wants familiar, yearns for it in a moment as impossible as this.

There are thirty highly complex muscles per hand. Sixty, total. Scientists of the highest caliber have been trying for centuries to recreate the human hand but have always found that something is missing. There is an art to the human hand- perfected artistry, from rolling wrists to feather-light fingertips.

Yet, when she lifts her hands to speak in the only language she can, it all falls short. Her fingers feel like pasta cooked ten minutes too long, and she is stuck staring at them without having gestured one word. Betrayal to the highest degree flashes in her eyes and, with her hands completely still, she looks up at the sunroof-breaking jerk she should probably be blaming for all of this.

She wonders how it is that an unchanging mask seems to be emanating emotion. As if, behind the kevlar and technologies, he might actually be feeling something.

Rosalie suspects it is pity that seeps through the disguise.

“I have a… someone is on the way for you, until everything blows over.” A trembling ghost of a nod is all she can manage.

Not long after this ‘conversation’, a sedan shows up with a flourish. The car itself is absent of any glitz or glamor. What brings it to life is the flourish of capes that follow- most notably, one accompanied with an all too familiar cowl. Were she a few years younger, Rosalie might have fangirled a little, like most Gothamites. For now, she continues to sit as she has since initially taking her spot on the sidewalk, though her eyes are now focusing on the newcomers instead of Red Hood.

“This is Rosalie. She’s-”

“How bad in shock is she?”

“Bad. Not hurt, if you’d let me finish.”

“Not that you know of. There’s blood on the edge of her sweater, could be hers.” It somehow brings Rosalie out of her stupor a bit, to hear Nightwing and Batman chide the Red Hood over someone as unimportant as her, and to Robin keeping a dead stare in her direction.

“She’s not speaking.”

“She can’t, remember?” Nightwing turns to Robin, exasperated, as Batman hurriedly takes over once more.

“We’ve got it. This won’t happen again, ma’am, we’ll make sure of it.”

Honestly, it makes her uncomfortable to meet eyes with Batman- metaphorically, of course. She can’t see past his mask. The greasy dinners with Red Hood had been much different, and they hadn’t even spoken a word to each other on those offhanded occasions, just quietly eating as she worked on inventory and a show played on her falling-apart laptop.

Batman seems to accept the shock as an answer, turning and leading his compatriots into her shop. When they are finally alone again, Red Hood stands and carefully helps Rosalie up until she is standing, his gloved hand firm around her upper arm.

“I’m taking you to a safehouse until the situation is handled.” Telling, not asking- though she is hardly going to argue with that solution, focusing instead on the warmth his hand provides against her skin, not meeting his ‘eyes’ once as she is ushered into the sedan.

In the passenger seat she tries to use her hands. Flexing, unflexing each slender finger, twisting her wrist. There is a great aching in her torso that begins to intensify as the shock subsides, and her neck is craned to look out the window for the entire journey. In the reflection of the tinted window and, in a moment where she has glanced just above the passing sidewalk, she can see the Red Hood looking over at her, a sustained check-in before he hurriedly averts her eyes.

The car ride is a strained silent.

She thinks that the vigilante can still see how badly she is trembling, even when her hands are finally able to muster enough strength to open the passenger door. Thankfully, he says nothing, crossing around the car in a few long strides to get the door for Rosalie and usher her into the safehouse.

Then, the strangest thing happens.

It’s not like a dam breaks- though, it’s not unlike that, either. It is grand and subtle and loud and silent and she stands still while her body horrifically crumbles into itself. All the air in Rosalie’s lungs expels itself at once and, no matter how hard she tries, it won’t come back. She is self-strangled, suffocating, until the very last second as dots speckle her vision- then, her body tortures her further by sucking in all the air at once and continuing until the Red Hood has hidden the car and locks the front door behind him.

Truth be told, the Red Hood seems shocked. It would dawn on her later that this, for all technical intents and purposes, would be his first time ever hearing her. And, of course, it was like this- horrible, disgusting, strangulated, this.

Or, is it not shock whatsoever? For now, he still stands inches in front of her, arms outstretched like he wants to do something about it but has not the faintest idea what that something should be. He seems confused. He wants to help, but doesn’t know how.

“Rosalie,” The modulator (surely not his voice) wavers, the arms remaining in their awkward half-outstretched stance as he continues. Or, tries to continue- begins to. Either his words fall short or he decides against saying what’s on his mind, opting instead to reach forward and engulf her in his arms.

Rosalie has a moral objection to leather, not even buying secondhand. She thought leather couches and faux-leather interiors of cars to be disgusting, and the handbags to be consistently gauche. The Red Hood, though, has a leather jacket on, and at this moment it is not gauche, and she has no objection to it- moral, fashion, or otherwise. In this moment there is no greater comfort that is able to be offered, and it is all she needs it to be. The material expands upon the warmth someone of his stature already emanates, and the worn material is unexpectedly soft against the few spots of her exposed skin that it meets.

The warmth, as well as his silence, aides in turning the choking sensation into normal sobs though, for her, even that sounds different compared to the cries of those who could produce noise. Minutes pass before she pushes the vigilante away from her just enough to bring a fist up to her chest, leaning with the other hand on one hip while making the circular motion with the fist on her chest. It’s a tired sign, something made even more evident to the Red Hood as he watches her shoulders droop further from their raised, tense position.

“Whatever you’re apologizing for-” One of his hands lightly swats at her fist, stopping the weak signing of her apology, “Don’t.”

The sigh that accompanies his command provides her some sort of proof that he means this. That he is the sorry one, that he, too, is exhausted from today.

Rosalie doesn’t figure the new stains on his leather jacket will help and-

Is that her blood?

Red follows her eyes, alight with fresh worry, to the stains on his sleeves and chest. His arms lift from his sides, turning over so he can assess the situation, and- yes, some of that is definitely her fresh blood from just moments prior.

“You’re bleeding,” He begins, ignoring the way she reaches for the hem of the leather sleeve and begins turning it back and forth between her thumb and forefingers.

Will this come out? -

Before she finishes her sentence, before she can go to sign ‘sorry’ again, he is swatting her hand lightly, letting his own fall to the small of her back. Delicately, he leads her to a washroom.

“Believe it or not,” He grumbles, guiding her until she sits on the edge of the tub, “I deal with blood pretty regularly, Rose-”

A comcially large first aid kit is pulled onto the floor to punctuate his sentence.

“So don’t worry about it.”

Neither of them say anything more as he begins to get all sorts of gauze and bandage out. Rosalie is zoned out, still reeling from her panic attack. Yet, she manages to catch the moment he almost lifts his mask up in front of her, stopping right before.

“I-” He pauses.

“Room across the hall, top two drawers of the dresser. Shorts and shirts. You’re covered in blood, so change and try and figure out where you’re hurt.”

He needs to unmask, and he must know that she is aware of that. It is true, however, that she is covered in blood, she obliges, allowing her hand to linger just a moment longer than necessary when she uses his shoulder to get up from the bathtub.

The shower sputters to life as she crosses into the bedroom. Granted, calling it a bedroom may be a slight overaggeration. It’s hardly a full room, there’s bullet shells and what she can only infer to be gun-related cleaning equipment strewn on the nightstand. Some newspapers are haphazardly taped to the wall with shredded bits of stickers from fast food restaurant bags, the likes of which show through a tied up garbage bag in the corner.

There’s no mirror in here. It’s a fact that Rosalie is most grateful for at the moment- the way that blood flakes off of her, dried down even though it can’t have been more than an hour since it all happened. Her face feels puffy, though from crying or bruising she can’t be sure. Faintly, she hears sharp breaths from the bathroom, where the shower has once more fallen silent. Rosalie figures he is fixing himself up and takes her time finding a thick T-Shirt and some running shorts, resisting the urge to fall back onto the bed and bloody that, too. The clean clothes remain in her hand as she finds her way back to the bathroom door, rapping upon it lightly.

When it opens he is masked again, leather jacket strewn over his shoulder and belt haphazardly looped through the waist of his pants. The Red Hood does not utter a word as he brushes past her, jerking a nod towards the shower. Rosalie obeys- once in, she turns the water as hot as the disgustingly outdated shower will allow, tries not to focus on the muddied crimson that pools in the bottom of the shower for minutes before it runs clean, tries not to relax in the steam for fear of letting her guard down and crying again. It is only once she has done this- tossed the towel aside, pulled the clothes onto her still dripping figure- that she works up the strength to look in the mirror.

She looks horrid.

Her face is bruised, puffiness subsided otherwise- her stomach, legs, and arms tell a different story. Black and blue from being thrown to the ground, more than a few cuts and two really good gashes on her rib and thigh. Rosalie’s neck still holds a bruised imprint from the knife, though little more than a knick is left as evidence, which she takes as a miserable sort of saving grace.

Rosalie makes a point to try and present herself as an optimist. Tries to smile, to brighten people’s day even if in the marginally important customer-servicey way. Tries to silently show waitresses and crossing guards she appreciates them. Consciously, intentionally, truly tries to be anything good, because she knows how- for lack of better word- sad, she can be. How sadness fills her full, paralyzes her some days until she has to call off of work and lay on the kitchen floor, limp. How lifting a coffee cup feels like an anvil, or taking a shower seems like such an impossible task, she alienates it until she can’t remember how she’s ever done it at all. Looking in the mirror, this is what she sees. Not the Rosalie she intentionally tries to be- the Rosalie she is. The Rosalie she works so hard to improve, all while forgetting that “running away from” doesn’t equal “improving upon”. Sad, sad. Sad. Sad. Sad.

An echoing ‘thump’ sounds as she falls back onto the rim of the tub, and she feels so miserable, she doesn’t even mind the usually so-irritating-it’s-scalp-burning sensation of wet hair on her skin. This thud must be audible, since a knock quickly follows, the Red Hood entering once again.

He is silent. Takes his time looking at her, she thinks, though it’s made all the more unnerving by the way she can’t actually track his exact line of sight unless he tilts his head.

He scoffs.

He falls to take a knee in front of her, swiping his hand to pick up a needle on his way down. The other steals a towel from a hanging rack and lays it across her lap, gloved hands as electric as flint and steel as they ghost the newly uncovered skin of her bare thighs. The free hand then wraps too-easily around her hip, adjusting her- and she goes in for a hug, out of instinct, when he turns his body just so. Leans in, arms around him, realizing too late what her physical instinct had done.

Red Hood pulls away with a bewildered jerk, and that’s when she fully realizes her stupidity. He wasn’t going for a hug- he had been adjusting her, to literally give her homemade stitches.

I don’t know why I did that.

His shoulders fall ever so slightly as she signs, gaining his composure before resuming his (close, close, so close to her that he can probably hear each quivering breath or smell the body wash she had used some of or-) position in front of her. He ignores the incident altogether.

“This will hurt. Don’t move.”

The pain is overbearing as she feels him sink the needle into her. Rosalie tries her darnedest to stay as quiet as he had when she was switching into his clothes- how used to this is he, she wonders?- though the effort is futile, and she surely triples the amount of time it should take with the pauses she takes to regain her breath, or squirm in discomfort. She is, after all, wiser than to do so while a needle hovers mere centimeters over her bruised skin.

It feels like years pass before Red Hood tosses the needle in the trash, tying off the final knot. He has some mercy, she thinks, watching him wait for the water to warm up before dampening a towel. This is some relief to the stinging where he has stitched her up, the final bits of crusted blood being dabbed away by the towel.

Really, Rosalie thinks she could have done that bit by herself, though she keeps quiet.

Rosalie finally drops his shirt from where it has been lifted up to her chest, allowing more access to the wounds on her side. Neither of them move beyond this. Not until Rosalie lifts her head, signing halfheartedly.

Are you? Okay. Are you okay.

In the bathroom is a light that has faded to orange, dimmed with age. It catches his mask as he shifts to look away, out of the doorway. It shines so bright for that single millisecond that she cannot help but cringe at the glare, no matter how quick it was.

“I’m used to it,” And though it isn’t the ideal response, Rosalie settles on it being okay for not. Not great, not horrible. Just okay.

They’re okay. They are alive, and breathing, and in a bathroom with a shitty light bulb. It’s okay.

Fueled by the newfound energy of coming to terms with their situation (as well as being physically okay, for the most part) Rosalie lifts herself from the edge of the tub. She stumbles forward, catching herself with a hand on Red Hood’s shoulder.

She lets it linger, turning to face him and lifting her free hand to sign.

New lightbulb.

Red is already lifting himself up, wrapping a supportive (and careful- he had been the one to stitch her up, after all) forearm round her torso while taking strides towards the bed.

“I’ll be sure to call you when I want a safehouse renovation,” He sets Rosalie down, placing his sole pillow vertically and rushing to find something else to prop her up with, “Maybe we can add a wraparound balcony, too. A chandelier, maybe.”

Swarovski.

“Glad you thought that was funny enough to waste time fingerspelling.”

His tone never once changes and, still, his voice is laced with sarcasm thick as tar, bubbling under each and every syllable. When Red Hood looks over, he sees a small grin on her, and a middle finger briefly directed his way. This, to him, is only made funnier by the fact that Rosalie normally tries to watch her language. He wishes she could see the way he is nearly smiling.

When Red Hood’s ‘eyes’ fall once more to the floor in front of him, Rosalie is sure to reprimand him for it, clapping with all the strength she could muster while coming down from all the shock. Upon looking up, he finds her in a most unusual position. Her arms are outreached to him. One falls, patting the space next to her.

It’s been a long time- if it’s ever been at all- that someone has beckoned the vigilante like that. With no ill intent. With gentleness, and exhaustion, and the air that it’s the most obvious thing to do in the world. That he should just go lay next to her.

So, in the most awkward way possible, he obeys. Red Hood turns, swinging a knee over her and falling on his stomach next to Rosalie. He’s since abandoned the leather jacket and, with only the restraint of his sweater and compression shirt, his muscles allow themselves to relax. For only a moment, he allows them to do just so, forgoing the usual tension caused by holding up the weight of the world.

In the moment, he had closed his eyes, though they open once more once his moment of calm is decidedly over. At least, he thought so, before opening his eyes to catch a sideways look of Rosalie staring down at him. Her eyes are lidded with exhaustion, managing to lock onto his own nonetheless.

Her hand lifts. She almost signs something, then pauses. The hand stays raised even once he registers that Rosalie decided against saying something. When it falls, it lands on his back. Up, down, and up again with a featherlike touch. He can’t help the way his breath hitches at the intimacy. Or the anxiety that rises with the realization that he is letting this happen.

“Did I ever scare you?”

You don’t.

“Did I ever, though?” Rosalie is clearly thinking over her response to the repeated question, moving to lay on her shoulder and look him right in his mask’s netted eyes.

Before I knew you better, maybe.

Then one day you were watching shows with me while I repotted some plants. And I realized I liked being around you.

Scary people aren’t usually that likable to be around.

I think you’re good. I think that’s why we’re here right now.

As Rosalie did her best to sign, her host did his best not to care too much about the words- which was, worth mentioning, going to end up an absolutely failed mission. Instead, he focused on the signing. The way that doing so while she was turned on her side prevented her from holding her hair back, and how it fell in front of her eyes, the brushing back of which would occasionally serve as the catalyst for the ending and beginning of a new sentence. How she, deluded from the adrenaline-comedown she was experiencing, did not shift uncomfortably or avoid eye contact, her gaze languidly moving between his eyes or wherever else on the mask her gaze happened to fall upon.

Red Hood wasn’t known for failing missions.

And yet, he felt nearly possessed as his hand raised up to his mask. In one swift movement it was disengaged, balled up in his hand as he brought himself up to lean on an elbow over her.

For her part, Rosalie seemed to wake up from her stupor, eyes widening.

“Jason,” He croaked out, swallowing a lump in his throat that arose as soon as he heard himself, “Todd. Jason Todd.”

Rosalie maintained her wide-eyed, slack-jawed look, though an eyebrow came to rise as she noticed her expression and snapped her mouth shut. Now she was sat fully up, comforter falling down to her hips.

J-A-S-O-N-T-O-D-D

“Yeah,” It came out breathless- something that seemed to bring a smile to Rosalie, and an equally breathless, confused laugh.

Why?

Jason paused at the question. Not for lack of understanding- for lack of answer.

For lack of confidence to give the real answer, more like.

“I just want you to see me.” He decided, an absentminded nod taking over as realization dawned. His face. What did he even look like anymore? A ‘J’ seared onto his cheekbone, scars that once made Deadpool wince for their multitude, surely some sort of black eye or bruise-

I do see you.

Jason snapped out of his runaway train of thought, looking (really, actually looking) back into her eyes. Finally feeling like he would burst, he did away with it. Get it out of the way, get ready for rejection for signs that seemed obvious but maybe he even misread because had he ever actually felt like this for someone before and maybe this was stockholm syndrome or he was taking advantage of the horrific way the day went and she didn’t even know him really and did he know her-

I like you J-A-

“I wanna date you,”

She stops fingerspelling as they run each other over with their words, staring at Jason still. Now they both looked like slack-jawed idiots.

Because, of course, they were both slack-jawed idiots.

I want to be your girlfriend, too.

She finally replies and, now that the hard part and secrecy and obvliviousness and crushy part of it was done with, they both find it easier to smile. Hers, Jason notices, lights up all the way to her eyes, while his is more of the hint of a smile.

She pays it no mind. Not that he can tell, anyways. Jason figures she is just appeased by the fact she can see him at all. He figures something grand should happen now. Maybe he should stand up and sweep her off her feet, kiss her and dip her like a tango dancer. Maybe he should surprise her with a penthouse or flowers or, at the very least, a dinner to outshine the 3 loaves of bread and vodka his cabinets were currently housing. But none of that happens. He sits there, stupid, looking at Rosalie. At his girlfriend, somehow.

Rosalie is the one who reaches out, running a hand through his hair. It’s experimental. He can feel her slender fingers glide through each strand, still dripping from the shower, one or two beads of water falling otno the pillowcase with a quiet ‘thwop’ sound. She moves to the nape of his neck- more new territory- and continues to trace down his biceps. Lightly, she nudges him until he is laying back on his stomach, and he is about eye level with her hips when he turns to face her.

Light hands find their way to the small of his back- up, and down, and up again, traversing each muscle, shoulderblade, and vertebrae. The muscles stretch with the intake of a deep breath, sinking back down seconds later, hands lifting and falling in featherlike synchronization. Up, down, and up some more.

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