#it’s uncanny and uncomfortable to look at right

[soarrenbluejay]

Since I’ve been encouraged to actually share my funny little blorbo ideas here’s another one gang;

Danny moves to Gotham on scholarship for engineering, because the Fentons may be infamous but they’re also insanely brilliant and besides both he and Jazz are showing every sign of embarrassed child of a super genius syndrome, so while the bats are keeping a close eye on him Just In Case, duke is also thinking of introducing him to the Our Parents Are Maniacs But Anyway club maybe after the first month or so.

Gotham does not go for standard dorm living bc of his ‘condition’ and lack of wanting to constantly spook/gaslight a roommate. Besides, living with two small children is a dorm sounds like a disaster in action.

So Danny signs up as a mechanic in Crime Alley, buys himself a teeny weensy lil apartment and Makes It Work. He has been all year after showing up with a de aged Dani and Dan in Amnity after all, and that had gone,,, fine? (The entire town, observing how Danny had been getting increasingly more uncomfortable around his godfather prior to the cloning incident, then just dropped off the face of the earth for several months, the first two weeks stuck in Vlad’s basement enduring horrors and the next Too Many desperately fapping around in the Ghost Zone to get everything handled. All the clones live, all 13 of them. Bunch of them are stuck in the Ghost Zone due to constant need for ectoplasm, but eh, plenty of Zone born never leave, so. One, in the future, apprentices under a green warrior lady on Pandora’s suggestion, another is working in the Eternal Library with Ghost Writer, etc etc. so Danny eventually came back to Amnity with one small child under each arm very obviously traumatized by Somethingn with vlad and doesn’t like being alone with him,,, or touched without warning,, and immediately and passionately proclaims the kids his but struggles to explain how or why,, look some very reasonable assumptions are drawn okay. So the town does the very reasonable thing and does the midwestern equivilant of excommunicating Vlad, except it’s a lot more run him out with pitchforks vibes since he’s the Mayor. Anyway)

He is immediately loved, because while non Gothamites are usually more of a pain than they’re worth, everyone in a while someone even from out of town will just fit in so nicely it’s uncanny for everyone involved. Addams family vibes, it’s referred to as ‘making it home’, just personal hc. He is protective of all the kids playing in the parks and street girls that can totally take care of themselves on their corners but find it HILARIOUS when he just tackles a dick like a wild animal full force no warning. He can fix anything it seems, but refuses to work with weapons. Reasonable enough, people get twitchy about gangs sometimes. Danny mentions being not against Hood or anything, but he’s not going to work for him, littles to take care of and all, but had past experience with ‘Dora and that inheritance mess with her brother he was being a real prick about’ so everyone assumes it’s the equivilant of him having Done His Time and being plenty good for a life time and respects it as long as none of that petty midwestern small town hotshots bring any of that shit over here. And they don’t, because said individuals are on the other side of the mortal veil, so happy day.

See I really love deaged!Dan because he’s just a grumpy lil guy. But he’s also killed millions. He’s so protective of his loved ones, but held back by blending in and also being Smol that it comes off more bitey kitten than anything else. Dani, of course, is a terror, so she fits right in with the crowd.

And sorry gang, but a bunch of kids on their own in Gotham in a poor side of the city just isn’t going to get any attention: that’s just business as usual really. What first gets attention on Danny is not his ‘condition’ or being mistaken for a meta (which he legally probs has an argument for even without the gene bc like these bitches don’t know how metaism works anyway so) or alien (I’m 90% sure he’d be covered by the alien protection act by virtue of being half ‘not from earth’), but because Danny despite best efforts is a Weird Guy.

He grew up in what could only be described as a low level villain level and spent most of high school dealing with smack downs and spiritual invasion. He’s never really processed that any of that is not in fact Normal. Also, he’s capable of making Anything if given the insides of a toaster, blender and alarm clock, and could probably rewrite the circuits of the apartment blindfolded and improve them 1000% even if it ABSOLUTELY would not be up to code.

And sure, things slip every once in a while, bits of spectral ice here, small floating incident there, but everyone just Minds Their Buisness ya know? You really gunna mess with the guy that personally ensured that when your car got flattened by a fight with Killer Croc, you were still able to get in to work the next day by some wizardry? Really?

But Gotham is a city so cursed it’s probably in the exponents countwise, so of course there is a) a flourishing community of magic users and assorted supernatural weirdos and b) a whole lot of shit for Mega Overpowered Ghost King Danny to idly pick at day to day in order to help with his protecting other Obsession. Gotham has plenty of heroes, but by god do they need the spiritual equivilant of an electrician/priest.

Still, Danny, as a baby ancient under a facet of Kronos and KING OF THE DEAD is like, way, way out of their scope to be able to grok, so it mostly just comes off as you know, a family of banshees or something. When asked, Danny very haltingly says he was briefly dead but then revived, which neatly explains his Weird Ass aura and makes it SPECTACULARLY AWKWARD to ask further about. So everyone nods politely, and goes back to their lives after double checking no nefarious bullshit was being pulled.

Then, of course, Vlad finally tracks them down. The whole neighborhood is altered in short order because he doesn’t bother trying to hide being a Rich Bitch or how he’s sneering down his nose at people on the sidewalk. Every connects the dots when Danny paniks. Dani and Dan’s daycare are staffed with some extra, very buff set of hands within the hour. Jerry, Hood’s third in command, personally shows up to the garage Danny is working at to talk things out with him bc he knows he does t like the deal with this stuff due to past unspecified circumstances but well, they guys had already started fucking with him, you see. Stole his tires, spray painted the windows, pickpocketed him blind, and when he retreated tipped off the police to the drugs they’d planted in the glove box.

Danny might not have been born in Gotham, but he was one of them. And the Alley takes care of it own.

#basically I want a fic where it’s not the Batfam but Gotham itself latching onto Danny #also more angy lil baby man Dan in big puffy coats being protective #dp x dc #dc x dp #gotham

[slytherizz]

Everything, with you - Sebastian Sallow x F!MC/Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+ | Breeding Kink | Size Kink | explicit sexual content | Dad!Seb

All tags can be found on Ao3

Summary:

"Watching you carry my children is one of life's greatest pleasures. If it's possible - you're more beautiful now than you've ever been.”

“Do you ever think about…”

“Having another one?”

A/N This works as a stand-alone but if you happened to have read either of my long fics this would sit either after the epilogue of 'Whatever it Takes' or in between the final chapter and the epilogue of 'In the Shadow of Us' (but I omitted the Azkaban references so it works for both). I have literally nothing to say for myself for this one other than...

For the thicc Seb girlies 💕

Dark curly hair tickled the underside of Sebastian's chin as he adjusted his son nestled in his lap. Book resting against his knee which was bent at an awkward and rather uncomfortable angle where he'd managed to cram himself onto Sam's little bed. Sebastian’s neck ached and his left leg was almost completely dead. Not that he minded. He knew his youngest would outgrow this one day, and would no longer need his father to read him fairytales. So Sebastian succumbed easily to Sam’s pleading and let himself be the dutiful mountain against which his son could rest. 

"Now, this word’s a little tricky, so take your time with it,” Sebastian tapped his finger on the page. "What does this say?"

"I'm not sure." Sam frowned. He traced his pudgy finger over the unfamiliar word and along the bright plume of fiery feathers printed in rich shades of red and gold on the page. The enchanted bird ruffled its wings as it clicked its beak attempting to nip at Sam's fingers. Each time the bird squawked soundlessly as he stroked its plumage Sam giggled with delight.

"Sound it out. You see right here? The 'Ph' makes an ‘f’ sound.”

"Like ‘t’ and ‘h’ make a 'the' sound?" 

“Exactly right. Two letters. One sound,” Sebastian said, ruffling his boy's hair proudly. 

Alice, his eldest had always had an uncanny ability to memorise words. Could recall the contents of practically every book he'd ever given her once she’d devoured it. She'd taken great pride in unnerving her primary school teacher by listing every ingredient in ‘A draft of living death’. Which may have seemed like a feat within itself…until she’d insisted on doing it backwards.

His unique form of parenting had been called into question more than once by her teachers but who was he to tell his daughter that ‘most potent potions’ was not appropriate bedtime reading? Restricting her inquisitive mind would be a far greater sin. 

Sam's little mind on the other hand worked like a tinker. Slower it may seem than his sister as he pieced together meaning. But that wasn’t nearly the case. Simply because he liked to fiddle with things more than his sister. Take a word apart and rearrange it before dismantling it again entirely. He picked apart the rules as he learnt them. All whilst, humming sagely from time to time like he was some great philosopher and he wasn't in fact, a boy of four who had spent the morning sulking when there was no honey left in the pantry for his toast.

“Try sounding it out," he encouraged. 

"Fee-nix?" Sam’s brows furrowed slightly the new word unfamiliar and clunky on his tongue. "Pheonix?"

"That’s it. You’re doing well. Now I know you know the rest of it. Reckon you can read the full sentence?” 

"The p-phoenix went up in…smoke?"

"Clever boy!"

Sam turned to look up at Sebastian, puffing out his chest with pride. Sebastian kissed the crown of his head affectionately. Sam burrowed his head into his shirt trying and failing to disguise a yawn against his father's chest. 

Snapping the book closed and placing it on his bedside table. Sebastian scooped him up as he shifted off the small bed placing his son snuggly under the quilt constellations in golden thread adorned its edges. 

“Right, I think that's enough for tonight. Bedtime for you mister.”

“But I'm not tired,” Sam protested. Rubbing his drooping eyelids which did little to rally his father to his plight. Eyes so like his mother's framed under furrowed dark brows. Stubbornness was an inherited trait and with how pigheaded he and his wife could be Sebastian should have known his children would be no different.

“I'm sure you're not,” Sebastian chuckled. Tucking the blankets tighter around his squirming limbs. “But it's already way past your bedtime. If you settle down I’ll put the stars up - How does that sound?”

Sam grinned, nodding his head eagerly as he buried his head deeper into his pillow. Sebastian pulled out his wand. Sam’s eyes lighting up. Glittering as they always get in his eyes when either of her parents performed even the simplest of charms. With an unnecessarily large flourish, Sebastian extinguished the bedside lantern plunging them into darkness. He whispered his modified charm.

Stars small but dazzling began to twinkle into life one by one across the steepled ceiling painting the cosmos across the wooden beams. 

It wasn’t nearly as elaborate as the charm in the Hogwarts great hall that had given Sebastian the inspiration. Not quite a replication of the overcast sky outside, but to Sam’s childlike wonder; his father could conjure the heavens in his bedroom. Pluck the stars from the sky so he could sleep bathed in starlight. 

For all his folly into the persuits into the darker sides of magic - there was no spell more powerful than the ones that made his children’s life a little more magical. 

“Night, Dad.”

***

Undoing the buttons of his shirt Sebastian shucking the material from his shoulders. Wincing as he kneaded at the tight knot that had formed in his neck from too long spent hunched over in his son's small bed. Stretching like a bear ripe from hibernation joints cracking audibly. 

His dark brows lifted in alarm as he caught his reflection in the ornate oblong mirror tucked into the corner of their bedroom. 

Sebastian had always looked like his father. Same bow to their lips, unruly chestnut hair and soft brown eyes like sodden earth after rain. He could practically divine how his features would change using the brushstrokes of the portrait of his parents that hung proudly on the stairs. 

But it was the things that went beyond the superficial that made his parents' old friends stumble on his name and acquaintances double-take in the street as if the dead still walked among them. The determined set of his jaw, the curious glint in his eye. There truly had never been any mistaking exactly who Sebastian’s father was. 

But he didn’t just look like his Dad ; he looked like a Dad.

Not that he'd ever been particularly lean . A stockiness to his frame as all Sallow men carried. Violence practically carved into his marrow. Built more for quidditch or boxing, than for scholarly pursuits he'd always been drawn to; but this was getting out of hand. 

Sebastian frowned at his reflection. Still strong in the trunk in a way that he never minded, especially not with how it elicited such sinful looks from his wife but he had become notably softer around the middle. What had once been a sparse tuft of hair on his chest he’d taken great pride as a lad, was now thick dark hair trailing down his stomach. 

It seemed as unprepared Sebastian had been, stumbling bowlegged and awkwardly into fatherhood, not having nearly enough time with his own to have much to go off; his body had settled far quicker into his new role than he had.

Scratching at the short beard he kept neatly trimmed. Well, for what could pass as neat considering his hair was unruly no matter where it grew. Sebastian twisted and turned, appraising himself from different angles.

When was the last time he'd duelled? Worked up any kind of sweat? 

Perhaps he should consider himself lucky he was in the shape he was. Carrying his children upstairs to bed and lugging stacks of heavy stacks of old manuscripts and attifacts charmed against magical interference around the Department of Mysteries hardly counted as exercise. The closest thing anyone would consider vigorous was fucking his wife. But then again holding her small frame against a wall hardly felt like work. 

He rotated his joints, and the tendons of muscle in his heavy shoulders flexed under freckled skin. An old puckered scar long faded to white across his shoulder now a mere remnant from his past life. Underneath the soft exterior of the doting father he’d become still lurked the shadow of the hellion youth he’d once been. 

Delicate hands slithered around his middle running along the breadth of him stroking at the hair on his chest. Her warm cheek came to rest, nestled between his shoulder blades. Sighing affectionately, her breath tickling his skin. Sebastian leaned into her touch, even after all these years he still felt sparks.

"If you keep scowling your face will get stuck like that,” she chided. Sebastian snorted twisting in her hold to face her. She’d loosened the soft braids she usually wore at her temples so her hair hung loose around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, crooked and his heart stuttered in an unsteady rhythm. 

“Alice, go down without any fuss?”

“Has she ever?” She quirked an eyebrow at him far more amused by their daughters' antics than cross. “Caught her trying to get into your study after I put her to bed - again. Luckily she isn’t half as stealthy as she is mischievous.”

Sebastian grinned at her, arching his eyebrows. “She gets that from you.”

“I think Scribner would have disagreed.” She said rolling her eyes. “But something tells me it's not Alice's nocturnal antics causing that face. Tell me what's wrong my love?" 

Placing a warm hand against his cheek fingers combing through the hair on his chin. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. Failing to suppress the heat he could feel rising in his cheeks most likely staining the tops of his ears. 

"Nothing, Pet. I’m uh-” he hesitated, wincing slightly. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. And is she hadn't, he was reluctant to point it out. Lest it change the way she looked at him. She was still as radiant the first time he'd laid eyes on her but Sebastian was a far cry from the roguish boy who'd made her heart race. 

He leaned heavily into her hand resting against his chin. Letting the tenderness of her touch and softness of her gaze quell the unease. “Just carrying a bit more timber than I'm used to. I hadn’t noticed how much the years had caught up to me. After two kids and all."

"You’ll always be the same stubborn and reckless boy to me," she wrapped her arms around him tighter. It was only a chaste peck but an inexplicable blush darkened her cheeks as she nibbled on the inside of her cheek contemplatively. Her hands grazed along Sebastian’s freckled shoulders, through the sparse hair on his chest nails scratching softly. "But I must admit…I rather like you like this. Broad. Manly.”

" Oh - Do you now?" he smirked. Admiring the flush that had stained her cheeks at her admission.

Seeming to take an unnatural amount of interest in the pattern of their curtains she averted her eyes blushing deeply. "Yes. I do. And don't let it go to your big head.”

Far too late for that. After all these years she should really have known better. His chest already swelling with pride a smug smile pulling at the corner of his freckled cheeks.

Tugging at the sleeve of her pale blue dress. The cotton slipped away to expose more of her skin. Sebastian snaked his hand around her waist to settle on the small of her back. Ducking his head to pepper kisses along the dip of her shoulder. 

The faint smell of mallowsweet that always clung to her hair far sweeter than any perfume; a herb balm that had soothed and tamed his stubborn heart. Heat rose where he'd exposed her as Sebastian's mouth worked its way down her neck towards her clavicle. Her fingers pressed a little harder into his flesh feeling the tight coils of muscle that still lurked underneath. 

Despite Sebastian's intention of letting his wife thoroughly enjoy the body, she found so desirable. She seemed distracted. Her breathing hitched a little as he grazed his teeth over her delicate throat. Sucking in just a way that would usually drive all the thoughts from her pretty head - that was not the case tonight.

“Besides - it's not like I look the same as I did before Alice and Sam.”

"Mmm, but watching you carry my children is one of life's greatest pleasures. If it's possible - you're more beautiful now than you've ever been.”

“Do you ever think about…”

She trailed off. Mouth opened and closed lamely as she searched for the words her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Having another one?”

The high-pitched and uncharacteristically nervous noise of agreement she emitted made Sebastian pause his efforts to adorn her shoulder with dark love bites which were now blooming like wild grapes. 

It was rare to see his wife nervous. Even rarer still for her mind to be elsewhere when it came to their marital relations. But he could understand her trepidation; it wasn’t as if either of their children had exactly been planned. 

Before either of them were born he often wondered if they should have been parents. Not a single guardian between them to cobble together any semblance of what a parent should be. A trail of lost souls he'd not been able to protect. 

Hazy memories of love weren't exactly a blueprint for success. 

So Sebastian packed those feelings away even before he'd let them fully bubble to the surface. Resigned perhaps to the fact that although she may have fallen in love with the rough-edged boy he’d been; she'd still bore witness to the worst of him. A dark unsightly stain on his soul he kept cloistered away but they both knew would never leave him. Or her.

And why would either of them want to burden a child with him as their father; or her with his last name? It did not do to dwell on something Sebastian never thought he’d be able to have.

Then one day their world shifted and as willfully unprepared as they’d been for it; so did they. 

Alice bloomed in the cracks of space in their lives they hadn’t known something had been missing. But perhaps had always left vacant and wanting for her. 

Sam, followed so shortly after. Alice - barely a year old when they’d realised three would quickly become four. 

By then, Sebastian had put to rest that gnawing anxiety that told him perhaps they should have never been parents. Fatherhood suited him. Soothed an old ache that had been throbbing since the passing of his own and now he wore it like a familiar coat. 

He allowed himself to bask in the elation of their growing family; in a way, he’d not been able to with Alice. Not only taking pride in his wife, who practically glowed more beautiful than he’d ever seen her; but pleasure in watching her stomach swell once again with his child. 

So much in fact, he lamented over the missed opportunity for what it would be like to take her with the sole intention of filling her with life. Could practically taste it every time he felt her unravelling on his cock. Dragged his feet at the apothecary when she asked him to purchase extra dandelion root for her monthly brew in the years that followed.

Already Sebastian could feel his blood rushing south at the thought. Inhaling sharply, calming his heart which was now thumping hard against his sternum as that familiar desire pooled. 

“I love our family. Alice and Sam, are plenty troublesome and we have our hands full as it is,” he began carefully.

Sebastian cupped her chin, shifting her soft gaze to his. The smile he wore, genuine if a little weak. What he said was true. Sebastian did not wish to burden her with making such a decision simply to satisfy his elicit fantasies. He would not begrudge her if she didn’t want another child after she’d given him so much - more than he’d ever let himself hope for. 

But she visibly deflated with his words. “Oh…so you wouldn't want another one?”

“No! I mean- not ‘ no’ . Merlin, it’s quite the opposite. In fact, I think I’ll always want more ,” Sebastian spluttered. Tongue tied and feeling the opportunity slipping through his fingers Sebastian took a breath to right himself. “Neither of us has much in the way of family outside of the one we made for ourselves - each child you give me is the greatest blessing I never thought I’d have. I’d love nothing more than to grow the family that we created.”

“I just want to know you're sure. You don't have to just because I want one.”

“There is nothing within my power that I would not give you. But, trust me love there are other  reasons it appeals to me.” 

“Oh?”

Hands glided down her spine grabbing the soft curve of her backside. Her eyes widened as he pulled her flush against his body where she could feel the growing bulge press against her stomach. Tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, Sebastian ducked his head to nip gently at her earlobe before he whispered.

“Getting to fuck you purely with the intention of filling you with my seed. Watching you swell with another of my children. Breeding you. ” His voice, a low rumble reverberating from deep in his chest. Domineering. Predatory. Every point his body was pressed against hers felt like a fire that ignited a desire that lay dormant inside him. Desperate to claw its way out. Claim her as his - again . "Wearing the evidence under those pretty dresses of yours for everyone to see. So they know exactly what you let me do to you. Who you belong to.”

A visible shiver ran down her spine. Goosebumps prickling across her skin at the filth of his words. Feeling pressed hard against her stomach exactly how much the idea appealed to him. 

“Sebastian-”

“Tell me you want it and it’s yours,” he murmured huskily against her neck. Nipping at that spot below her jaw he knew made her knees buckle. 

His little witch had never been the obedient sort, as wild and stubborn as a poorly bottled lightning. But after all these years together - Sebastian knew exactly which buttons to push. How to make her laugh so hard her cheeks ached from smiling; a sound so perfect it washed his worries away like a tide. The ones that made rage; burn so fiercely he was reminded she was barely a witch at all but a dragon merely playing at domesticity. 

Most favourably to Sebastian were the ones that turned every rational coherent thought in her head into a blinding fog of lust.

He trailed kisses across her skin, her pulse quickening under the tender brush of his lips. An eager whine slipped from her throat. Hips pushing against his in search of friction to soothe the heat pooling in her abdomen.

“Yes- fuck. Please, I want that. Another baby. Your baby.”

The choked sound that clawed its way out of Sebastian’s throat sounded far from anything human. Somewhere between a groan and a growl. 

Wasting not a second longer he grasped her hips lifting her swiftly as if she weighed nothing at all. Thighs wrapped tightly around his hips as she moulded into him. Heat radiated from her core barely concealed behind the thin fabric of her undergarment. 

Fingers tangling in his hair, she pulled his lips forcefully to hers. Kissing him greedily. Tongue delved between his parted lips as if he were the air she breathed. 

From the way she ground her hips insistently, his wife cared little if it drove him to distraction; she knew there was no way Sebastian would let her fall. 

Carrying her over to the bed to practically launch her down onto the mattress. Hooded eyes, devoured every inch of her husband standing above her. Her dress dishevelled had ridden up to expose the tops of her thighs which squeezed together in anticipation. Sebastian palmed his hard length through biting hard on his lip to stifle a moan.

Her nimble fingers came quickly to fumble with the buttons of her dress. Sebastian batted her hand away with a grunt to tear into them himself. His mouth trailed kisses further down her body with every inch he exposed.

Stopping as in his journey towards her core to pay particular attention to the soft curve of her belly. She whined under every press of his lips against her stomach squirming impatiently under Sebastian with the need for him to fill the womb he worshipped so reverently. 

Sebastian pulled her hips sharply towards the edge of their bed dropping to his knees between her spread legs. Folds already glistening with unrestrained desire. Sebastian ran the tip of his nose through the sparse hairs. The heat of his breath teased against her growing slick. Shivering with anticipation her hips bucked craving - no, needing Sebastian to provide relief to the ache between her legs. 

“Sebastian - please,” she whined. 

“Impatient,” he scolded. Despite his own clothed erection strained against his trousers twitching desperate to be buried inside his wife’s impossibly tight core. But to Sebastian there no more perfect sight than her laid out before him. Bare, flushed and eyes darkened with desire. A nymph from some Greek tragedy he hadn’t tamed; rather merely a disciple come to worship at her altar. “Such a good girl. Already so wet for me.”

Her fingers tangled harshly in his hair hips bucking as Sebastian at last ended her torment. Licking a broad stripe with the flat of his tongue across her weeping entrance. Her head fell back in a broken whine finally relieving her from her torture. Sebastian released a  groan of his own against her folds, lapping more needly at the growing slick. Savouring every drop she offered him. A man lost in a desert and her his bountiful oasis.

He knew her body better than he knew his own. Chasing her keening mewls a wordless plea for more, pleasure only he could offer her as he flicked and curled his tongue against the hooded bundle of nerves. Releasing his grip on her hip to slide his fingers into her tight heat. Savouring how her fluttering walls gripped him as he worked her open with every pump and curl of his fingers.

Her back arched, legs shaking the cool satin sheets scrunched in her fists as she writhed in ecstasy. Clinging desperately to them a last bastion of as she teetered on the edge of oblivion.

He chanced a glance up at her, mouth still servicing her fervently. Their eyes locked her voice caught on a silent plea for release. Sebastian sucked. Devouring her quivering clit and she broke. 

Screaming curses and praise to forgotten deities her body jerking to grind frantically against his tongue. Sebastian’s hips rutted forward into nothingness as her body clenching around his fingers as he brought her to climax. His own need growing almost unbearable as he felt her dissolved into pleasure needing to feel that pulsing release around his cock not just his fingers. 

His patience was now paper thin, he needed to be inside of her and from the way her fingers tugged at his chestnut hair impatiently as her orgasm ebbed - she seemed to agree. 

Bed springs creaked as he crawled onto the bed beside her. He slid his hands along the dip of her waist gripping her soft flesh to flip her onto her stomach. 

She peering back at him from over her shoulder. Her lips were swollen, her hair in a wild tangle but her eyes burning into him as if she could set him alight - daring him to take her as she arched her hips up and back towards Sebastian. 

Gripping her side he bared down on her. Large body resting heavily against her back she curled up into him sighing contentedly at the feeling of his weight resting against her.

How many wizards had coveted her affection since their school days? Cursed the very ground Sebastian walked on because since the day she’d become his. His cock achingly hard grinding against her arse at the mere thought of her wearing the reminder to them all exactly who she belonged to under her dress. 

He scrambled with the buttons on his breeches before pulling them off entirely cock springing free arching proudly and achingly hard. Slit glistening in anticipation that coil inside of him already tightly wound at the mere thought of filling her.

"Going to fuck even more of my kids into you," he purred low in her ear as he settled himself between her legs dragging the head of his cock through her spit-slicked folds. Their nerves practically vibrating with carnal anticipation. 

She cried out, broken and rasping as Sebastian finally pressed into her with a strong deliberate thrust. Stretching her open inch by inch groaning low, his head falling against her back when he buried himself inside her to the hilt. The sheen of sweat coating her back salty on his tongue as he mouthed brainlessly at her bare flesh. 

“Fuck,” she hissed as Sebastian began to cant his hips in deep maddening strokes. He hadn't expected such a lustful fog to overcome him. Like some primitive part of his brain had overcome him and now he was entirely consumed with the thought of her. Filling her with seed.

His eyes flicked up catching their reflection in the mirror. Sebastian groaned her name as he watched himself pounding into her relentlessly. Tiny body nestled under his own her spine curved in pleasure but her face was buried in the sheets. Stifling the delicious sounds of ecstasy she only made for him into the mattress. 

Sebastian grunted in annoyance. Snapping his hips harder she only seemed to bit down harder on the sheets.

He didn’t just want her to feel him filling her with life; he wanted her to bear witness to it.

Tucking his arm around her waist he hauled her up flush against his body. Her yelp of surprise dissolving into a moan as the new angle had her sinking deeper onto his cock. Her back pressed against his chest she rolled her hips, eyelashes fluttering as his crown teased against her sweet spot. Sebastian curled a possessive hand around her throat to keep her upright. The other kneaded her breast, rolling the pert peak between his fingertips. 

Despite the utterly filthy position in which he took her. Sebastian’s hands were gentle, large arms cradling her body. He whispered sweet reverent praise and encouragement into her ear with every roll of her as she sought her pleasure.

“Look at you,” he whispered. Pressing a kiss to her temple coaxing her to look and witness how fucking perfect she was. Her eyes cracked open, gaze settling on the mirror in the corner of the room. Sebastian's reflection grinned at her. She blushed deeply at the sight but she made no move to cover herself. Eyes devouring the sight of her bare, legs spread wide and impaled on Sebastian's cock. 

“Fucking look at you.” He punctuated the statement with a sharp buck of his hips into her cunt.  

She whined desperately with every deep maddening thrust. She leaned back further into his embrace, head tipped back in a wanton moan but she didn't tear her eyes away. As if wishing to burn this moment into her mind. Cunt fluttering greedily around his cock, coaxing more slick onto his shaft. 

“Fuck- you're taking me so well. Do you- fuck. Feel how deep I am inside you?” Sebastian groaned at the slight swell of her stomach. He released her breast hand ghosting down the planes of her stomach. “I can feel you clenching around me - fuck . Feel where I'm going to fill you. Where you'll grow our child.”

He barely recognised the cadence of his voice, low gravelly more akin to a growl than anything human. He pressed a little harder onto her stomach. Feeling the head of his cock against his palm, he groaned. Forehead fell against the crook of her neck pumping into his palm as he ground into her with deep thrusts. Gently teasing his thumb over the blunt head through her soft stomach. 

She whined readily, shivering with pleasure sinking deeper onto his cock with every needy roll of her hips. Blood pounding in his ears Sebastian could feel the pressure mounting. He released his hold on her throat, taking hold of her hips so hard he knew even if his seed did not take her skin would still wear the marks for days.

Leaning back so she could rest against him, his toes curling in the sheets as he found purchase to thrust into her frantic. Her arm wrapped around his neck keening and whimpering with every strong thrust. 

“Please Seb- fuck. I need,” she rasped. Too deliriously close to the edge to tell him what she needed. What they both craved so desperately. 

“Tell me what you want, darling,” he grunted. Peppering kisses behind her ear, along the curve of her jaw. “Do you want me to come deep inside you? Breed you? Make you mine again?”

“Yes. Gods. Yes!”

“Tell- tell me,” he grunted. Clutching her hips to pound up into her brutally. The coil inside of him tightened, feeling his release rushing in. Visions narrowing and cock twitching eagerly. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“I-I want your seed. Your baby. You. Please, Seb- fuck,” she cried out. 

Deft fingers found her clit. Still so sensitive from how he’d already made her quake. Sebastian circled the swollen nub and her head tipped back in a husky moan. Grinding her hips against him, Glistening with a thin sheen of sweat everywhere their bodies were intertwined. 

“You're going to look so perfect. So bloody beautiful carrying our child. My child.”

She gasped as that familiar feeling pooled in her core. “Fuck- Seb please. I'm close.” 

“Fuck I can feel you. So tight - around my cock. Let go for me, my love. And I will ah - for you,” Sebastian groaned into the shell of her ear. 

Despite his vision blurring as Sebastian teetered so close to the edge of nirvana, he couldn't tear his eyes from their reflection. He doubted there was a more mesmerising and all-consuming sight than watching her come completely undone. Head tipped back all words stolen by how expertly he fucked her so a tune to her body. Beads of sweat clung to every curve and dip on her. 

Shimmering. Beautiful. His .

Teasing faster circles over her still-swollen clit. Bucking into her hard and faster. Biting down on his lip so hard he tasted the metallic tang of blood on his tongue as he desperately held back his release. A final uneven snap of his hips burying his cock deep inside her climax broke. 

She cried out suddenly; a clap of thunder announcing a storm. Like the heavens split apart and she submitted to drown in the waves of her pleasure. Nails clawing against his shoulder. Cunt tightened and spasmed as she sucked him in impossibly deeper as Sebastian followed her. Pulling her hips down as her came hard. 

Her name and filthy praise erupted from his lips in a sound he could only liken to a primal whine. Spilling his seed hot and purposeful into the deepest part of her channel. Grinding against her arse, Sebastian milked every last drop from his pulsing cock. 

Willing it to take root. 

Her body slumped against him boneless but every nerve alight and still shivering from the last throws of pleasure as her orgasm ebbed. Rasping in broken pants as she tried to recapture her stolen breath.

He kissed her cheek, tender, lovingly and with as much gentleness as Sebastian could muster with how he practically rattled with how hard his heart was hammering against his ribs; he shifted strong arms guiding her onto her side. Cock still sheathed inside of her. Unwilling to remove himself from her his mind still overcome and entirely consumed with the need to fill her with life.

Sebastian pushed his release deeper inside her with shallow thrusts. She whimpered hips bucking away from the overstimulation of the motion. He peppered soft apologetic kisses across the small bruises beginning to bloom around her throat wrapping his arms around her and cradling her body to him tighter. But Sebastian held firm. Hand pressing against her stomach a silent prayer. Willing his seed to take. 

"I love you. You're going to look so beautiful. Full of my baby," he cooed, with a languid roll of his hips. Tucking her a sweaty lock of tangled hair behind her ear. She sighed, angling her face to meet his gaze. Dishevelled. Swollen lipped. Beautiful. Her soft crooked and familiar yet it still takes his breath away. 

He'd once thought the greatest thing he could do was burn the world for her. But now he knew - It was to build one. 

A life. A legacy. One that they forged and fought for together. Everything, as long as it was with her. 

Despite his efforts to keep her full of him, he could already feel it leaking out around his shaft, hot and slick, coating her thighs. The crown of his cock dragged over her sweet spot before pushing his further in. “In fact - why stop at one this time? Twins do run in my family.”

“I don't think that's how it works-” she stuttered. But her core clenched greedily around his cock. Still stiff and firmly inside of her, it twitched with approval. 

“Care to test the theory?”

#i headcannon dadbod seb so hard #daddy!seb #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x f!mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow smut

[agendabymooner]

he's her lobster ! logan s. x ofc

summary: not only was eugenia newton the biggest hater of her boyfriend logan sargeant, but she apparently has an uncanny resemblance to monica geller - and with logan's resemblance to chandler bing, the two made a real 'mondler' pair. OR just banters between the williams driver and his chaotic gf

content warning: utter nonsense tbh, banters, use of explicit language, heavy on tv show reference (friends), logan and ofc being each other's haters.

note: my brain is a bit hazy but bear with me... he looks like chandler bing. enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

tagged logansargeant

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon

alex_albon heavy on "it turns out i put my career first more than men" fr 😭 liked by newtgenie

oscarpiastri heavy on "i make jokes when i'm uncomfortable"

newtgenie that's you that's not logan

oscarpiastri right. you right.

logansargeant that's not me wtf 😭 liked by newtgenie

newtgenie that who you could have been 🥰

logansargeant ily2 ig 🙄

tagged newtgenie

liked by arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri, alex_albon

newtgenie did you just call me janice?!

logansargeant yes??? because you're annoying and i love you???

user1 that's a roundabout way to say that she's ugly lmfaooo

user2 FRIENDS REFERENCE????

newtgenie because that's what we'll only end up as if a certain florida man calls me janice one more time 😡

logansargeant actually sob 😝

user3 ok but she looks like monica geller tho 😭

user4 i could understand why you'd make this reference

user5 blud is literally chandler bing

#formula one fic #formula one imagine #formula one x oc #formula one fanfiction #f1 fic #formula one smau #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fanfiction #logan sargeant instagram au #logan sargeant social media au #logan sargeant smau #logan sargeant ig au #formula 1 instagram au #formula one au #formula one social media au #formula one instagram au #f1 instagram au #f1 ig au

[diejager]

Tied down

Cw: BDSM, smut, NSFW, rough sex, public sex? It's technically outside with screaming ppl, teasing, pet name (bunny, bun), unsafe sex, creampie.

Wc: 1.2k

Collection masterlist

You thought the ribbons that flowed behind him were simply esthetic, something that added to his character, dark and ghost-like with the constant flow even when there wasn't any wind to pick them up. His whole attire was uncanny, something about how clean he always was before and after his kills, neat and relaxed he came back, shoulders low and singing a tune under his mask. The ribbons, however, always stayed bloodied, caked with brown and black stains, ripped from getting stuck to branches and bark. Although dirtied, it added to his phantom, a dark being that stalked and blinded his time until it was the right moment.

It made you jump at the sight of him, even the small glimpses of his mask or the ribbons tied tightly to him. He was patient, always was since you first saw him through the walls of the Ormond house, and he knew what he was doing, adept and nimble; knowledgable and cunning; silent and skillful.

Yet, somehow, the thought of him using the ribbons never crossed your mind, flowing behind him on windless nights, stalking towards his prey. You were his last one, having downed Mikaela, Dwight, and Bill, all hooked and groaning in agony until their time ended. He caught you by the arm, a tight grip promising bruises the next day, and dragged you to the secluded side of the map. He pushed and kept you against the stone, stomach flushed against the rough surface with your ass grinding against his hip.

You stayed still, listening to the ruffles of clothing and a hiss-like sound from leather rubbing leather. He was taking something off from what you could hear, leisurely taking off his attire. After a few seconds, hands - his gloves were off, he threw them on the floor - ripped your arms from the stone and forcibly bending them back uncomfortably.

You groaned out his name, squirming under his unyielding grasp, shoulders pushing back to lessen the strain on your arms. With one arm steadying you, his other tied a leathery string around your forearms, cold, ripped, and scabbed: his ribbons. Your eyes widened, at the rough texture that covered the cool cloth.

"Wa-wait- Danny-!" you cried out.

The image of being tied up and left to the mercy of Ghostface felt dangerous, yet jarringly exciting. Your face felt hot, your body warm and bothered, his rough handling from the start had you rubbing your thighs, trying to ease the tingling in your groin.

"Either this or rope, bunny," his distorted voice whispered in your ear, singing a promise that would leave you more vulnerable to him.

You stilled, moaning lewdly when he ground his dented coat against your ass. He chuckled, deep and throaty at your cries, pulling back to hook a finger over your pants and push them down, admiring the wet patch on your panties with a tilted head and teasing voice.

"So wet already, and I haven't done anything yet."

Rutting into you, he watched you cover his dent - after having parted coat - slick, wetness leaking from your covered slit and soaking his stiff clothes. You looked ravishing from his view, bound and pressed down for him to use, at his complete beck and call if he wanted, but he preferred to push you enough to make you crack and comply. Your whines and whimpers, moans, and groans were all his to listen to. It made him so fuckin hard, to a point that it almost hurt to be confined inside his slacks.

He hastily unzipped, pulling the string of his boxer lower enough for his cock his spring out, slapping the coolness of his loose belts and coat. The freezing air of the forest made his cock twitch, tip angrily red and dripping precum, he was so excited that he could come at the mere sight of your squirming and whiny figure if it wouldn't make him embarrassed.

He pumped his shaft, spreading the pre over his whole length, and squeezed the base, he rolled his head back with a groan before guiding it to your covered slit. He slid over the silk, nudging at your folds and sliding to your ass. When you huffed and arched your ass towards him, he gripped your hips to still your movement, wanting to be in control - as he always did.

"You're a needy bunny, aren't you?" Danny rasped, staring down at your ass. "All right, all right, I'll fuck you deep and good. You want that, huh?"

He pulled the strap of your panties and let it snap back, your yelp sounded as good as the wet slap. He repeated it a few times, chuckling when you cried for mercy, for him to "please fuck me, Danny! Please!". He ripped it with a sharp tug, watching your silk lingerie hang from your hip as he inched closer, hot tip kissing the muscle of your opening. He thrust in with a quick jerk, groaning at the warmth and wet embrace of your cunt, head hinging back as he pulled back and slammed in roughly.

You yowled with each thrust, voice so high and breathy that he thought you'd faint; not that he'd be bothered with fucking your unconscious body. Your body bounced forward with Ghostface's strength, moans flowing through your mouth as you cried in relief.

He fucked like he killed, with passion and conviction, strongly and skillfully, he knew what to press, where to hit, and how to make you lose your mind. With a slight shift, he started pounding the sweet, spongy spot that made your mind numb. Where your hands struggled to free themselves from the leather and where your legs trashed, you froze, body rigid as you spasmed. His teasing made you so sensitive, so dumb just from the slight tilt of his curved cock to pound your g-spot, you came so quickly it was almost laughable to Ghostface if you weren't so adorable.

You hadn't even realized how soaked you made him, pants and boxer dripping with your slick and even wetter after you squirted over him. The squelch was so loud that he almost missed Mikaela's pained screech, absorbed by you.

"Shit- you're squeezing me, bun," he panted, pace becoming erratic as chased his climax.

His thrust became shallow but as deep and directed as it was from the start, shaft twitching and balls tightening. He came with bursts of cum, ropes covering your walls and flooding your womb as he groaned loudly, head bowed to your side to listen to your wailing mewls from being filled with warmth. He gave small, shallow thrusts, slow and careful with his softening dick to ease the soreness when you hissed.

He pulled away slowly, watching his cum ooze from your red, swollen folds, satisfaction brewed in his chest, seeing you fucked dumb and dripping with him. Using your fingers, he scooped up his cum and pushed it back inside, fingers knuckle deep. With a satisfied hum, he fixed his coat and belts over his pants and pulled your up so you'd look less ruffled and fucked.

"C'mon, bun, stay with me," he cooed, untying your hair and lifting you in his arms, shifting you into a more comfortable position. "The trial's over, we'll try something else next time."

Tired, you nodded groggily, brain tuning out everything but Ghostface's breathing that calmed you down.

#x reader #dbd x you #dbd x reader #dbd smut #dbd killer #dbd survivor #dbd fanfic #dbd ghostface x reader #dead by daylight ghostface #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostface

[toast-the-unknowing]

on fanfic plagiarism

Almost five years ago, in January of 2019, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "Word on the Street," had been plagiarized.

I remember that the stolen fic was posted in k-pop fandom, though not what specific band it related to -- I'm not into k-pop, or really into pop music at all.

I remember that the person who messaged me told me that they had found my fic because the plagiarist had a reputation for stealing fic, so when they'd posted a new story, this person had known to do some digging.

I don't remember what the plagiarist's username was. I remember scanning the stolen story, trying both to read every detail and to avoiding taking any of it in, because looking at that right-but-wrong, not-quite-there, uncanny-valley-ness of it made me queasy.

I remember being darkly amused that the plagiarist had cut out the reference to the main character suffering physical abuse at the hands of his father -- I guess it didn't make sense in the context of the new character. It's almost like the story wasn't written for him. It's almost like someone wrote the story about Adam Parrish, instead.

I filed an AO3 complaint, on the grounds that this was a blatant and unarguable violation of their plagiarism policy. Within twenty-four hours, they got back to me, and the story was removed.

It was a weird, uncomfortable, gross feeling, knowing someone had taken words I'd written and passed them off as their own.

But at the same time -- "Word on the Street" was a silly thing I dashed off pretty quickly, during a period of my life when I was doing a lot of writing. It hurt to have it stolen. It was a violation. But…I had other words, that were more important to me. Maybe that was a buffer.

-

Last month, about six weeks ago, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "there's talk going 'round this town," had been plagiarized.

I was, bizarrely, amused.

I was less bizarrely furious. I was understandably, relatably, I would say rationally, furious. But in a way (and as always, when I say in a way, I am calling back to the scholars of overthinkingit.com for whom in a way is meant as the thing I have just said or am about to say is false) -- in a way, I was amused.

The plagiarist clearly did a 'find and replace' on the character names, to replace Adam and Ronan's names with those of k-pop characters. They did a bad job of it, since the name "Ronan" still appears in one paragraph and the name "Parrish" still appears in two paragraphs. The fic is here, in case anyone doesn't believe me, under the name "i do(n't remember)". At first when I complained about the fic on tumblr, I didn't mention the name, or which fic they'd stolen, because I was worried about anyone…I don't know, making a scene. I've stopped caring. AO3 user springguk is bad at find and replace and they should feel bad. About their computer skills, and also about their blatant plagiarism.

springguk also did some more edits to my fic, I have to give them credit for that. I wrote "there's talk going 'round this town" within a relatively short time span, for me. I tend to either finish things within one week, or else take several months. I believe this one took about five or six weeks completely to write -- I was very inspired.

(I was inspired, specifically, by the press coverage of Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeves 'discovering' they might be 'accidentally' married. I mention that in my author's notes. springguk doesn't mention what 'inspired' them in their author's notes. I wonder how they talk about it with friends. They do, in their author's notes, include a link to their ko-fi, and a request that people buy them a coffee.)

If I'd taken longer with this fic, I might have made some edits. Even at the time, I knew I was being self-indulgent in letting the scene with my teenage female OC talk at such length with Ronan about what his non-canonical film career had meant to her, a person the audience didn't care about. But I had fun. I liked Fox. I didn't want to cut her, and what the hell, it was fanfic. I decided to self-indulge.

I was darkly amused to find that springguk did cut out the scene with Fox from their plagiarized version. Maybe springguk is a more disciplined editor than I am. Maybe springguk just didn't have a good k-pop character to map Fox onto. Maybe springguk didn't even realize that Fox was an OC. Do you know anything about the fandom you steal fics from, springguk? I can't help but wonder. Have you read The Raven Cycle? Do you care about teenage OCs who steal cars because of fake films that are clearly meant to be stand-ins for The Fast and the Furious franchise?

Maybe springguk just didn't give a fuck, because none of their heart and soul was poured into this fic. I cared too much about Fox. springguk doesn't care about a single word in the fic they published. Why would they? They didn't write it.

I'm being a little mean in naming them so many times. But I'm able to, this time, because although I filed a plagiarism complaint with AO3 six weeks ago, springguk's stolen fic "i do(n't remember)," is still available to read on AO3 to this very day. I don't have to wrack my brains to remember what their username was, or which k-pop band they recast my work with. I can just look at their fic with its 24 comments and 151 kudos. Hell, maybe that fic is even better than mine, if you don't mind that by cutting the sequence with Fox they've sacrificed a fairly substantial development in the romantic relationship, and also if you don't care that at one point the characters names switch from Jeongguk and Taehyung to Ronan and Parrish, because seriously, for fuck's sake, if you're going to steal a fic at least do a goddamn ctrl+f at the end.

I was mad. I was amused. I made a complaint that the AO3, six weeks later, has still not acted on. I mostly moved on.

-

Tonight, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now," had been plagiarized.

I wanted to vomit.

I was supposed to be playing Dungeons and Dragons online with friends tonight; I spent the entire call unable to focus on anything anyone was saying. I had to keep reminding myself that I was on camera and my face wasn't supposed to look like that.

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is the first of a series of, currently, twelve fics. skytoseungmin, the person who stole it to pass it off as their own work, knew this. Their stolen version was published as part one of a series, though they hadn't published any of the sequels. Presumably, they wanted to wait long enough to make it plausible they'd gone and written the follow ups, instead of just finding them.

skytoseungmin likely didn't know that this fic and this series are intensely personal. They didn't know that the apartment that Adam -- Seungmin, in their ill-gotten version -- lives in, that was based in part off of the apartment I lived in for a year in Pico-Robertson with talldecafcappuccino. They didn't know that the 7-Eleven Adam buys coffee at is the same one I used to tease talldecafcappuccino for buying coffee at. They didn't know that the strip club where Adam and Ronan have their humorously ill-timed romantic revelation outside of, that was the strip club I used to use as a landmark when giving people directions for how to navigate the confusing as fuck freeway exit I lived near, which once caused me to accidentally tell my highly Catholic parents "just go past the strip club and you're good!"

skytoseungmin didn't know that the apartment Adam -- sorry, Seungmin, thoroughly, they were better with find and replace than springguk -- lived in, was also based off of my ex's apartment in Palms, where I as the mere visiting girlfriend was never allowed to park in the parking lot. Where I would sometimes have to spend twenty or thirty minutes circling the neighborhood before I could find parking, often a walk of several minutes away. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when Ronan's car get towed from a McDonald's parking lot, that that was a specific McDonald's on Venice Boulevards, the same one my ex's asshole roommate used to just roll his eyes and say that I should park at. skytoseungmin doesn't know that I once wished passionately that I had just parked in that McDonald's parking lot and risked getting towed, on the occasion that a man followed me several unlit blocks from my car. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when I talk about how helping someone park is the truest love language there is in Los Angeles, that that was what I meant. Has skytoseungmin ever had to circle to half an hour to find parking in Los Angeles? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone enough to do that, instead of saying, fuck it, they can come to me or we're breaking up? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone in Los Angeles enough, to do as my ex did, and come running as fast as humanly possibly when their girlfriend called them whispering and crying on the phone, someone's following me, please, I'm scared, I wish I just parked at the McDonald's?

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is a very personal fic.

It isn't half as personal as some of the fics that come after.

skytoseungmin marked their plagiarized version of the fic as part one of a series. Were they planning on stealing part two, where I, through an alternate universe characterization of Ronan Lynch, dig into my experience of grief and trauma surrounding my grandmother's dementia? Were they planning on stealing any of the explicit fics, where I play with kink and desire in ways I haven't even exposed to my actual sexual partners, but where I felt able to through the guise of fandom? What else was skytoseungmin planning on stealing, with charming little author's notes apologizing for how they missed the fandom-relevant date they were shooting for, because they were so busy with exams, tee-hee! Why the excuses, skytoseungmin? how long does it take you to ctrl+f, even if you are more thorough about it than springguk?

If I seem too accusatory and mean-spirited toward skytoseungmin, well, the LA verse is a very personal fic.

And it's also, it turns out, only one of eight different fics that they stole from me.

I didn't even notice at first, to be honest. I was too stunned. But my friend Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went to my defense and clicked through to the author's page, while I was still reeling at the horrible possibilities of part one of a series. It turned out, of eight fics on skytoseungmin's author's page…I had written every single one of them.

Some were short and pretty lighthearted, things I hadn't had to invest too much of myself into -- like I said, sometimes, I can write a fic in under a week.

Other things…

They stole the space western AU.

I don't think I can articulate to any human being how much that hurt me, to look at it, to see.

I wrote that as a thank you gift for someone who donated to Fandom Trumps Hate.

I spent nearly two years of my life on it -- two years during which, because of mental health issues and life situation changes, my words per year dropped precipitously. I still haven't recovered. I still think of what a failure I am for not writing more, currently, actively, and I remember how the space western AU was both a symptom of that and a defiance of it: yes, writing has become fucking hard, fucking NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE, but I'm still doing it, goddamn it, you can't stop me, even if all I produce is the tiniest trickle of words a month. it can still add up, somehow, if we just keep TRYING.

To see the space western AU, casually nestled amongst a half dozen other fics that were all apparently casually dashed off in the same month…I know it was theft, I know it was a lie, but it still felt like a slap in the face, why can't you write this fast?

Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went on a campaign of commenting on all of skytoseungmin's (my) fics, and I am so thankful. The k-pop fans who heard Jessie have been reaching out, to her, to me, to each other on Twitter, and I am so thankful for them too. skytoseungmin has deleted all of their (my) fics on AO3, and their entire AO3 account, and their entire twitter, apparently. Maybe they were hoping to get enough clicks to parlay them into some kind of book deal, and they'd now rather give up what was a low investment effort on their part than be associated with accusation of plagiarism.

I suppose they can always start over with a new user name and someone else's fics if they really want to.

I suppose they can always start over with a new username and my fics, if they really want to.

And after all, AO3 has still not reached out to me about springguk, and "i do(n't remember)" is still sitting there. Maybe springguk is also going for a book deal. Who knows?

Why complain about any of it?

In a way* (and remember what "in a way" means), isn't it a compliment, if someone loves the words I wrote, even if they don't know it was me that wrote them? toast-the-unknowing and shinealightonme, if they're the same name (and they are), then why not springguk or skytoseungmin, too?

Am I making too big of a deal out of this? Does everyone just have their work stolen from them, all of the time? Is that simply the cost of doing business in an era and an ecosystem where we all can copy and paste twenty-four thousand words with greater ease than our ancestors could transcribe a single phrase? Are more prolific, more famous, more successful fan authors looking at my piteous cries and thinking, bitch, you've only been ripped off by k-pop fans ten times, come back when you have real problems?

And yet in a month, a year, a whole life phase of not being able to write as much as I would like to, because of my health, because of my work, to have someone else just casually pass off the words I have managed to eke out, as though they have no value, as though it were no more than photo copying a shitty flier to stick under a windshield wiper…

I can't imagine springguk or skytoseungmin give a shit how I feel about any of this. At best, they roll their eyes; at worst they laugh to know they hurt me -- and what's the difference between the two? I'll never know either way.

I know that some of the people they duped do care, and are also upset. That helps. And also, it doesn't help.

I just fucking hate all of this, and if all I have are words, and if my words are valuable enough for someone to steal, then here, here are enough of them to choke on. I know I did.

#long post #fandom #plagiarism #that whole plagiarism thing

[yanderes-galore]

Hello can I request a yandere concept between ennard (hope I spelled it right) with a reader who finds out the truth about them that they aren’t actually Micheal? It can be platonic or romantic I’m not good picking ( I hope you have a nice day btw!)

Sure! So sorry for the long wait, I hope it was worth it :(

Read this as a supplementary concept to this one

Yandere! Ennard with Darling realizing they aren't Michael

Supplementary Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Body horror, Disturbing descriptions, Clingy behavior, Isolation, Implied kidnapping, Blood, Vomit, Forced companionship.

Let's be honest, at a certain point you can tell when Michael isn't Michael.

As his friend, you know him.

You've known his trauma and might have even been a childhood friend.

So when he disappears for a few days... and returns acting strange... you originally think maybe he's just sick or upset.

He doesn't seem to remember much about you... and while he looks like Michael for the most part...

It all feels too uncanny.

There's various issues going on that's described in the previous concept.

Multiple personalities, twitching, odd smells, purple skin, glowing eyes, mechanical whirring....

Ennard is unable to replicate Michael completely.

There's always something off.

It doesn't help that Ennard becomes obsessed... often stalking and visiting you in their tattered disguise.

Honestly, it won't take you long before you learn the truth.

You can figure it out yourself.

At first you had just been keeping an eye on Michael to make sure he was okay after his absence.

But now... as you notice the smell and uncanny nature... there's just no hiding it.

Ennard is aware of their time limit.

They just thought they'd have more time.

However, Ennard nearly freezes when you pull them aside.

They see the concern in your eyes, along with the fear when you're met with a glowing gaze.

"Michael... what's wrong?"

Ennard struggles with a response, doing their best to replicate Michael's speech once again.

"Nothing's wrong...?"

"Don't you dare lie to me!"

Ennard pauses at your sudden... assertive tone.

If they could sweat... they would.

"What do you mean?"

"You never went to the hospital to get checked, you don't seem right... and that smell! You smell like a... corpse."

Ennard twitches, making you jump a bit.

Corpse... you poor thing, too smart for your own good.

"... we thought we could enjoy you a little bit longer..."

"Michael" murmurs, looking saddened.

"We? What do you mean 'We'?"

"We aren't Michael... but we wish we were so we could stay."

Mechanical whirring echoes in the room as you notice Michael's purple skin tear.

You back up, nausea setting in as the smell gets worse.

Sickening snaps and rips echo in the room... blood pooling down and staining the... thing.

The sight makes you lurch over and vomit, the stress and smell squeezing your stomach in an uncomfortable vice.

Like some sort of stomach churning alien... Ennard emerges from the skin of your friend.

You nearly lose your stomach again as the mechanical beast stumbles forward... an amalgamated circus clown of robotic parts.

"We don't want to say goodbye..."

The robot murmurs sadly, stepping forward as you scramble to stay back.

"Maybe we don't have to...! Maybe you can stay...."

You go to try and leave, only for the mangle of parts to pounce.

Wires dig into your skin like claws... situating you in place like a trap.

Ennard's many mechanical eyes stare down at you.

They take in your scared expression and giggle.

"You're our friend now... we're so much better than Michael."

The robot coos towards you, grip tight and unrelenting.

"We'll be your friend forever... you just have to come with us."

You struggle the best you can, but the wires dig too deep.

"Your fear is funny... but don't be scared...."

You're walked towards the backdoor of your home, the robot giggling.

"We'll take you away... so It's just us and you! If you fight us..."

The robot hisses... turning you so you stare at their bloody face plates.

"We have other ways of keeping you with us forever..."

Your mind flashes to thoughts of Michael... and you learn it's better if you cooperate.

#yandere five nights at freddys #yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf sister location #yandere ennard

[mochalate]

"no body, no crime" ; f!reader/osamu miya Osamu has heard people say it's not the dark itself that anyone's scared of, it's what could be waiting inside it. He thinks that what all fear boils down to, ultimately — exposure to the unknown. (Osamu has never been afraid of the dark, but now he sees it in your eyes.)

w/c: 1.6k ; fluff angst idk, vibes c/w: involuntary unaliving (you and Osamu are fine, dw), abusive relationship (ditto) a/n: just a little break from the two (TWO!! What was I thinking!) longfics I'm outlining/writing. the banner doesn't match the vibe of the fic tbh, but I just love how it came out lol, look how cute the little skull is

The lightbulb dims and flickers. 

Onigiri Miya’s kitchen is plunged into a strange, incandescent twilight; and Osamu pauses mid-step, despite the heavy stack of freshly washed plates in his arms. 

He’s never been scared of the dark. But there’s something unsettling about the way the space is transformed so easily; how this blurring of the line between light and shadow makes everything that had been familiar not a second ago, seem uncanny. 

Osamu sees you look up from the sink you’re cleaning, the motion made staccato by the flickering bulb. 

“We really need to replace that thing,” you huff, face obscured by the shadows. “It’s creepy.”

You’re silhouetted against the window above the sink; looking out on the narrow, deserted street behind the restaurant— more a glorified alley than not. It’s dark out, past eleven. The glow from the closest streetlight barely reaches.

“Ya don’t need to be scared when I’m here,” Osamu says with a grin, as he moves towards the rack. “Gonna protect you from the ghosts an’ all.”

The bulb stabilises, and now he has a clear view of the way you roll your eyes at him. “Oh, so our restaurant is haunted now?”

The plates clink as Osamu puts them away, louder than usual in the silence. “I’ve got a Bluebeard type operation going on here, ya see. Really think you’re my first girlfriend?”

You laugh as you return your attention to the sink. “Wow, shame you didn’t open with that line on the first date.” The steel wool makes harsh, scraping squeals as you scrub. “Nothing like reminding a girl her date could be a murderer. Makes everything a little more exciting.”

“Noted for my next victim,” he concedes. “And I’ll order a new bulb when we get home. Didn’t think it was makin’ ya that uncomfortable.”

You smile gratefully at him over your shoulder as you turn on the faucet and give the sink a final rinse. “We need some new knives too. Those kids you were training for the part time work really wore out the ones we have now.”

Osamu nods. “You okay to finish up and meet me outside? I’ll start pullin’ down the shutters.”

You agree, just like you always do.

Emi would fit right in with those ghosts that (did not) haunt Onigiri Miya.

You’re sitting with her at the only occupied table. There’s a light rain tonight, and the raindrops pattering against the windows drown out what little conversation he would have been able to hear from the counter.

She’s a wisp of a woman, huddled under a mud-coloured cardigan that blends into the restaurant’s wood panelling. She sits incredibly still. Her long, dark hair hangs loose around a pale and unmemorable face. Barely there. Almost a trick of the light.

Osamu watches as you take her hand, telling her something urgently. She never raises her eyes from her lap. Her shoulders are hunched, but her face is impassive. 

He wonders what she’s thinking.

“Who’s Sadako over there?” Atsumu asks, reaching for another rice ball.

Osamu slaps his hand away. “Are ya paying for any of that? This ain’t a soup kitchen. And lord, yer rude.”

Atsumu withdraws sulkily. “Stingy.” 

It’s easy to tell what Atsumu’s thinking. He says everything that crosses his mind; but even when he doesn’t, it’s written all over his face. Growing up with him, Osamu had to learn that people could lie; and lie well.

That woman looks pitiful, is what Atsumu is thinking right now, glancing over his shoulder with furrowed brows. Is she okay?

“That’s her friend,” Osamu says. “From college. Emi.”

“Yeah? What’s her problem?”

“Shitty boyfriend.”

“I thought you were dating—”

Osamu smacks him upside the head. 

The new light bulbs come in. Osamu replaces the one in the kitchen, but it still flickers. 

He expects you to comment, make a joke about ghosts; but you just keep scrubbing the sink. You haven’t said much at all, today. 

The steel wool screams. Osamu’s worried you’ll cut through your gloves. 

“Hey,” he says, because he’s not sure what else he can say, “Easy.”

You start, as if jerked out of a trance. “Sorry.”

The silence after, where you stand with your head hanging over the sink, too far away for him to touch, is suffocating and cavernous all at once. He’s afraid to say the wrong thing, and having to watch it echo and bounce, amplifying itself into something grotesque.

“Emi will get justice. They’ll find out who did it.”

You turn on him so suddenly, so violently, that he instinctively takes a step back; even though you’re half his size. 

“I know who did it, it was him,” you spit, face venomous and unfamiliar. “If the police would just listen to me and Emi’s sister—”

“He has an alibi,” Osamu reminds you gently. “There’s no proof.”

You blink, and seem to deflate. “Right, no proof. The police can’t do anything.” You chew on your thumbnail as you mumble, speaking more to yourself than to him, the rest of your fingers curled in a fist.

Your anger seems to have evaporated in an instant, quick as the flickering light. You’re you again. At least, that’s what he wants to believe.

He needs to fix that light. It’s making you look damn scary.

Emi’s sister comes by to see you a lot, after they find the body. Osamu’s not sure what you speak to her about. He’s also not sure why he feels like he shouldn’t ask.

It’s been gnawing at him, lately. This feeling of not sure, not knowing. It's always present, always sapping at his strength. It’s the real ghost in Onigiri Miya, only he’s not sure who it’s haunting— him, or you. 

You seem different. He finds himself watching you from a distance, trying to understand what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. It used to be easy; a language he was fluent in. 

Now, his tongue feels rusty. He can never find the words that feel right.

You don’t speak as much as you did before, either. The silence after closing used to be warm and comfortable, the time he got to spend with you at the end of a bustling day. But now it isn’t calming. It’s tense, as if he’s constantly waiting for something to explosively fill it in.

There’s just you.

“Osamu, what time is it?” you ask, stripping off your gloves. “Could you check my phone? It’s right next to you.”

He looks at you curiously. You usually left it out front with his, charging under the register. Why the change? He can’t bring himself to ask.

“Osamu.” Your voice is stretched taut.

He swallows and hastily taps at your screen. “Ten.” It’s later than he expected.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “Is it okay with you if I leave a little early? Emi’s sister invited me to dinner. I forgot to tell you. It’s at eleven. I want to go home and get ready.”

The photographs the detectives showed you at the restaurant last week flash through his mind. He’d wanted to pummel the man for upsetting you that much. “I don’t want you walkin’ alone—”

“I’ll be fine. It’s only ten.”

Osamu notices you don’t wait for him to agree as you gather your things into your purse. 

Emi’s boyfriend is missing. 

Osamu doesn’t tell the police the knives they’re taking away are almost brand new. 

He doesn’t tell them that you took the old ones to the recycling centre two weeks ago.

He tells them you left the restaurant at ten, and that it was eleven thirty when he finished; a little later than usual, but that was to be expected— he didn’t have your help, after all.

He doesn’t tell them it should have been well past midnight.

You don’t say anything at all, merely watching the detective as you wash out the splattered soy stains on a napkin a clumsy customer had been using. The water runs brown.

He can't get Atsumu's words out of his head.

‘Is everything alright between you two?’

Osamu is watching you clean the sink again. He should be mopping the floor tonight, but he finds himself rooted to the spot.

‘Sorry, I don't mean to be nosy.”

You turn on the faucet, washing away the soap with a face that’s far too serious for what you’re doing.

‘She just looks like there’s something on her mind lately.’

Did you? Osamu doesn’t know anymore. When did you start feeling like a stranger?

He doesn’t want it to be like this. “I haven’t seen Emi’s sister around—” he starts.

“We decided to stop seeing each other,” you reply, never turning back. “Too painful. For both of us.”

You never told him that. He tries to convince himself it’s only because he didn’t ask, but he never had to, before. Osamu realises he doesn’t even know the sister’s name. 

The faucet shuts off, but you just stand there, palms resting on the edge of the sink, head hanging over it. Despite everything, his heart wrenches. When he reaches out to touch your shoulder, you don’t tense like he’d been expecting— like he’d been afraid of.

No, you lean into his touch; and he finds the courage to gently pull you back, turn you to face him. You look at him, really look, for the first time in days. Osamu can’t imagine how he could think your face would ever be unfamiliar to him.

The moment is perfect. He could pretend everything is fine now, he thinks. It wouldn’t even be that hard. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask you to meet him outside, while he gets started on the shutters.

He doesn’t know why he says, “Is there something… I should know?” 

Something changes.

Your mouth is a straight line. Neutral. 

Impassive. 

Just like Emi.

The light bulb flickers.

please like/reblog/reply if you enjoyed :) [my other fics]

#osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #my fic

[ickadori]

It’s 2:58 am where I am but imagine Poly!Gojo after finding out he actually did love reader getting jealous whenever the reader pays attention to literally anything else. Reader sitting there confused as hell, and mildly uncomfortable as gojo tries to pry their attention away like he didn’t leave them for dead when they were kidnapped.

cws for yandere gojo vibes and reader wearing a skirt.

And you are uncomfortable - this sudden onslaught of…possessiveness seems entirely out of character for him. He had been so free and careless when it came to you before, hardly batting an eye when someone chatted you up in public, never looking twice when you left the house in an outfit a bit too risqué with your friends, and never even so much as frowning when you talked about your male friends and coworkers with a bit too much enthusiasm.

You had never seen him jealous, angry, territorial, and you thought you had hit the jackpot in the boyfriends department - two men who completely rejected the male toxicity that some of your friends had to deal with.

But now…now Gojo was different. He was stifling, suffocating, always leering over your shoulder and checking behind you. Suddenly, he was looking over your outfits, tugging at your skirts and complaining about how short they were, how your ass was practically hanging out, how men wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes, maybe even their hands, off of you. You told him every time, “What do you care? You wanted me dead, remember?”, and every time he’d sigh and complain about you bringing up the past.

Whenever you happened to be approached in public by some man who was friendly enough, Gojo would somehow make an entrance (his ability to sense these things were uncanny - or perhaps he was just always lurking, watching) and drape himself over your shoulders as he stared the man down, those bright eyes of his, which had been entrancing once upon a time, now making you want to shrivel up and never look at him again.

Whenever you’re out with your friends, your phone is constantly pinging with texts. You had blocked him before, but had quickly learned that flat out ignoring Gojo would result in him resorting to more…desperate measures.

You could only avoid his texts for so long before he’d start calling, and unless you wanted him making a surprise appearance, it was better to answer and humor him for a few moments. He didn’t usually hold you for long, unless Getou wasn’t around (which was rare), and you could get away with a few yeah’s and mhm’s thrown in, unless it was a night where he wanting a bit more.

In the rare moments where you can overlook the past to be around Getou - because he wasn’t really the one to blame, was he? He loved you, and he still does, as he so often tells you, Gojo had been the one to mess up, so you couldn’t punish him as well, right? - Gojo always rears his head up, smile on his face and something shining in his eyes before he’s covering them up with a pair of dark shades.

He’s putting himself down between the two of you, arm curling around your waist and head resting on your shoulder as if you two have been doing this for weeks, years—and he has, with Getou, while you had sat off to the side, just to happy to have been there.

You try to keep up the conversation with Getou, but Gojo is always butting in, trying to steer the conversation into the direction he wants it to go in. When that doesn’t work, he starts touching you; nuzzling his nose against your neck, pulling on strands of hair, intertwining his fingers with yours, blowing in your ear and cackling when you flinch away with a scowl.

Whenever he’s around, his attention is always on you, something that you’ve never experienced before, and you can’t say that you like it—maybe that’s what the three of you worked alright before, his encompassing love and everything that came with it -the obsessiveness, the clinginess, his overwhelming presence- was reserved for Getou (God, how could he stand it?) while you got nothing. But now…now it was split between the two of you, and you still found it to be entirely too much.

He was entirely too much.

And you don’t think that was going to change any time soon.

#++ ss poly

[what-the-stories-have-foretold]

Twighlight Shine - Lycoris radiata

Blade x reader

Navi.

Warnings: subconscious yearning?

Note: this has been in my drafts for a while

Wordcount: ~700

He left a trail of red behind him. When you first saw him, you believed it to be the last time. The flowers he left in his wake a tell tale sign of a soul both lost and doomed. And yet, here he was, very clearly alive, albeit a little quiet.

Disconcertingly so, if you were being quite honest. He stared right at you too and you couldn't help but shift in your seat.

"You're uncomfortable." He stated the obvious in a deadpan voice. However, the way he laid his head to the side reminded you of a confused dog.

"Ah-" you bit your lip to suppress a needlessly hasty explanation.

"Hm?" He furrowed his eyebrows as he let out the sound.

"It's just," you smiled nervously, "I've seen you before. That's all."

He hummed in understanding. "And?"

"I, well," you broke off. "Your flowers are pretty," you murmured then, finally gaining the courage to tell him.

His eyes widened.

"What flowers?"

Now, it was your turn to lay your head to the side. He couldn't help but liken you to a puppy. Though a puppy seldom smiles as beautiful as you did in that moment. Then again, he wasn't quite sure when he last had seen a puppy.

"What do you mean?" You let out a breathless laugh. He flinched at the sound. "Lycoris radiata. They bloom where you go. Have you not noticed?"

He shook his head.

"Only death remains where I tread."

Your smile disappeared and he realised that somewhere deep within his chest he longed to see it again.

"I know. But I'm not sure if it's their death that follows you."

That brought a smile to his face.

"Really?" Your breath hitched when you saw the pure happiness in his eyes. "I hope you are right."

You looked to be his reaper. The way you seemed to follow him wherever he went may have been uncanny to some, though, to him you were the comfort one seeks in bed with one's love.

He thought your beauty a fleeting wind cutting through hearts to let them wither in dust. Your eyes held warmth so dear to him, they might set him aflame eternally.

Your touch, however, he thought would be his undoing, if ever you should deem the time to be right

It was in a lonely world he met you again. Snow crunched beneath your feet, the setting sun the background to your portrait.

"It´s been a while."

You turned, surprised, but then your lips spread into the sweetest of smiles at the sight of him.

"How have you been?" You walked towards him.

"How are the flowers?" he asked instead.

You hummed, and he watched you take a few steps around him.

"They are as vibrant as ever," you told him, finally looking up again.

He grunted.

"What are you doing here?"

You laughed.

"And you?"

Many seasons pass before an immortal is deemed ready for sleep. He did not at first notice your unchanging body. Your eyes always more experienced, more mature, than the last time, only one night in his bed did he realise that fifty years had passed since your first meeting. And yet, your steps were as youthful as ever.

Jing Yuan would certainly adore you, but the thought pierced through his heart, though he did not understand why.

He saw you again in a bamboo forest, waiting for him. Your hand reached out to him; however, you hesitated and so he did not take it. He sat down and together you watched the rise and descend of the golden sun.

He did not know you, yet he couldn´t help but want to. Once, he had dreamed of your lips laid softly on his eyes, tickling his lashes. He had awoken with terror striking his heart.

He had even thought of the feeling of your hair between his fingers. Only rarely did he think of your fingers on his skin. It would make him shudder in distaste every time - this truest of impossibilities.

Still, your touch he thought would be his undoing, if ever you should dare.

#blade x reader #hsr blade #yingxing x reader #ren x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #el 🌺 #what-the-stories-have-foretold

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard - Chapter 2: Seen

cw: dark themes, dubcon/noncon, *read at your own discretion*

word count: 2.7k

[<<< chapter 1]

The weeks had been exhausting, to say the least.

You were used to being pulled in a hundred directions everyday, used to being the face for the kingdom, put on show like a prize horse in your fanciest dresses and most dazzling jewels.

But, all you could think when you see your reflection is how heavy they feel; the faceted rubies and diamonds are just pretty chains to you, the uncomfortable whale-bone corset around your waist is a cage, the pounds and pounds of bright velvet and silks weigh you down, making your urge to flee a vain one.

I would never get far.. Though, if I jumped into the pond, I doubt they would ever be able to lift me out in time- would they say it was a tragic accident?

“My Queen.”

The brassy voice startles you from your own thoughts, your eyes meeting warm copper in the mirror image. They aren’t concerned, not really; if anything, you think you see the faintest hint of frustration in his shadowed expression,

“The King waits..”

Oh, right. You were still sat at your vanity, the boar-bristle brush still clutched between your fingers, your long waves hanging freely over your shoulder and back, body only covered in a flowing, white nightgown. And very suddenly, you’re too aware of just how exposed you are in your guard’s presence, too aware of how warm his gaze feels lingering on your skin before he looks away just as quickly.

“Thank you, Ser Simon..” You let your head fall forward, your hair covering the bloom of red that’s settled over your cheeks.

He’s been an attentive guard in his short tenure with you, and at times, you’ve found it quite eerie, the silent way he moves, the way his eyes track everything around you, how his mind and his senses could possibly be so intensely focused on everything all at once.

But, what unsettles you the most is how seen you feel.

The knight has this uncanny ability to read you, as if he were fluent in your body language, in every tiny expression that might possibly flash across your features at any given time. Such as when he sees the way your eyelids settle low over your eyes when you’ve grown weary of a particular conversation, or the way you clench and unclench your fingers when you become restless, the way your jaw flexes when you’re angry-

He’s quickly picked up on every little thing, and you’re still not sure if your find it annoying or are grateful for it,

“Elia?” You call for the young handmaid, her slight figure approaching quickly as Simon’s retreats, “If you’ll just set out my things, you’re free to enjoy the rest of your night.”

After your nights with the King, you preferred the comfort of solitude, preferred to take care of yourself afterward. And by now, it is just as much a part of this primal ritual as the act itself, and the more distant part of you almost looked forward to it- to the after- when you get to be alone.

Because you so rarely ever get to be thoroughly alone..

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

She goes about setting out the small basket of certain items you usually need to get through these nights, a vile of purified olive oil, fresh aloe vera and witch hazel for the times your King might have had a rough day beforehand- clean cloths, et cetera-

“Thank you.” You nod at Elia, giving her a soft smile before looking toward your guard to give him the same gesture; you were as ready as you could be, no sense in putting it off any longer.

As soon as your chambers door is pulled open, His Majesty himself sweeps in- and you just know he’s in a mood-

“Husband.. You look well.”

You notice the door hasn’t closed yet, looking beyond your husband’s slightly smaller frame to see Simon looking back at you- and you realize this is the first time he has been present for these nights, and the look in his eye is full of something..

He can’t possibly look angry, can he? No.. that’s absurd-

You give a small nod, watching how he regards you for a moment longer before returning the movement and closing the doors behind him.

Looking back at your King, it’s all too easy to forget that he’s a handsome man, with his sweeping dark hair and lean muscular build; but there’s something about the ice in his blue eyes that has always made you feel cold in his presence. Even when he steps closer, wide palms resting on your cheek and hip, you don’t really feel the heat of his touch, your body knows what’s coming, but, even so, it fails to find arousal.

“Ah, my pet.. beautiful as ever.”

You’re not sure ‘hate’ is the right word to describe his little name for you, because it doesn’t feel endearing or sweet in the slightest, the way he says it is demeaning and possessive. Like he wants to reiterate and reaffirm that you really are nothing more than bitch in heat for him- but that’s fine, you don’t really think you could handle it if he actually wanted to spend more time with you.

These few times themselves were hard enough to get through; and in the years since the first time he bedded you, you’ve been studious in learning how to work him up to get it over with sooner, rather than later-

“My King..” You drawl, reaching for the leather ties on his trousers, “How I’ve missed you.”

He pushes you down to your knees slowly, eyes never leaving your face, “Hmm.. What have you missed, sweet pet?”

His length falls into your hand easily, already fattening with need, and you’ve never seen anyone other than him like this, so you suppose he’s large- he fits in your palm nicely, your fingers wrapping around his shaft,

“This, my love..”

You look up at him with wide eyes, and watch his head roll back the moment the soft flesh of his tip slides through your lips-

This is how it always starts, and for all you know, this is really all there is to it. Because once you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, and his grip on your hair tightens painfully, you know it will be over soon.

Thank the fucking gods above.

Tugging you up and over toward the sprawling bed, he turns you, watching as you settle on your knees before him, the nightgown falling up your torso, ass in the air, just as he prefers.

Your back arches for his touch, and you bite into your bottom lip as he pushes into your heat- it’s tight and uncomfortable, but that never stops him, he simply leans down to grab the glass of oil before continuing at a brutal pace.

There are no noises made other than the lewd, rhythmic smack of skin against skin, and you’re not sure if it’s seconds or minutes before his breaths grow heavy, his grip becoming a bruising hold on your hips until he slams into you one final time- the familiar, slightly nauseating, warmth pulsing deep in your core as he fills you yet again.

And is it horrible that you now truly hope it takes?

Not because you want to give the wretched man a child, an heir, or that you want to see your belly grow distended and your tits swell into nothing more than a cow’s udder for his helpless babe; but because if it takes, that means you’ll be free of your wifely duties to him for a blissful nine months-

His hand comes down harshly on your bare buttcheek, the sharp pain causing you to gasp out a pitiful sound, followed by a nasally chuckle as he pulls out of your channel without ceremony- surely enjoying the way his spend dribbles down between your thighs as he does,

“How do you like your new guard? Quite the interesting choice you made.”

Yanking at your garments, you stand along with him, not bothering to meet his eyes as you speak,

“He’s fit in well. A proper shadow, as he should be, no?”

There’s a noncommittal sort of grunt made, the sound of leather straining as he ties the straps at his waist before stepping closer.

And what he does next, you really don’t know if he does it because he feels something, no, certainly not- or if he does it because he thinks it’s what you want, which you do not- but he leans down to take your lips. It’s always a harsh and clashing kiss, over just as quickly as the rest of it,

“He’s a protective shadow, isn’t he?”

A flare of anger courses through you at the sly and prodding comment, and it takes more than a deep breath to settle the surge of violence that burns through your gut.

But, your mouth has always seemed to move faster than your brain, unfortunately,

“Well that’s his job, isn’t it?” You shoot back, fingers tangled in your own hair as you twist it into a loose braid, “Pray tell, are you planning to kill this one, too, husband? A warning would be-”

Before you can properly react, a hot, searing pain explodes across your cheek- the force of his back handed slap rattles through your head, and a small whimper is all you give him before biting your tongue and casting your eyes down to the floor.

“You’d do well to mind that smart mouth of yours, wife. Maybe you should be focused on providing my kingdom an heir instead of your witty remarks..” His voice drops into a mocking tone as you flinch away from his touch, “You’ll do that for me, won’t you, pet?”

There’s a crack in the floor that consumes all your attention, but you still nod sweetly, “Of course, Sire.”

Too-wet lips push against your hairline, his palm settled at the nape of your neck, “Good girl..”

Praise has never felt so degrading than when it comes from him. It makes you want to crawl into yourself, hide away from the world-

Fuck, how did you ever get here. How could this possibly be your life? You remember the stories told to you as a little girl, practically memorized them- and this, these horrors were never written into your tales.

Or, perhaps, they were just conveniently left out..

Because you were so sure then, so sure if there was true love in this world, that if anyone would find it, it must be you, right? You had been betrothed to the King since you were just a babe, a perfect little girl born to unite your kingdoms in peace and prosperity-

Ha.. and look at you, now. Poor little Queen.. how foolish I was-

“Your Grace.”

Damn it…

You look towards the door, seeing the black clad figure blocking out nearly the entire width; and it’s only when he sees your face head on, that his body flinches forward- eyes widening behind the sharp angles of his helm.

Clearing your throat, you turn away from him, waving your hand, “I’m tired. And I’m sure your relief will be here soon, just go, Ser. I relieve you in his stead.”

“You’re bleedin’..”

His voice holds none of the usual harshness this time, and it’s like his words turn on the part of your brain that registers pain- hissing when your fingers graze over the deep split at the corner of your mouth.

There’s crimson on the very tip of your finger when you pull away, and the color seems too bright, too foreign in your eyes; the King had never struck you before, yet he managed to draw blood the very first time.

Was I really so weak, and simply never knew it?

A piece of cloth replaces where your fingers had been, and your next breath catches in the back of your throat from the unexpected contact, the surprising gentility in his touch. He’s close now, closer than he’s ever dared come- and you know you should be disgusted at his blatant lack of decorum, you should reprimand him and command him to leave; but, you don’t.

Instead, your eyes travel slowly, up and up the breadth of his armored chest and neck, until finally, you meet his eyes. They’re steady on your lips at first, but like every time before, they find yours quickly- his gaze just as intense as ever.

Gods, has he moved closer?

He’s close enough you can smell him now, his rich scent overwhelming you with each warm breath he exhales and you inhale. He smells like vetiver and steel, warm and cold, like the first frost of winter, and the first cup of spiced wine in the fall-

“Shall I call for your handmaid, My Queen?”

My Queen.. My Queen- it plays over and over in my head, always and only ever in his honeyed voice.. I hate it- no, I don’t.. but shouldn’t I?

It’s just.. He does not say it like the others- he doesn’t say it just out of respect and title, no- gods, it’s like he’s praying when he speaks those two measly words. There is devoutness in his tone and reverie in his gaze- But, that can’t be right. You are just upset right now, reeling from the night, from the week prior, and the weeks before that.

You’re simply imagining these things, giving importance where none is due. You just need to rest-

Tired, yes. That’s all.

“No..” You don’t mean to whisper, but his proximity steals your voice, “I’m fine.. Please- Go.”

Your neck is still craned looking up at him, your lips parted as you struggle to control your breaths, and maybe it’s the stupidest thing you could do, but you find yourself unable to stop. You let your fingers wrap over his gauntlet, not really pulling him away, but hoping he does it on his own- because you don’t think you could, you don’t think you really want to.

“Please..” You beg again, even quieter than before.

Simon gives a small sigh, his head tilting, eyes searching your face again- though, for what, you can’t be sure. But, after a slow blink, he takes one step back, then another, until he’s at your chamber’s door- and you’re forced to realize how painfully cold you feel in his absence.

“Sleep well, My Queen.”

Your knees buckle before the latch is even properly closed, the stone floor unforgiving as you all but collapse into yourself- trying so hard to be quiet, because you’re the Queen, and Queens do not sob, Queens do not let priceless rugs soak up their tears, or wish to drown in them, all the same.

The Queen should be grateful, should be proud of her station, of the gift bestowed upon her by her fortunate bloodlines.

Queens are strong, or they’re supposed to be. And you think you were strong once.. when the world still appeared beautiful and rosy in tint, when the promise of all the things that could be were still so bright and full of wonder.

You don’t consider yourself strong anymore. You feel like a ship without sails, listing dangerously in the stormy waters, entirely at the mercy of the sea. Waiting, just waiting for that one perfect rogue wave to capsize you, to wash you away into the nothingness-

But, truthfully, and it’s a truth you’ll never speak aloud, a truth that sits with you, hangs over you- you really don’t know how much longer you can stand to keep playing this charade of a life.

Not when the dark waters look so appetizing, so peaceful.

She doesn't know that her guard stays just beyond the thick wood, that he listens to her quiet sobs until he’s sure that she’s managed to cry herself to sleep.

It’s a haunting sound to him, for reasons he can’t explain or understand.

Because Simon Riley is not a good man, he is merciless and unkind, a woman weeping has surely never stopped him before- yet, with The Queen, the anguish and desperation in her cries claw at him, they dig themselves into his muscle and marrow.

He only ever wanted this position because he was truly tired, utterly weary and exhausted to his core-

But, His Queen.. she changed everything.

a/n: thank you for being here!

[Chapter 3 >>>]

#knight!ghost #simon x reader #simon riley x you #fic: the queens guard #call of duty #cod fandom #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #reader is the queen #obsessed #ao3 transfer

[gardenoflupins]

Fairy Tale AU / @wolfstarmicrofic / 774 words

“For pity’s sake,” a voice groaned, “can you stop your incessant weeping.”

Remus flinched, straightening himself up from the tree he was leaning against with a sniff.

“What?” he chokes out, searching for the voice. He is startled once more when he angles his head up to a man crossing his arms with an exasperated look.

“It’s endless with you. Always weeping. Always disturbing the rest of us.”

Remus gapes. He had not expected anyone to hear him, much less be around this area. He chose this spot to cry in specifically because it was away from other people. His face flushes with discomfort.

“Sorry,” Remus offers weakly. It’s then that he really takes the stranger in. They stand in the same cross position, brows furrowed at Remus. What stands out most to Remus is how attractive he is, with the sharp contours of his face, pale skin and strange stormlike eyes. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

The stranger grimaces. “Right, please resume crying elsewhere.”

Remus’s eyes widen and he stutters for a moment. Along with the embarrassment, a sense of anger hits him. “Excuse me?” he bristles. “You don’t own this place. That’s quite rude.”

Infuriatingly enough, the other rolls his eyes as if he is talking to an ignorant child. “You don’t own this place.”

Remus grits his teeth. Perfect. An arrogant asshole to deal with along with the existing pile of problems he has.

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re depressing everyone.” He cocks his head to the side. “And you’re going to attract unwanted attention. Someone is bound to mess with you and then devour you.”

Remus can only stare at him before he slowly shakes his head. This person was incredibly rude (and very handsome). Feeling humiliated, he stands up and walks away without looking back.

He walks for only a few seconds before risking a glance back, only to find the clearing empty. Dumbfounded, Remus turns forward and is overcome with the same grief, this time worsened with the confrontation.

His tears start once more. He was wounded that someone had found his safe space in the heart of the forest and made him uncomfortable enough to leave. Was he always bound to lose everything?

“Have I upset you more?” someone asks from behind. Remus curses and flips around, red eyes glaring at the stranger who at least had the decency to look a bit guilty.

“What do you want?” he asks bitterly, “I’m already leaving like you wanted.”

They gaze at him curiously, coming to stand next to him. Remus tenses.

“Perhaps that was not the way to introduce myself,” he allows.

Remus continues glaring at him. They quirk a brow and retry. “I suppose I have no reason to remove you. You are obviously fond of this place with how often you read and nap here. I’ve seen you talk gently to the birds and sometimes even the trees.”

Cold horror spreads across Remus’s chest and into his entire body.

He continues speaking, unconcerned that his words are unsettling. “You don’t break branches, you pick up any litter you see, and you share your food with smaller animals. It is not right for me to forbid you from coming when you are one of the only humans that treat this place with the endearment it deserves.”

Remus doesn’t respond to that. How had this unusual person known all of that? Who was he? Remus feels uneasy. The man himself seemed uncanny but not in a horrible way. Just too… perfect. He had an aura that unwillingly drew Remus in like an insect to a web.

“Are you a park ranger or something?”

An amused smile plays on his lips. “Something like that.”

“Thank you,” Remus says stupidly, chest heaving with relief. The other’s expression turns into something intense and waiting. “It means a lot. I owe you,” he continues.

The man raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

There was that strange feeling again. His soft and confident voice drew Remus in like a haze. Remus’s body tensed at the urge to lean, lean, lean into his presence. He held his ground and hummed in affirmation.

“You’ll find,” the other mused, “that you will regret promises like that.”

Remus paused to give him a wary once over. He faltered when he finally took in the peculiar way the man's ears were pointed.

His smile grows at that, looking a little menacing. “I’ll collect that favour soon. In the meantime? Feel free to cry.”

Remus yanks himself backwards when the man just disappears. Completely gone from existence. He is left staring at the empty spot with wide, frightened eyes.

#he’s one of the fae if you cant tell #my fics #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfic #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #sirius/remus #sirius x remus #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar oneshot #fae!sirius

[pippytmi]

For the fake dating thing 11 with whomever you want!

“Do you always get into fist fights on first dates, or am I just lucky?”

There is a bruise already forming on Kara’s jaw, and her hand still has a phantom ache that won’t go away. There might be a touch of blood on the lapel of her shirt, too, but she has been unable to confirm without ready access to a mirror. But it’s this—the firm click of silver six-inch heels against pavement announcing Lena’s arrival—that brings Kara an instant sense of uneasiness.

“It’s kind of in the job description,” Kara shrugs off the rhetorical question. “You know, of being a girlfriend.”

Lena Luthor has an uncanny ability to make Kara feel completely, totally inept in any situation just with a quizzical quirk of an eyebrow and a ruby-red lipsticked frown. Not because she deliberately tries to, but because that’s just the Luthor™ way. Every member of that family seems to have mastered the ability to stare hard enough to make anyone squirm. Even though Kara has known Lena since they were kids—even though they know each other better than anyone else in the world—the effect is the same.

“That might be the most idiotic thing you’ve said all night.” Despite her stoic expression, Lena’s voice is surprisingly soft. “You should have walked away.”

“That would have been worse than not punching Mike Matthews, I think,” Kara says. “Really, I’m ninety-five percent sure I’m supposed to defend your honor, or… whatever the saying is.”

And the strangest thing happens; a glimpse of amusement cracks through Lena’s frown, visible in the ever-so-gentle upturn of the corner of her mouth. “Sorry, did I miss the part where we time traveled a hundred years ago?”

“It’s—you know what I mean,” Kara says. “If I was your real girlfriend everyone would expect me to punch guys in the face for you.”

“Or,” Lena counters, “it might be overkill, since everyone knows you are not inherently a violent person.”

Kara sheepishly tugs at her collar, unable to stop herself from flushing when Lena gazes at her so pointedly. “Does it matter if everyone who meets Mike wants to punch him? Because I’m pretty sure he could make a nun violent.”

“Wow,” Lena says. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a mean thing about anyone before this.”

“Yeah, well…” Kara grimaces. “Mike Matthews brings it out of me. Or maybe this stuffy party does.” Her hand unconsciously goes back to her jacket, and she has to shrug it off all at once, suddenly feeling constricted in her suit. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Lena must be far more uncomfortable than Kara is, with those high heels and the skintight dress and the overall burden of familial expectations hanging on her shoulders, but she masks it remarkably well. “Practice,” she says—sighs. “And whiskey.”

“Gross,” Kara says, unconsciously crinkling her nose as she works at undoing her tie next. “I’m more of a Capri Sun girl myself.”

A short, stunned laugh emerges before Lena can likely quell it. “Right, how could I forget,” she says, and tilts her head in that curious way she does whenever she has a question she isn’t sure how to ask. But it must pass, because her actual question comes out in the form of: “Is there a reason you’re stripping in full view of the paparazzi?” 

“Fan service?” It’s a weak joke, but it makes Lena roll her eyes in that mock-exasperated way that Kara knows would be a laugh out of anyone else. “I just need to cool off, maybe. Then I promise, I’ll be your doting girlfriend for all the cameras again.” She allows a beat before she adds, perhaps unnecessarily, “Without any violence.”

“Yes, I think my mother would very much prefer that.”

Kara laughs, remembering the horrified look on Lillian Luthor’s face with—admittedly—a bit of glee. “Yeah,” she says, “I’m sure she’s thrilled with how tonight is going.”

“Well, she does think it’s all part of a rebellious phase,” Lena muses. “She’s convinced I’m doing this just to spite her.”

Kara has felt the brunt of Lillian’s disapproval back since she first befriended Lena when they were kids, back when they were auditioning for the same movie. Honestly, there is no telling why Lillian has always disliked Kara. Maybe it was because she wasn’t a nepotism baby like all the rest of crowd, or maybe it was because Kara would sneak Lena out of the giant Luthor mansion to go to the movies, or maybe it was because when they were teenagers Kara had wrecked the Porsche (on a dare)...but that disdain has been steadfast ever since they were young, and it’s never once wavered. Everyone knows it. Lena knows it.

Which is why Kara is unable to keep the confusion out of her voice when she says, “Uh. Aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I…what?” Lena repeats, lost.

“Pretending to date me to spite her?” Kara prompts. “You know. Since she hates me?”

Lena’s brow furrows ever-so-slightly. “I didn’t mean dating you,” she says. “I mean dating in general. She thinks it’s a distraction.” She absentmindedly picks at one of the sequins on her dress, a nervous tic that she has never been able to shake. “God, it’s getting cold out here.”

The temperature is just right for Kara, but Lena has always run cold; Kara’s poked fun at her for it once or twice (or for their entire childhood, but who’s keeping track). An unbidden smile, fonder than it has any right to be, inevitably forms. “Well sit down, so you can leech some of my body heat. Besides, you make me tired just looking at you in those heels.”

“Then I’ll be colder,” Lena objects, eyeing the stone of the fountain edge that Kara is currently sitting on. “No way.”

“You’re the most high maintenance fake girlfriend ever,” Kara feigns annoyance. “Here, then. Sit on my lap. And you can put my jacket over your legs.”

It’s hard to exactly tell with the dim lighting of the streetlights, but Lena—blushes? Maybe? And immediately shakes her head. “I’m too heavy.”

“No such thing,” Kara retorts. “I’ll keep stripping if you don’t sit down, Lena. Then your mother will really have a reason to hate me.”

“You are trying to create scandal everywhere you can tonight, aren’t you?” Lena says, but doesn’t move, only crosses her arms and gives Kara an exasperated look. “It would be a hell of a front page.”

“Wow, Lena, if you wanted me naked all you had to do was ask,” Kara says, undoing the first two buttons of her shirt while Lena continues to glare. Then, for fun, she continues up until she hits the top of her bra and Lena’s jaw fully drops in alarm.

“Oh my God, Kara, stop!”

But the ruse works, because as Lena moves forward as if she’s about to button Kara’s shirt back up (or just push her into the fountain), Kara is able to wrap an arm around Lena’s waist and tug her down. Lena yelps in surprise, arms coming up to squeeze around Kara’s neck, and Kara has to hide a grin into the curls that hit her full force in the face.

“Geez, Lena, you’re like an ice cube. Don’t you own a sweater?”

“You asshole,” Lena says, but there is no bite in her voice, only annoyed defeat. “If I get glitter all over you, I’m not going to apologize.”

“I’ll let it slide, this once.” Kara doesn’t mention that there’s nothing in the world that she wouldn’t let Lena get away with. That’s the inevitable truth of being in love with this girl pretty much her whole life—Kara caves first, and she always has. Whether it was what flavor of Gatorade to get from the vending machine, or whether it was who got to sit down in the only remaining chair for a last minute casting call, or whether it was to tag along to Lena’s prom date so the boy wouldn’t try to kiss her, Kara always let Lena call the shots.

Lena exhales; Kara feels the warmth of Lena’s breath against her temple, feels the steady weight of Lena’s body as she shifts on Kara’s lap, feels the rough pattern of Lena’s dress sequins against her fingertips. “You know you’re my best friend, right?” Lena says suddenly.

Those words always make Kara’s heart skip a beat, like they’re right back to being fifteen and nervously holding each other’s sweaty hands while poring over crumpled scripts. “I’d better be,” Kara quips, if only to keep her sappiness at bay, “or I’m returning the BFF necklaces I brought as our first-anniversary gift.”

“I’m serious,” Lena huffs, and her grip around Kara’s neck tightens just a hair. “Will you let me be serious?”

“Okay, okay. One hundred percent seriousness from here on out, I promise.”

For a moment, the only sound is that of cars passing, of the trickle from the water fountain, of the faint music coming from the party. And when Lena speaks at last, it’s quiet. “I know my mom’s not the…easiest person,” she says. “And if pretending to be my girlfriend is going to make you uncomfortable because you have to deal with her, you don’t have to do it.”

“I’ve been dealing with your mother forever, Lena,” Kara says lightly. “She hasn’t been able to scare me off yet, for as much as she’s tried.”

Lena scoffs, but her hand is unmistakably tender as she fiddles with Kara’s shirt collar. “What happened to being serious?”

“I am serious! Do you or do you not remember that time we went to the water park? I swear she cut a hole in my water tube slide. And let’s not even bring up the whole prom incident, because I swear my hip has never been the same since falling out of your window.”

“She didn’t even know that was you.” Lena laughs, and it’s still somewhat hesitant, but just affectionate enough to reflect her feelings about that memory. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

Kara inhales, shakily, both the sweet scent of Lena’s perfume and some much-needed air. “In a good way or a bad way?”

Lena presses her forehead into Kara’s jaw, her skin still cold enough that it makes Kara sympathetically squeeze her tighter. “Can you just promise to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable?” she asks, and ignores Kara’s question entirely. “Either with my mother, or…just the pretending part with me.”

“I feel plenty comfortable,” Kara tries, but Lena just reiterates,

“Promise me, Kara. I don't want to lose you.”

Something about the urgency in Lena's tone shifts the mood entirely; Kara swallows tightly and nods obligingly. “Okay. I promise. But you have to tell me, too, if anything becomes…I don't know, too much.”

“Fine,” Lena agrees readily.

“No, wait, but listen,” Kara presses. “Being friends is one thing, but dating is another, and—even if it's fake, we're going to have to do couple things. And I don't want it to ruin our friendship.”

“I also don't want to ruin our friendship,” Lena says. “Which is why I brought it up first.”

“Good. Okay. I just wanted to be sure.” Kara awkwardly shifts, all too aware that this might not be the ideal time and place for this conversation. Much less when Lena's still in her lap, clinging to Kara as if afraid to let go. “So on a scale of one to ten, how badly have I messed up the friendship by fighting Mike?”

Lema hums, considering. “That depends on what he said about me.”

“Um, nothing nice,” Kara says haltingly. “I'd rather not repeat it.”

“Then I'll let it slide…this once.” Lena's hands find their way up to Kara's face, fingertips gentle against the bruise on her jaw. “But you are still an idiot.” She thumbs warmly against the apple of Kara's cheek and gazes at Kara from underneath thick mascaraed eyelashes, then whispers, “And you're my favorite.”

“Your favorite idiot?”

“My favorite person.” Suddenly they're seventeen again, and Kara is sitting on Lena's bedroom floor still tugging at her tux because it itches. Suddenly they're seventeen again, and Lena is biting her lip and unable to catch Kara’s eye. Suddenly they’re seventeen again, and Lena is whispering I wanted you to make sure he didn’t kiss me because I want you to be my first kiss.

Kara blinks, mouth opening and closing for a pause, before she has to fall back on a safe feeling—fall right back to humor, so Lena does not comment on the way Kara’s body automatically tenses. “Aw, Lena,” she manages, “that sounded a lot like you like me.”

“I’m just a good actress,” Lena says mock-haughtily, but her eyes are searching as they lock onto Kara’s, expression softening the way no one else ever really sees. To the world she’s always been some cold, aloof superstar, but to Kara she will always be the best friend who wanted her first kiss to be with the person she trusted most in the world.

“Well for the record,” Kara swallows thickly, “you’re my favorite, too.”

There is a split second—a charged, electric second—where Kara swears Lena is going to kiss her. Her eyes are hooded like they’re about to close, and her face sways closer, her hand still resting on Kara’s bruised jaw. But then she sighs, and Kara can feel the distance before she sees it.

“We should go back inside,” Lena says, abruptly stumbling off of Kara's lap. “Sooner or later we'll have to do damage control.”

It takes a beat for Kara to catch up. “Right,” she says, hastening to button up her shirt and follow. “It wouldn't be a Luthor party without damage control.”

“It's the first time you're the cause, though,” Lena throws over her shoulder. “And don't forget your tie!”

“Got it,” Kara calls, undoing her tie entirely and tossing it into the bushes. “Hey, wait up! Come back and hold my hand.”

That makes Lena freeze in place. “What?”

“For—you know, the cameras,” Kara says, shrugging her suit jacket back on. “So we can show a united front.”

Lena gives her an inscrutable look. “You say the weirdest things sometimes,” she says, but she allows Kara to catch up and intertwine their hands together without further complaint. 

“How else is everyone supposed to know you're not mad at me?” Kara reminds her. “Or that I'm the best girlfriend you've ever had?”

“I doubt they're going to make that assumption based on hand holding.” But as they climb up the steps to rejoin the gala, the low, golden light illuminates that dimpled smile of Lena's that makes Kara breathless. “What makes you think you're the best, anyway?”

“Just a guess,” Kara says, squeezing Lena's hand as they reach the entrance. “Am I?”

“Let's see if you end tonight without any more fights first,” Lena quips, and while her voice is teasing, her smile grows exponentially tender. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Kara echoes quietly, and allows Lena to lead her right through those double doors knowing that she would follow Lena anywhere.

#prompt was: 'aw that sounded a lot like you like me / im just a good actor' #i rewrote this a million times and finally settled on a childhood friends + celebrity au :) #supercorp #supergirl #i need a fic tag #i miss these two dramatic ''besties'' who just wanna kiss each other on the mouth #lyssa #as always ty for the prompt !! <3

[xinyuehui]

alright I just started watching netflix 3 body problem, it's so western and white humour (bc it is western produced duhhh)

I'm only half way through ep1, it has this weird uncanny "woke women agenda" going on. We gotta admit Liu Cixin is probably not the best at writing women characters, or many for that matter of fact. I get that netflix is trying to diversify this whole story, there's a bunch of snarky "clever" kind of dialogues, if they thought Li Cixin had too little women in the story, they should just change the gender of them (which they did) and move on. But then they have this weirdo in a bar asking what the women do for a living... then men commenting on how good a woman looked at a funeral and gossiping about her boyfriend as well 😅 there's also dialogue directed at a woman saying "are you two fighting right now...or fucking? Oh! Fighting and fucking..." mate, I am uncomfortable, HELP!

AND YE WENJIE HAS SEX(implied) WITH BAI MULIN - literally what was the need for this!!!??????? THIS TOTALLY CHANGES HER ENTIRE CHARACTER PHILOSOPHY

#perhaps I'm nitpicking netflix bc I have a soft spot for the tencent one but i feel like netflix is missing the point #3 body problem #three body #im chinese and seeing western adaptation of a chinese piece of work will always be jarring for me #esp when this piece of work has roots in chinese history

[wilt1ng]

Brahms Heelshire One-Shot: PRICE TO PAY

THIS IS NSFW. 18+ ONLY.

Tw: NSFW, Mature Content, and CNC themes/dubcon

Please don't proceed forward if any of those contents make you uncomfortable.

-

The estate was much larger than you had initially anticipated. Getting inside would be all the more fun seeing as how many doors and windows there were. Having only your backpack you unzipped it to reveal a crowbar, your key to financial freedom. Word had spread a rich family had completely abandoned the estate, drawing in curiosities from thieves and criminals similar to yourself. Well, you were no criminal, merely someone desperate for a cash grab.

The front doors popped open after a few minutes of prying the metal bar between them, first try. You couldn't help but exhale with a smile as you stored the crowbar into the bag.

Too easy.

It was much bigger on the inside than what you previously imagined. As you walked inside you couldn't help but note the condition it was in despite the circumstances. Sure there were cobwebs and the air was stuffy, but it was shocking how intact it was otherwise. Countless of valuable artifacts sat untouched on wooden shelves and you were betting the jewelry box was also full of treasures. Without another second to waste you began bagging some small vases and objects which look to have some value. You left plenty of room within the bag to assure there was space for the real goodies, whether it be pearls or diamonds.

After collecting what you needed you began your journey upstairs. A large family portrait caught your eye. A mother and father sat with their young boy, their smiles seeming fabricated. You gaze at the painting, seeing the faces of the people which you were robbing caused some unease, but you pushed on forward. Making it up the stairs you notice a master bedroom with the door already wide open.

You step inside and begin looking with the bag of stolen junk in hand. After some investigating you finally came across what you were truly after. You opened a small box which sat on the nightstand. It was full of beauties like rubies, pearls, and gold.

"Jackpot."

You whispered to yourself. This was all too easy, and you wondered how it was you were the one who got there first, seeing as the area was notorious for break-ins. Without speculating it a second more, you stuffed the beloved prizes in your backpack, deciding to wear the pearls. The ambiance of the home had shifted seemingly after you had robbed the possessions. Whether it was guilt or paranoia, something just didn't feel right. You stupidly ignored the goosebumps that rose on your skin as you proceeded down the stairs. As you walked past the painting, it carried a heavier weight, as if all the faces were staring at you in anger.

You swung the heavy backpack around both shoulders and quickened your pace to the front door. Your imagination grew wild with thoughts of what you'd do with your new found treasure that you hardly noticed the figure standing in front of the entrance.

Until you did.

You immediately stopped in your tracks and gazed at the man before you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You had been caught.

"H-hello?" You spoke. Your tone was surprisingly kind, but nervous as you hadn't expected this at all.

You immediately drop the bag off your shoulders and set it on the floor in front of you carefully, maintaining your eyes on the shadowy figure. Panic was setting in as you knew you were busted.

"I..." You spoke gently, clearly wanting to explain yourself but what exactly would you say?

"I, uh, I didn't realize anyone still came through here..."

At this point you still couldn't make out any details about the man. It was dark and the only thing illuminating him was the moonlight from behind.

"Do you live here?" You finally asked, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he still hadn't said a word.

The figure cocked his head and for a split second you could almost make out his face. There was something uncanny about it that made your skin crawl. He wasn't answering you and you assumed for good reason, he must be pissed off you trespassed on his domain. This wasn't good. Nothing about this situation was.

On a whim you decide to rip open your bag and pull out the crowbar in which you had used to break in. You held it towards him with both hands gripping onto it tightly. He didn't like that.

"Move out of the way." You demanded, looking at the man and then the door behind him.

"I don't care about the bag, just let me leave."

Taking a brave step forward your eyebrows furrowed as you caught a better look. His once white shirt was stained in God knows what and his face was horrifically pale, as if he was wearing a mask. The sight was enough for you to gasp, dropping the crowbar as you jumped back.

He stepped forward, reaching his hand out seemingly to touch you despite the distance you made.

Fuck this.

Without another moment of hesitation you turned on your heels and bolted the opposite way. You could hardly tell if he was following behind as your eardrums were bombarded with the sound of your beating heart.

After making it up the stairs you made the mistake of looking over your shoulder, eyes widening.

The man wasted no time wrapping his hand around your throat and thrashing you towards him, as if you were a ragdoll. You could see his "face" in full if you could even call it that. He was wearing a mask, a porcelain one at that. His deranged eyes bore into your own, and they were so dark it was as if he had black eyes.

You wanted to scream badly. But you couldn't. With being petrified and the pressure around your neck, you couldn't squeak if you wanted to. Your eyes could only plead into his own, wide in terror as to what he'd do to you.

When he had decided to loosen his grip, you noticed his fingers clenching around the pearls you selfishly decided to slip on mid-robbery. Although he was mostly expressionless, you could see the fury in his eyes. The deranged man tore the beads from your neck. You watched as they fell onto the wood floor, the sounds of its impact being the loudest thing in the room.

"Bad." The man uttered softly.

His voice was hoarse, as if it was the first time he had spoken aloud in a while.

Your chest was rising up and down rapidly. It felt as if you were a mere rabbit in the midst of a heart attack. You could do nothing but stand in front of your attacker. Your eyes never left his own. His messy hair hid the whites of his eyes, adding further to your anxiety.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." You whispered to him, clenching your eyes shut. You felt as if you couldn't speak any louder.

He ignored you. Instead, he pulled you closer, keeping a solid grasp around your neck.

"You'll pay." He spoke, leaning into your ear.

"-for what you took from me."

You released a panicked breath you hadn't realized you were holding. You felt as if the wind was knocked from your lungs. The sides of your throat tightened from choking back tears, and you couldn't stop yourself from trembling.

"I-I don't have money." You began to cry softly.

"I swear I won't return. Please, I'm begging you."

He sighed, cocking his head to the side as you cried for mercy.

He brought his hand to your cheek, wiping a tear away before fixating on your lips. He swiped his thumb across them, seemingly enjoying the sensation of them.

"Kiss." The man uttered to you, almost gently.

You furrowed your brows, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

He grazed your lips once more before finally staring into your blood-shot eyes.

"A price for your freedom." He answered.

"I-I don't understand." You whimpered, feeling emotionally exerted.

He sighed disappointingly, clearly losing patience with you.

"Kiss me." He spoke again, repeating what you feared he had meant.

"Or..."

He laced his fingers into your hair abruptly, pulling it back as to gain better access into your ear.

"I'll have you."

You shuddered against his lips, which brushed against the side of your face before he returned his darkening gaze onto your own.

"I-" You sputtered, unable to even get out a sentence.

He took your hand in his and walked into the darkened living room. You obliged, following him close out of fear, seeing as you had no other choice. The man stopped in front of a tattered couch and turned to look at you, seemingly waiting for you to make your decision.

You were beyond confused and frustrated but were eventually able to put two and two together. You looked at the vintage styled couch, biting your lip in anticipation before returning your gaze to your captor.

Finally, you sat down.

He stepped to stand in front of you. Your face was mere inches from his torso. You noticed the shirt he wore no longer fit him as it exposed his happy trail and a brutal scar near his abdomen. You tilted your head to look at him. His dominating prescense was enough to strike fear in your heart.

"Kiss." He repeated.

Brahms grabbed your wrist and forced your hand onto his stomach, eventually to the hem of his pants.

You ripped your hand back from him instinctively but instantly regretted it. Brahms took you by the throat and bent down eye level. He took your hand once more and held it to an erection beneath his trousers.

"Kiss... there."

Brahms unbuttoned his trousers while maintaining his domineering stare. You felt stuck in place once again, now understanding the consequences of your actions.

Your heart was merely beating out of your chest as he pulled down his boxers, exposing his cock.

Brahms shuddered at the sight of seeing your face so close to his member. He brought his hand to your face and caressed your cheek, gently, before returning his attention to your lips.

"Kiss."

He took hold of your head and adjusted himself close. You mistakenly gasped, and he took advantage. Brahms forced his tip into your mouth, pushing further as you gagged against the intrusion against your throat.

You tried your best to fight him. You attempted to stand, but he pushed you back onto the couch. He forced you to lay down on your back as he crawled on top, just above your chest. This way, you lay immobile against his efforts. His knees sit on either side of your head as he re-adjusted his cock back into your mouth.

Brahms groaned loudly as he tightened his grasp around your hair. He was slow at first, gliding his twitching member deeper into your throat. But soon, the sensation becomes much too intoxicating, and he can feel himself losing restraint.

He grinded himself into you deeply, not taking any account for whether you could breathe or not. With a tear streaked face, you couldn't stop yourself from slobbering everywhere with the force of his cock stretching your throat.

Each of his thrusts felt suffocating as his size was blocking your airways. He'd use your throat or grab at your hair to force every inch inside. He took no shame in face fucking you into oblivion.

It had felt like hours before Brahms came close to finishing. He roughly held your face to his hips as he bucked violently into you, finally cuming down into your throat and mouth. You gagged and choked as he finally removed himself from your mouth.

He stood as you lay messily on the dampened couch. You hadn't bothered to move nor open your eyes as you desperately heaved, catching your breath.

Brahms watched as you lay there, his cock still seemingly hard.

Once you had somewhat recovered, you glanced up at the man that had violated your mouth. He brought his hand to your face, wiping away the semen from your mouth.

~

Some fucking kiss, huh?

Sorry for cutting it short. This was a mere practice to get back into things. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it. ;)

#slashers #slasher #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire x reader #the boy 2016 #theboy #brahmsheelshirefanfic #brahmsheadshots #brahmsheelshireheadshot #brahmsheelshireheadcanon

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Triangulum - Chapter 4 - The Morning After Bill

— — — — — — —

Despite the shroud of unease that lingered over the Shack throughout the night, darkness eventually faded into the warm sunlight of morning.

And even for someone like Ford—whose tireless efforts had left him with only a few pages of halfway-useful ideas, with the rest being banished to a crumpled and discarded pile in the fireplace—the morning sunlight that poured in from the window across the room brought with it a comfort.

“Seems kinda pointless to toss all that into a fireplace if you’re not going to actually set it on fire.”

Regardless of the stress that still lingered from the previous evening.

His gaze met the pair of slitted pupils—pupil? Ford hadn’t missed the way Bill’s right eye was less reactive than his left. A visual impairment, perhaps?—on the far side of the room, a toothy, cheshire grin spreading wide beneath them. “I’d bring up the whole ‘expert in burning things around here’ thing again, but I hate using joke more than once a millennia,” Bill said. “It’s like, I’ve had an eternity to perfect my material so doing a bit twice in such a short amount of time just feels so lazy. You get what I mean, Fordsy?” 

Despite his gaze being focused elsewhere, the tip of Ford’s pencil snapped against the paper for the millionth time across the past several hours. And with a bitten-back huff, he tore his attention from Bill again in favor of reaching towards the small end table at his side, hand briefly lingering over the gun he had kept there all night.

It would be easy enough to kill the body that Bill was currently possessing—as gruesome as the idea was, it was simply an undeniable fact. The body looked young, barely older than a teenager if Ford had to harbor an estimate. And that was before taking his…uncanny resemblance into account.

Ford had to physically restrain himself from casting another sidelong look at Bill, a shudder crawling up his spine as he disregarded the gun in favor of the pencil sharpener. He wasn’t sure how much of the remaining household had picked up on it—there was a high chance that Stan and the kids had noticed to some degree—but it was truly eerie how similar Bill’s vessel looked to Dipper.

The structure of his face, the way the hair hung down over his forehead just as Dipper’s did whenever he wasn’t wearing a hat—

“I mean—it was all kind of a blur when I possessed the guy. 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.”

If Bill’s earlier claims were to be believed—Ford did not believe them in the slightest—then there were a few possibilities. Either some outside force had prevented him from getting a proper look at the vessel or Bill had simply jumped into it first with the intention of asking questions later.

…Admittedly, jumping first and asking questions later was a very Bill-esque way to approach a deal; one didn’t usually need to ask question with the power of omniscience on their side.

But if his earlier claims weren’t to be believed—once again, Ford did not believe them in the slightest—then there were even more possibilities. 

Bill had been lying through his teeth and had purposefully sought out a vessel that looked as uncomfortably-identical to Dipper as possible. And now he was determined to keep such awareness of his appearance as much of a secret as possible, for unknown—but likely sinister—reasons. Perhaps as a precautionary shield of sorts; with the assumption that most would hesitate first before putting a bullet through the eyes of someone that resembled their own.

A counterpoint to that theory was that Bill had asked for a mirror without prompting, but maybe that had been part of the lie? To throw the rest of them off track and push their assumptions towards one direction, all to take focus away from the other?

Of course, none of those theories and guesses brought up an answer to how Bill had managed to come across a new vessel in the first place. Or discussed the matter of the vessel’s original soul, one who had likely been tricked into making a deal with Bill—leaving them bound to the mindscape while he once again puppeteered a body that did not belong to him.

Nor did any of that address the biggest and most pressing issue at hand; how Bill was still alive at all.

With a sigh, Ford forewent the sharpening of his pencil in favor of staring numbly at the mess of discarded paper in the fireplace. Even after a full night of brainstorming, he was still left with both a physical and metaphorical pile of unanswered questions with no clear solution.

“What, are you actually considering that fire idea of mine?” Bill piped up from his spot. “And here I thought I was doomed to keep talking to the air.”

A cackle. “It’s really a shame I can’t hear inanimate objects with this body, the lovely ladies on the shelf over there look like the kinda gals who’ve got a lot of entertaining stories under their belts!”

After a few more seconds of disassociated staring—gaze locked firmly on the mess of paper in a desperate attempt to tune out Bill’s mockery—Ford finally resharpened his pencil to a fine point and returned it to the notebook page. 

Rather than continue writing, however, the tip lingered above the paper while he stared at the most recent sentence in silent consideration. And after another second more, he brought it beneath his words to scribble out a bold underline.

It wasn’t the best idea in the world, and it would all depend on whether or not the needed supplies would’ve kept their potency after all these years. 

But for now, it was an idea.

— — — — — — — 

“I’m awake!”

Mabel’s eyes snapped open as soon as the morning sunlight hit her eyelids, and she bolted upright so quickly that Waddles was sent rolling over onto his back with a surprised oink.

Despite his otherwise-unbothered state, Mabel still crawled to the end of the bed to pull him into a hug. “Sorry, buddy,” she cooed apologetically. “I didn’t realize you were back over here again!”

“He moved to your bed when we switched shifts an hour ago,” Dipper explained from his side of the room. “Guess you weren’t wrong about him being a good guard pig.”

With a tired laugh, she pressed several kisses to the top of Waddles’ head. “I told you! I’m just saying, maybe feeding Bill to him might actually get the job done.”

The laughter petered off as the events of the previous night came flooding back to them, and they exchanged an uncomfortable look. “Did…did you have any nightmares about him?” Dipper asked.

Mabel thought for a moment, the kisses now replaced with scritches to the top of the pig’s head as her affectionate gesture of choice.  “Not that I can remember,” she mused. “I had a dream where I was the size of a doll living in a dollhouse, and the little girl who owned it really wanted me to go for a drive in my convertible when I clearly wanted to go shopping at the mall!”

She pressed a finger to her chin. “But other than that, I think my dreams were pretty normal.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Dipper said. “I mean, I kept seeing triangles wherever I went. But it didn’t feel like anything I don’t normally dream about.”

A shrug as he reached up to brush the hair from his eyes. “Back when Bill visited me in my sleep last year, it felt a lot more—I dunno, vivid? Like it was something that could be happening in real life, you know? But nothing from last night felt that way.”

“I guess that means Grunkle Ford kept a close enough eye on Bill and he didn’t hop into anyone’s dreams, then,” Mabel said. “You think he’s really been up all night?”

“I’d believe it,” Dipper agreed with a nod. “You saw how freaked he was over Bill’s return, I don’t think he’s gonna sleep until Bill’s gone for good. I mean, for good-good this time.”

Mabel stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “Well, I hope he’s gone for good-good soon. I really want to be able to spend some time with Grunkle Ford this summer…”

“Yeah, me too.”

They exchanged another look, before Mabel placed her hands on her hips. “Welp, can’t think of a way to re-kill an evil, triangle jerkface on an empty stomach!” she said, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Let’s go get breakfast!”

A gurgling sound from Dipper’s stomach brought a hand to his shirt, and he hopped down from his bed to join her on the floor. “Ugh, good call. I swear I ate, like, three helpings of lasagna last night, and somehow I’m starving again!”

“Ughughughhhhh, me too,” Mabel bemoaned as the two exited their room and made their way towards the stairs. “This puberty thing is the worst! Why are we always hungry?!”

“I know, right? Everyone went on and on about the acne and the body hair, but they didn’t think to mention how we’d be eating as much as your pet pig?”

Their griping continued as they headed down the stairs together, although Mabel’s decision to skip a step at a time soon brought her to the bottom floor before her brother, leaving her to amble on through the kitchen door by herself.

Her nostrils were immediately greeted by several different scents at once—coffee, pancake syrup and bacon being the most potent, seconded by the smell of lasagna with a charred, reheated undertone that could only be produced by two-and-a-half minutes in a microwave.

From the kitchen table—with a little bit of everything stacked on his plate—Soos greeted her with a wave and a cheerful: “‘Morning, girl dude!”

“Mmm, I smell bacon,” Mabel muttered, trudging sleepily over to the table to join him. “And I’d just like to clarify that even though I have a pet pig, I still want five pieces. At least!”

Melody cast her a smile and tossed more bacon into the pan. “I’ll see what I can do—uh, do you want crispy or crunchy? Because I’ll just warn you right now that I’m way better at making it crunchy.”

She shifted the pieces of bacon around with the end of the spatula. “In fact, the last time I tried making it crispy, I don’t think I fried it long enough. So I’d probably pick crunchy, because there’s less of a chance that I’ll undercook it.”

“Well, I still thought your undercooked bacon was delicious, babe,” Soos piped up loyally.

From the open fridge, a very groggy Wendy raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t you need to get your stomach pumped after eating too much?”

“Yes, and the doctor who did it was very polite!”

“Crunchy’s fine,” Mabel said, settling into an empty chair. “And my demand from before still stands.”

“Yeah, I’ll just stick to pancakes,” Dipper chimed in as he shuffled into the kitchen as well. “Morning, by the way.”

“Hey, dude!” Soos once again greeted, turning his attention to both twins as Dipper joined them at the table. “You two sleep okay? Especially with, uh—you know?”

The kitchen fell silent for a moment—save for the bacon sizzling away in the pan and the occasional scrape of the spatula as Melody continued to shift everything around for an even sear—before Dipper replied: “About as well as we could, yeah.”

“No dumb triangle guys in our dreams,” Mabel added. “Or at least, not the actual one. What about you guys?”

Wendy looked up from the fridge. “Eh, slept like I always do on that couch. Dead asleep around three am, while those early-morning infomercials play in a loop on the TV.”

After another moment of searching, she finally decided on the milk carton and swung the door shut behind her. “Pretty sure the only dream I had involved a talking watch that could also wash my dishes. If that means anything.”

While she held the carton up to her mouth for a swig, Melody moved some of the finished bacon to a plate. “When Soos and I slept, we slept fine,” she said. “But every so often, we’d wake up to go check on Dr. Pines.”

“Mornin’.”

The group turned to see Stan near the doorway, his groggy demeanor a clear indication that he had slept very little during the night. “Heard somethin’ about Ford,” he said, and held out his hand. “Gimme a plate of that bacon, then gimme the news.”

“As far as we know, nothing big happened,” Melody explained, and handed him a plate as instructed. “Every time we peeked in on them, Dr. Pines told us everything was fine while Bill was still tied to the chair.”

“Whaddabout the prisoner himself?”

“He’d call us a bunch of mean names whenever we checked in,” Soos added. “Or—well, he mostly just called me Question Mark. But the way he said it made it sound mean.”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “He also tried calling me Shirt at one point when I picked him up off the floor, but he went back on it pretty quick. Said it didn’t feel right.” A shrug. “Other than that, though, he didn’t really do anything.”

“Which probably means Ford didn’t have to do anything.” Stan exhaled with a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the update, Soos.”

“Would someone like to bring him a plate of food?” Melody asked. “I’ve pulled my fair share of all-nighters, I know how hungry they can make someone.”

Mabel’s expression brightened and she quickly hopped back down from the table. “I’ll do it! A hearty breakfast is sure to keep the Evil-Triangle-Killing gears turning in Grunkle Ford’s head!”

While Melody handed her a plate, Stan reached up to scrub the sleep from his eyes. “Well, it ain’t exactly how we expected our first day back to go, but can anyone really say they’re surprised?”

“I can’t,” Dipper said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Man, Dev’s gonna freak when he hears about what our trip’s been like so far.”

Suddenly Mabel’s eyes shot open wide as she slapped her own hand to the side of her face. “Dev! I completely forgot that he wanted to talk last night!”

“You wanna go call him now?” Dipper asked. “I’ll take Ford his breakfast, if you wa—”

He barely had time to finish his question before the plate was thrust into his hands and Mabel hurried back out of the kitchen towards the stairs. Waddles—who had sleepily ambled after the kids as they’d headed down to breakfast, and had been in the process of finally reaching the bottom step—promptly turned around as she whizzed past and began to head back up after her.

Stan watched until both of them disappeared out of sight, before looking down to Dipper. “Not gonna ask about all a’that, but if you don’t mind havin’ a tag-along to go feed Ford—” He flicked a thumb at himself. “—there’s at least one other Pines here that can get the job done.”

Dipper cast him a small smile. “Yeah, actually, I’d like that.”

Stan shifted the thumb away from himself into a proper thumbs up before the two of them exited the kitchen, making their way towards the hall and the bedroom that waited just beyond the corner.

— — — — — —

After his early-morning attempt to torment Ford, Bill had fallen into yet another thoughtful silence.

Sure, he’d barely gotten more than a sentence or two out of Ford over the course of the night, most of which had just been threats. But that didn’t stop him from stringing together a few things on his own, using the various context clues he’d gathered since he’d first regained consciousness.

First thing of note was the room itself. Several points from the previous evening informed him that it had shifted from a parlor room to a bedroom for Soos’s grandmother; her current location unknown and her overall existence the farthest thing from a priority to Bill. One less person to keep track of—and/or to wave a random weapon in his face—was perfectly fine by him.

But her owning a bedroom here at the Shack implied that she had moved in since the previous summer. Additional clues gathered throughout the night also implied that Soos and the woman who came to check on Ford with him—Bill didn’t care enough to pay attention to her name, but it was blatantly obvious that the two of them were an Item—had moved into the Shack with her, specifically into Ford’s old bedroom next door.

On the same topic of Soos and Who-Cares-About-Her-Name, Bill had heard them pass by the bedroom about thirty minutes prior and head towards the direction of the kitchen. Given how they had yet to return, he wagered a guess that a new day had rolled around and the household was springing to life once again.

None of that could be considered groundbreaking information to Bill, but it was always nice to get a clearer picture of what he was working with in terms of scenery. Sixer had allowed his home to be turned into Domestic City over the past nine months, how uncharacteristically quaint of him.

Speaking of which…

Bill tore his stare from the the shelf of porcelain dolls he had kept his attention on during the quieter parts of the night—hey, his earlier remark had been more than just a light joke; old porcelain dolls were always good for a chat or two when he could actually talk to them—and cast a glance back Ford again. 

He had briefly touched on his appearance the previous evening—mostly in the form of jokes about his silly beard—but there were a few other differences that could be spotted if one had spent several billion years honing the art of observing people.

Ford’s fashion sense was definitely not among those differences—not when he still donned the same red sweater and faded dark pants from the year prior. Even his glasses looked the same, sans the broken glass in the left lens being replaced at some point. Unsurprising in the slightest—ol’ Sixer hadn’t exactly been the kind of guy to keep up with the latest fashion trends.

But the crow’s feet around Ford’s eyes—ones that had been so deeply embedded that it was a miracle they hadn’t left scars—were fainter than before, and the dark circles that had once called the area beneath them home had faded to more of a light gray.

Overall, the aged ruggedness of his features had shifted to something more relaxed, more vital. As if he’d suddenly switched to a full four hours of sleep a night and lowered his daily coffee intake from twelve cups to eight, with an actual breakfast to go with them instead of just his usual nutrition pills.

All of that, and something else Bill couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

A fact that made his scowl lower as his gaze shifted from Ford to the gun on the nightstand. It had been pretty easy to piece together that Ford was scribbling down methods to try and kill him, likely without causing any lethal harm to his current vessel. 

The latter was only mere speculation, once again tying back to his original thoughts upon regaining consciousness. But combined with the events of the previous evening, where the worst harm inflicted on him was nothing more than a punch to the eye—painful and annoying, but clearly nothing that was going to kill him—and an entire night of all bark and no bite when it came to Ford firing a bullet, Bill felt far more secure in his initial assumption.

Ford was trying to find a way to kill him without killing the body itself. A relatively-easy conclusion to reach with the evidence presented to him.

So naturally, the temptation to reveal what he knew to Ford had been locked in a fierce and grueling battle with his common sense for most of the night.

It was a great risk for sure, but the pile in the fireplace granted Bill some reassurance that Ford was nowhere near an actual solution. And if he did have any ideas left in that tattered little notebook of his—no new journal, huh? An unusual choice, but perhaps it was just a temporary method of notetaking. Not like he could exactly write in the other ones after Bill had used them for kindling last year, haha!—they certainly weren’t going to be his A-game.

Needless to say, toeing the line in this instance felt like a safe bet on Bill’s end. Plus it’d double as a chance to redarken those circles and recarve those old crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes. 

Really remind Ford of just who he was dealing with here.

“It’s morning by now, right?” he finally asked aloud. “You must be tired, Fordsy.”

His remark earned him a dirty look from Ford, one he broke within seconds in favor of turning back to his work. An action that earned him a condescending sigh from Bill. “Still no dice on getting you to talk to me, huh? Can’t even take five minutes away from your mysterious scribblings to have a chat?”

With a laugh, he kicked his legs up in the air and clanked them back down against the chair in the most annoying fashion possible. “I’m just kidding, Stanford—I know what you’re trying to do,” he continued. “Obviously you’re trying to figure out a way to get rid of me, without killing the body of the poor sucker I’m possessing.”

He flashed him a toothy grin. “It’s why you just keep sticking that gun in my face instead of just pulling the trigger and busting out a mop to clean up the blood before it stains the floorboards, right?”

This earned him yet another sharp glare, one which masked something else behind Ford’s eyes that Bill once again struggled to decipher. Ugh, being stuck in a human vessel was so annoying; how was he supposed to reach his hand into someone’s mind cavity and really dig his fingers into their deepest fears and insecurities in a body like this?

Well, if he couldn’t poke and prod at the newer stuff, there was always the older spread for Bill to revisit. “No need to be get all huffy, Ford, I’m sure whatever brilliant plan you come up with will work so well,” he continued with another clank of his legs to the chair. “Like that memory gun trick~! I toldja last night how clever it was, right? Too bad you can’t go and Swiss cheese someone else’s mind this time around, huh?”

Another laugh escaped him, one that slowly faded into a dry, deadpan cackle as he folded one leg over the other. “I mean, you could always try it, but just know that it’ll be a lot trickier for me to go along with your little game again. And don’t think I won’t be counting the number of fingers on Goldfish’s hand—”

A light crunch of wood cut him off mid-sentence, and his eyes moved from Ford’s piercing glare to the pencil clutched tightly in his fist. The top half was bent at an unusual angle than before—a likely implication that it had snapped right in two, with Ford’s ironclad grip being the only thing keeping the pieces together at this point.

Well, he was definitely succeeding in getting under the man’s skin, that was clear~!

Before either of them could remark on the matter, however, the creaking of floorboards from further up the hall drew their attention to the door—

—and it was only seconds later before the creaking stopped just outside of it and Dipper’s voice called: “Grunkle Ford! Breakfast time!” from the other side.

Bill felt his eyes roll so far back into his head, he swore he got a glimpse at the useless lump of gray matter—or at least, it would normally be useless if he wasn’t the one taking it for a joyride—that humans called a brain. Great, one of the meddlesome little rugrats was acting as the Sunshine Brigade, and not even the fun one with the pig.

Well, at least he could probably get a kick out of scaring the little weenie. And at least said weenie’s voice succeeded in getting Ford to react with his own call of “Come on in.” as he set the broken pencil down on the nightstand.

The door was slowly pushed open with a hesitant hand to reveal the aforementioned Dipper and—

“Hope you’re feeling non-kosher today,” Stan piped up behind him. “If not, I’m snagging that bacon off your plate.”

Seriously? Didn’t Punchy Mc-No-Memory have anything better to do? What were there no tourists for him to currently scam or candy to snatch outta the grubby little hands of an underdeveloped human toddler?

Whatever, at least the two of them combined would bring some excitement into the room. “Oh, so both Pine Tree and Goldfish wanted to join the party this morning~?” he greeted with a bright grin. “Great, the more the merrier~!”

Dipper pushed the door open further and—while likely fighting the urge to wince at the sight of him—crossed the room to where Ford was seated. “Good morning! Melody prepped you a plate of food so you could eat while you worked.”

Despite his exhausted demeanor, Ford’s expression brightened at the sight of Dipper approaching him. “Thank you, Dipper,” he said, taking the offered plate with a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“As well as I could with—well—”

He attempted—attempted and failed miserably—to give a subtle tilt of the head in Bill’s direction, to which Bill responded with a cackle. “You know, Pine Tree, it’s very rude to gossip about someone when they’re in the room!“ he taunted. “Don’t beat around the bush, go ahead and tell him how restless your sleep was now that I’m back~!”

He tilted his own head with a playful smile. “Also please feel free to go into any nightmares you might’ve had in intricate detail! I looooove flipping through the night’s haul every morning! It’s like reading the newspaper at breakfast, but with more teeth falling out of someone’s head!”

While Dipper finally lost against the urge to wince in response, Stan flicked a thumb in Bill’s direction. “So, he do anything outside of be an annoying little nuisance all night?”

“Outside of that, no,” Ford answered, setting his pencil down. “But after a while, it grew easier to ignore him.”

“Okay, well, that’s even ruder than gossiping about someone while they’re in the same room,” Bill said with a scoff. “Honestly, somebody should give this family a few pointers on guest hospitality.”

Stan cast him a sidelong look of disgust. “Little jerk really likes hearing himself talk, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Ford said wearily. “But hopefully he won’t be an issue for us much longer.”

“Did you find a way to deal with him?” Dipper asked.

Ford opened his mouth to reply, looked to Bill—

—then stood up in his chair. “Let’s discuss this out in the hallway.”

“Wow, again with the hallway meetings, huh?” Bill asked aloud. “While I’d normally be flattered at how often you chumps feel the need to play hush-hush with your plans, gossiping about someone where they can’t hear you is even ruder than doing it in the same room as them~!”

Despite his snark, Bill was elated by the thought of being left alone again. A few minutes to himself meant a chance to search for something sharp enough to cut his binds.

Sure, getting Ford to do it for him was still the preferable option. But if a chance to take care of the issue himself was presented to him, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth—

“Whaddabout him?”

Stan’s voice and pointed finger in his direction pulled Bill from his thoughts. “Think it’s safe to leave him all by himself?” 

Bill’s brow furrowed at the question. Guess being a spoilsport ran in the family, huh?

Oh, well. Nothing he couldn’t twist in his favor. “What do you mean, Goldfish?” he asked with a kick of his feet. “I’m still just as tied up as I was last night, aren’t I? What could I possibly do while you’re all busy discussing Sixer’s oh-so-clever plan to get rid of me~?”

An even bigger risk than before. To reveal all of that to Ford was one thing, but to reveal it to other people?

Eh, Pine Tree hadn’t even picked up on his little laptop stunt last year and Goldfish was more brawn than brain—Bill could afford to play loose and fast here.

Dipper shot Bill an uneasy glare before turning his attention up to Stan. “I hate to agree with him, but he does have a point: what can he really do while he’s all tied up like that?”

Oh, Pine Tree, you wonderful, reliable idiot. “Yeah, yeah, listen to the kid!” Bill agreed. “Unless you feel like leaving him to babysit me~?”

Okay, well, that one wasn’t so much of a risk as it was sticking his hand in a bucket of defanged piranha—the end result was so pathetically safe and predictable that it was almost not worth the effort. And sure enough, Dipper’s immediate wincing at the suggestion proved that he had bluffed successfully. “Guess that’s a no, huh?” he asked with a flash of his teeth. “What’s wrong, Pine Tree? Don’t feel like spending some quality time with me? I know I could use the company, ol’ Fordsy over there was a total drag the entire night.”

He pointed a leg in the direction of the porcelain doll collection. “And like I was telling him earlier; in a pathetic, unevolved body like this, I couldn’t even settle for a conversation with the girls on the shelf over there! Such a shame, Lupita on the middle one looks like she has quite the tongue for gossip—”

“Alright, that’s it.”

Before anyone—Bill included—could react, Stan stormed over to the chair and lightly pushed it backwards onto the floor. And before Bill could let out more than an agitated “Hey—HEY!”, Stan nudged the chair forward with his foot until the top rail was tucked beneath the underside of Abuelita’s bed. 

Leaving Bill unable to rotate the chair in any direction without the top clanging against the bed. And despite his best attempts to flail around helplessly, face reddening with anger by the second, the chair—and by extension, his own body—remained firmly in place on the ground.

Stan turned back to Ford with a grin. “So hallway, then?”

“Hallway.”

After a collective nod, the three of them shuffled out of the room. Leaving Bill to once again slump against his restraints with a huff and cast another glare in the direction of the porcelain shelf. “Not a single word outta you, Lupita!”

— — — — —

Once the door was pulled firmly shut behind them, Dipper asked: “Has he really been like that all night?”

“Sadly he picked up on the fact that I would’ve preferred not to use the gun unless absolutely necessary,” Ford explained, with a scrub at his weary eyes. “So he was probably taking advantage of that for as long as he could.”

“Yeesh,” Stan said with a wince. “So, uh—hate to go the gruesome route first, but why can’t we just take the little gremlin and—” 

He held a pair of fingers to his temple and made a shooting motion with his hand. “I know it ain’t the best idea, what with the whole…you know—”

They turned towards Dipper in unison, who reached for his own arm with a grimace. “Oh…you guys saw it too, huh?”

“Kinda hard not to see it,” Stan pointed out, and glanced over at Ford again. “But uh—I’m guessing that’s the main reason we’re not trying it?”

“There are plenty of reasons why I’m abstaining from killing Bill in his current form,” Ford explained, before casting a sympathetic look to Dipper. “Although the resemblance to you is certainly one of the bigger reasons as to why I’m hesitant to try.”

Dipper gave him a small, grateful smile in return. “I mean, if it helps, I accidentally killed a ton of my own clones last year,” he said. “Plus I did have some pretty dark thoughts about what I wanted to do to Dippy Fresh in Mabel’s dream world.”

He shrugged nervously. “So, you know, if you really have to kill him while he looks like me—”

His words were cut off with a weak laugh as Ford pressed a comforting hand to the top of his head. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind for sure,” he said, before both hand and smile fell again. “But there are other reasons as to why I’m hesitant. One of the main ones being that we have no way of knowing if killing the body would kill Bill himself.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Stan asked.

“Bill’s a creature of the mind,” Ford explained, pressing a finger to his temple. “One who lacks a physical form, and needs to resort to possessing those of us in the real world if he wishes to accomplish anything in this dimension.”

He gestured to himself, then to Dipper. “It’s why he had to use both Dipper and myself as his vessels on separate occasions.”

Stan’s gaze shifted awkwardly between them. “Oh, uh—right.”

“He mentioned something like that last year,” Dipper added. “About how if you don’t have a vessel, you’re basically a ghost in the mindscape.”

“Precisely,” Ford continued. “Based on his current appearance, he’s likely made some sort of deal with an unsuspecting person and claimed a new vessel as his own. But if a form of harm—or worse, death befell that vessel, it would leave the poor soul of whoever he’s possessing without a body, and him free to bounce around the mindscape again.”

He crossed his arms. “Which would just leave him completely unbound to our dimension and leave us back at square one.”

“So…if we can’t kill him and we can’t remove him from his vessel, then what can we do?” Dipper asked.

“Ah, well, I never said we couldn’t remove him from the vessel,” Ford pointed out. “I simply said that using the most drastic method available would be a poor decision, with no guarantee that it would actually kill Bill himself.”

A pause. “Plus there’s the natural reluctance that most people tend to face when presented with the idea of putting a bullet into a teenager’s head. Obviously.”

“I mean, if the kid’s possessed by someone who tried to destroy the universe, I don’t think anyone in their right mind’s gonna get huffy at you for pullin’ the trigger,” Stan pointed out. “But if we’re not doing that, then—what are we doing?”

“My current best idea is to take Bill down to my lab and try an artificial means of exhausting the body,” Ford explained. “In the hopes of exorcizing Bill from it in a safe and controlled environment, and to possibly bind him to a vessel where he’ll be unable to move around freely.”

He pressed a thoughtful hand to his chin. “Perhaps if we’re lucky, it will also grant the body’s original host a chance to retake control. And if they do, maybe they’ll be able to answer any further questions we might have regarding the situation. Answers we're surely not going to get from Bill himself."

He raised his hands in a shrug. “And even if none of that works, it might still give us a clearer picture as to what kind of possession we’re dealing with, and hopefully steer us towards a method that will actually kill Bill for good.”

Stan blinked. “...Now say it in layman’s terms for the kid, in case he didn’t catch that—”

“He’s going to try and make Bill so tired that he leaves the body, but can’t escape from the lab,” Dipper explained. “And move him to a vessel where he won’t cause more trouble and also doesn’t look like me, while maybe giving the original body back to whoever owned it.”

“Oh!” Stan said, and began to crack his fists. “Well, I mean—if you need a way to tire the little guy out, there’s nothin’ better than a good, old-fashioned round of fisticuffs—”

“No, Stanley,” Ford interrupted. “I appreciate both of you bringing me breakfast, but I’ll be handling this on my own.”

“Wh—” Stan’s hands fell to his side. “Seriously? You’re really not gonna let anyone help you with this?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta side with Grunkle Stan on this one,” Dipper added. “You said yourself that you’ve been up all night, having to listen to Bill do everything he can to get under your skin. Are you sure you don’t want any help dealing with him now that the rest of us are awake?”

A shrug. ”Or, you know, someone to at least watch him while you take a nap?”

“Atta boy, Dip,” Stan praised, before pointing a finger at his brother. “Like I said last night, I can watch over Bill for you while you get some sleep. If you don’t want me to kill him, I won’t—I’ll just keep an eye on him—”

“I believe I gave my answer last night,” Ford said firmly, turning back to the door. “I’ve got a few plans in mind, and if it turns out that I’m unable to accomplish this goal on my own, only then will I ask for help.”

“...Will you?”

Ford’s hand froze just above the doorknob, and he turned back to Stanley with a raised eyebrow. “Come again?”

“Will you ask for help?” Stan repeated with more boldness as he leaned closer. “Because you’ve got a guy who’s practically throwin’ himself at you to help, and you keep saying you can handle this by yourself.”

“I said I will ask for help if I’m unable to handle it by myself, Stanley,” Ford replied, narrowing his eyes. “And so far, I’ve been able to handle it just fine—”

“Uh, maybe I should just—”

Dipper shifted uncomfortably in place, before taking a step backwards. A motion that caused both men to turn to him with looks of concern. “It’s alright, Dipper, you can go,” Ford reassured him with a smile. “And thank you for bringing me breakfast, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, go on and get, kiddo,” Stan added with a wave. “Actually, why don’t you go check on your sister, or somethin’? Don’t know if she got any food in her.”

“Hmm, come to think of it, I don’t think she did,” Dipper mused thoughtfully. “I should probably go fix that, huh?”

He turned and hurried back down the hall, the older men waiting until he disappeared from sight to face each other again. “Come on, Ford,” Stan asked, flicking a thumb towards the door. “You’ve been at this all night, and the only idea you’ve got isn’t even one that’s gonna kill him.”

“I realize it’s not the best idea,” Ford said. “But if it works, we can always trap Bill in a safer environment and—”

“And what, stay up for another week as you keep looking for a way to actually kill him?” Stan interrupted. “And what happens if you don’t find one? Are you just gonna stay up forever and let this Bill stuff takes over your life again?”

“If I have to, then yes,” Ford said firmly, and turned to face the door again. “What other choice do I have, let Bill wander around freely and attempt to destroy the universe again?”

“You have the choice to let someone else babysit the little jerk while you rest for five minutes!”

Much like the evening prior, Ford felt a hand clasp his shoulder tightly. “Ford, just—don’t you remember what I said at the bus stop yesterday?” Stan asked, pleaded. “About not having to deal with anything by ourselves ever again? What, did you think I was lying when I said that?”

Ford froze at that question, hand less than an inch from the doorknob.

He wasn’t lying. Of course he wasn’t lying.

But that was the issue in itself.

His shoulders tensed beneath Stan’s hand as his thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous day. Those looks Stanley had given him after their arrival, the way he’d dodged his concerns back at the mermaid tank.

Ford had initially written them off as his own paranoia, as something to not concern himself over. But Stan had said as much himself yesterday; he would toss himself in front of another blast of the Memory Gun to protect his family again. So willing to let himself burn if it meant keeping the others warm.

Was it truly his paranoia talking when it came to those thoughts? Or—

“I don’t know, Stanley. Were you?”

The question escaped Ford’s mouth before he could stop himself, leaving Stan to stare at him with a perplexed look. “What? Whaddaya talkin’ about?”

Ford hesitated to reply at first, but eventually continued with: “You said we could talk to each other about anything. But ever since we’ve arrived at the Shack, you keep looking at me like you’ve got something you need to say but refuse to say it.”

“Again, I ask: whaddaya talkin’ about?”

“The way you looked at me last night at dinner,” Ford explained. “And…and back at the mermaid tank when we were talking with the others. You kept looking at me like you wanted to tell me something, but the one time I actually asked you if anything’s wrong, you just brushed it off with a joke!”

He folded his arms. “How am I supposed to believe you when you say we don’t have to deal with hardships by ourselves anymore when you can’t even grant me the same courtesy in return?”

Stan blinked at him a few times, before his eyes narrowed. “Are you ki—you cannot be serious, Stanford! Are you really not letting me help you deal with Bill because—because you think I’m hiding something from you?!”

The implications of what Stan had said hit them both like a truck, any aggravation that had been building between them instantly replaced with identical looks of shock. Shock that lingered for a few, agonizingly long seconds before—

“You know what, I need to get back to work,” Ford said, and spun to face the bedroom door again.

“Ford, I—”

It was as far as he got before the door slammed shut in his face.

Stan lingered where he stood, too stunned to properly move or react. And much like the previous evening, the idea of barging into the room after Ford once again flashed to the front of his mind. 

Barging in, making a scene—heck, he even eyed the dent on the wall where Ford had swung a fist the night before, his own hand balling into a fist as the temptation to follow suit swelled inside him.

But despite the red flooding his vision, he still had enough of a grasp on his common sense to know that making a whole scene—especially in front of Bill—would only make things more difficult for Ford. It would only push him further away, only make him close himself off even more than he already was, only make him bury himself further in his work and sleepless isolation—

“Are you really not letting me help deal with Bill because—because you think I’m hiding something from you?!”

If he hadn’t done that already, after implying that Ford—the man who had spent several decades being lied to and manipulated by the very same demon in the next room—was just being paranoid because he didn’t want Stan's help. 

“Well, we have you to thank for the idea, Dr. Pines.”

That Ford’s accusations about him were just based on nothing.

“None of this would’ve happened without you, Grunkle Ford!”

That Ford had been anything but completely right about him.

Great. Great. 

Just another way he’d royally screwed things up.

It took every ounce of restraint that Stan could possibly muster to once again force his balled fist to his side, before he turned and stormed back down the hallway.

And once he was sure that Ford wouldn’t be able to hear him, he finally swung it hard at the wall near the stairs, the wood splintering beneath his knuckles with a loud cracking sound.

A sound that unfortunately attracted the attention of the remaining kitchen-goers, Soos poking his head out less than a second later. “Mr. Pines? Is everything okay?” he asked. “Are you still hungry? Melody made more bacon—”

Stan barely managed a grunt and a “Goin’ out to the boat!” in response before he continued onwards out the front door—he left it ajar; Soos would close it behind him and Stan knew for a fact that if he tried to close it himself, the slam would be loud enough to wake up the entire town—down the porch steps and towards the direction of the boat at the edge of the yard.

— — — — — — — —

“You know, most people would be mad about being left on the floor while you went out in the hallway to gossip with your blowhard brother and a kid who probably has Baby’s First Conspiracies memorized cover to cover—”

Clank, clank.

“—but lucky for you, Fordsy, I’m in just as much of a forgiving mood as I was yesterday—”

Clank, clank.

“Honestly, I kinda like laying down on the floor like this! In fact, I could stay here forever!”

While Bill continued to rock his body back and forth—causing the top of the chair to clank loudly against the underside of the bed—Ford remained with his back to the door, too submerged in his own troubling thoughts to pay him any mind.

“Are you really not letting me help deal with Bill because—because you think I’m hiding something from you?!”

The question was like a chilling rush of ice water to his veins. Stanley really thought that he wasn’t letting him help because he didn’t trust him? After all they’d experienced together, after everything they’d gone through—

After everything that Stanley had sacrificed to save the universe, Ford had the gall to imply right to the man’s face that he didn’t trust him? To imply that Stan was being secretive about something, based on evidence as miniscule as responding strangely to a question about his mood? A response that Ford himself had originally brushed off as his own paranoia getting the better of him?

And what had changed about that original mindset to cause such doubt in Ford’s mind? Stanley’s constant insistence to help deal with Bill? A natural response to have when someone he cared about was in need?

Yeah, definitely worthy of the cruel accusations Ford had tossed at him.

He remained rigid against the door, and it was only once he heard the telltale sound of floorboards creaking their way up the hallway on the other side that he finally moved back to the chair and his waiting breakfast.

“Not even a look at me, huh?” Bill piped up from the floor. “Wow, did your chat really go that badly?”

He kicked his legs straight up into the air with a thoughtful look. “Come to think of it, that’s what—twice now that you’ve gone out into the hallway with him and come back looking worse than you normally do? And here I thought I was joking when I said the two of you were fighting.”

Devilish laughter followed his remark, and he gave the top of the chair another clank against the bed. “But even after nine months and a homemade bout of amnesia, you Pines twins really can’t get along, can you?”

Ford stuffed a piece of bacon into his mouth, fighting desperately to keep his attention fixed on his plate of food. A repeat of his unsaid sentiments from the previous evening; that damned demon could chatter on all he wanted.

He could say whatever he wanted, tease him however he wanted—

He finally turned back to his list of potential ideas, gaze landing on the one he had underlined earlier in the morning.

He swapped his plate for the notes and returned to where Bill was still situated. After a few more clanks of his legs against the chair, Bill flashed him a wide grin. “Aw, have you decided to finally pick me up—oh, actually, you have.”

Ford grabbed the end of the chair leg and pulled it out from beneath the bed, Bill’s grin only widened further as he set the entire thing back up in a standing position. “Well, well, well, you’re finally listening to me again,” he said smugly. “It’s about time you—hey, what are you doing?”

While Bill had prattled on, Ford had moved to the rope by the wall—the one that had been abandoned for most of the night. Originally he’d planned on using it to tie Bill’s legs to the chair, but circumstances had prevented him from getting around to actually accomplishing that throughout the course of the evening.

If anything, that had worked out in Ford’s favor. If he was truly going to try his attempt at exorcizing Bill, this would save him a trip to the storage room.

After slinging the rope over his shoulder, he returned to the chair and placed his hand on the back, before scooping it up from the floor in one fluid motion. Further ignoring Bill’s follow up remark of: “Welp, guess we’re leaving~! Too bad, I was starting to grow fond of those porcelain dolls! They’re great nightmare fuel!”, he kept his grip on the chair and lead both of them out into the hallway.

Leaving the barely touched plate and scrapped pile of ideas abandoned in the room.

— — — — — —

Dipper trudged up the stairs and towards the room at the back of the attic, the sound of Mabel’s voice growing louder and clearer as he approached the bedroom door; “Yeah, sorry, things got a little crazy last night,” she was saying. “We literally got into town and the bus had to stop because some gnomes and Lilliputtians were fighting in the middle of the road!”

“Did you snap any pics?” Another voice piped up.

A long, sad sigh. “No, we didn’t think to at the time. Sorry, I know you would’ve loved it.”

Dipper pushed the door to the bedroom open to the sight of Mabel seated near her bed, phone in hand as Dev continued to speak through it: “Eh, no worries, you guys have all summer,” they said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get pics of all the other weird stuff that town has to offer.”

“Hey, Dev!” Dipper called as he approached the bed. “Just letting you know that I’m now in the room, so no making kissy faces at each other!”

“Psh, who says?” Mabel asked. “We can make kissy faces at each other all we want, whenever we want!”

“Hey, Dip!” Dev called in return. “Mabel was just telling me about your busy first day, and why she forgot to call.”

“So I heard. Hey, scoot over.”

Mabel obliged, and he planted himself down on the floor next to her. “Did she tell you about how we got carried up to the shack by a Manotaur?”

“Ugh, you guys have all the luck!” Dev whined. “I wish I could’ve convinced Aaron to let me join you guys up there for the summer!”

“Ehh, I don’t know about that one, Dev,” Dipper said. “It wasn’t all gnomes and Manotaurs once we got back to town. See, after we got to the Shack—”

“Our Grunkle Ford had to deal with a whollleeee lot of old business stuff!” Mabel interrupted quickly. “Lots of nerd stuff—not the cool nerd stuff that you like, boring nerd stuff—that might keep him busy all summer, and we might not get to spend as much time with him as we thought we would.”

“Aww, boo,” Dev said supportively. “You were so excited about getting to spend the summer with him! You even made that sweater and everything!”

“Right?! But hopefully he gets it all dealt with in time for us to do lots of fun Grunkle-and-great-niece-slash-nephew activities!”

She paused for a moment. “Ugh, that’s a mouthful. What’s a better way to say great-niece-and-nephew?”

“...Gniece and Gnephew?” Dev suggested. “Like gnome but the g isn’t silent?”

Mabel’s eyes went wide and she clutched the phone to her cheek. “Ugh, you’re the SMARTEST smarty-pants in the world~!” she cooed, kicking her feet. “I’m soooo gonna use that now!”

“Anyway, sorry for not checking in last night, Dev,” Dipper chimed in. “Just assume that if we go a while without calling you, we’re probably being held captive by like…mutant tree people or something.”

“Wait, you guys have mutant tree people up there?!” Dev asked excitedly. “Maaaaan—next year I’ve gotta convince Aaron to let me go up there with you guys—”

There was a muffled shout in the background, before Dev said: “Oh, he’s calling me down to breakfast, I’ve gotta go.”

“No problem, we’re supposed to be eating breakfast now, too,” Dipper added. 

“Bye, Dev~!” Mabel said sweetly. “We’ll talk to you later~!”

“Bye, Dev! What Mabel said.”

“I love you!”

“—also that, but platonically!”

“Later, guys!” Dev called. “Hope you get a chance to spend time with your Great-Uncle Ford, and don’t forget to snag me an autograph if you can!”

“Dev—” Dipper said with a laugh. “I’m telling you, he’s just a regular guy.”

“Remind me again: how long did you spend searching for him last year?”

“...Point taken. Talk to you later.”

There was a click and the phone went silent, before Mabel slapped it shut. “Aww, I wish we could’ve convinced Aaron to let Dev come with us on our trip up here!” she lamented with a sigh. “He’s usually so cool, I don’t know why he said no!”

“Maybe because you told him about how one of our great-uncles stole the other’s identity for thirty years,” Dipper reminded her. “While the other spent that time traveling around the Multiverse. I mean, what older brother would want their younger sibling to spend the entire summer with two old men like that?”

“Uh, the coolest older brother?” Mabel replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Oh well. Maybe we can convince Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford to come down to Piedmont for Hanukkah this year. They can meet him then, and then he’ll be willing to let Dev spend next summer here with us~! Perfect plan!”

“Yeah, perfect plan,” Dipper said. “As long as they’ve gotten rid of Bill by then.”

An uneasy silence fell over the room, the twins’ gazes shifting away from each other as Mabel suddenly found herself very interested in the pattern on the floorboards while  Dipper reached up to fiddle with his hat. “So you didn’t tell Dev about Bill’s return, I’m guessing?”

“Nuh-uh,” Mabel confirmed in a low voice.

“...You know, what I said yesterday about talking to Mayor Tyler still applies,” Dipper continued. “I mean, he’s dating Wendy’s dad now and he seemed really excited to see us when we got back to town. Maybe if we ask—”

“Race you downstairs to finish that breakfast we didn’t eat!”

Before Dipper could continue, Mabel had leapt to her feet and was bolting for the door. Dipper blinked in surprise, before leaping to his feet as well and hurrying after her with a shout of: “Mabel, wait, you didn’t let me finish—”

Mabel simply laughed in response as the two of them raced their way back down to the first floor—

“Well, well, well, looks like Shooting Star’s awake too~!”

—only for that laughter to get caught in her throat as she reached the bottom step, eyes wide at the sight that waited before her.

Ford was just coming up from the hallway, Bill’s chair clutched tightly in his hand as he walked. And upon hearing Bill’s greeting to Mabel, Ford gave the chair a warning shake.

To Mabel, however, he gave a warm, tired smile. “Good morning, Mabel.”

“Uh, good morning, Grunkle Ford…”

Mabel couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on the restrained figure in the chair, one who cast her a wide smile full of teeth. “Sleep well~?” he asked. “Heard your brother had an uneasy night—”

“Hey, I didn’t say that!” Dipper piped up, as he came down the stairs behind Mabel. “Don’t put words in my mouth!”

“Aw, but putting words in other people’s mouths is so fun,” Bill insisted. “All you gotta do is take one word, pluck it outta someone’s head, and then just slap another word in its place! You can make even the most serious and no-nonsense chumps say all kinds of silly words when you do!”

He jerked his head towards Ford. “Like ol’ Fordsy here—go ahead and try to get him to say the word ‘burden’!” he said with a bat of his eyelashes. “Come on, you know you wanna~!”

As Dipper and Mabel both winced in discomfort, Soos peered his head out from the kitchen. “Good morning!” he greeted cheerfully, before his gaze fell to Bill. “Uh, that doesn’t apply to you, triangle dude.”

“So grateful you spelled that out for me, Question Mark,” Bill said with bright sarcasm. “Otherwise I never would’ve caught it~!”

“Oh, uh—you’re welcome, then? I guess?”

“Nobody pay him any mind,” Ford instructed. “We’re simply passing through on our way down to the basement.”

“Yeah, nobody pay me any mind,” Bill chimed. “Unless they’re really valuable, of course!”

He laughed at his own joke with a kick of his feet. “I’m just kidding: I’ll take any mind as a form of payment, even the dumb ones!” he said, with a wink in Soos’ direction. “I’m talkin’ to you, Big Guy, I know for a fact you’re not using yours!”

“Ugh, is there any way to get him to stop talking?” Wendy piped up from behind Soos, a moment before she propped herself against the kitchen doorframe. “Can’t Mr. Pines pop him in the other eye or something?”

“He coooould,” Bill taunted. “If him and Sixer weren’t fiiiiighting~!”

He laughed as Ford gave the chair another shake, while Mabel stared in confusion. “You and Grunkle Stan are fighting?”

“As I said, Mabel, pay him no mind,” Ford instructed. “Nothing that comes out of his mouth is to be trusted in any sense.”

“Well, uh,” Dipper started awkwardly. “Do you know where Grunkle Stan went after you guys talked? I don’t think he ate much of his breakfast before we went to bring you yours, so—”

“I know where he went,” Wendy began, before her eyes fell to Bill. “He—he came up the hallway, then headed outside to the boat. Didn’t say why, though.”

“I did ask if he wanted any more food, though,” Soos added. “But he just kinda grunted and didn’t really give me an answer. Which is a pretty normal Mr. Pines reply, but still—breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so I hope he’s alright!”

“Sounds to me like he’s going outside to sulk because somebody doesn’t want him around,” Bill said, once again tilting his head in Ford’s direction. “But I guess they didn’t hear that from me, did they?”

Ford glowered at him for a brief moment, before turning towards the living room doorway. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be down in the basement dealing with our little…problem.”

“Oh, wait one second, Dr. Pines!” Melody called from the kitchen, seconds before leaning into view from the doorway. “Before you go, I just wanted to ask about the party tonight. And, uh—whether or not we should still have it after—”

She gestured towards Bill with the spatula, upon which he flashed her a smile. “Aww, you chumps were going to have a party?” he asked. “Well, don’t stop on my account! I dunno if anyone’s told you, Newbie, but I’m quite the party fanatic myself~! Practically invented the word!”

Melody raised an eyebrow. “Newbie?”

“He does nicknames,” Wendy explained with a wave of her hand. “It’s a thing, don’t worry about it.”

“Ignoring him, please feel free to have the party as initially planned,” Ford instructed Melody. “I assume you’ve already passed out invitations, and canceling at the last minute would arouse more suspicion than just hosting the party anyway.”

“Okay, well, if you’re sure,” Soos said, casting him a small grin. “You—uh, think you’ll be done in time to join us? It’s a party for you too, you know?”

Ford looked to him, then silently to Bill—who only widened his cheeky little grin further as he waited for an answer—

—before passing through living room doorway in silence, letting the chair thump down the small step and to the carpet as he dragged it behind him. With a vocal complaint from Bill in the form of: “Hey, hey! You could at least carry me all the way, you jerk!”, Ford continued onwards towards the door to the gift shop on the other side of the room.

The rest of the group watched them go, and looked to each other once the two of them disappeared from sight past the swinging door. “So, uh—guess we should start prepping the shack for the party then, huh?” Soos asked the rest of them.

“Probably,” Melody agreed. “We didn’t get around to cleaning up the exhibits yesterday, so there’s a lot to do if we want to be ready by tonight.”

“Ughh, does that mean I have to work on another one of my days off?” Wendy started with a groan—

—before casting a look to the twins still on the stairs, gazes still focused on the vacant living room doorway. “—ah, well, I guess it’s a good chance to show off our new way of cleaning things up around here.”

She flashed them a grin. “I could use a couple of assistants to help me out, though. Whaddaya say, dorks?”

Dipper pulled his gaze away from the door frame to look at her. “You want our help?”

“No, I’m talking to the other pair of twins standing in the exact same spot as you two,” Wendy said with a laugh. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Or as fun as cleaning can get—”

She shrugged. “I know that’s not very convincing, but seriously, I could really use someone to talk to while I work. Make the boring stuff less boring, y’know?”

This got a smile out of Dipper, and he leaned over to nudge his sister. “Come on, let’s leave Ford to do what he’s gotta do and go distract ourselves for a bit,” he urged. “Besides, I’m sure Melody will let you toss up as many streamers as you want if you ask.”

“I will!” Melody confirmed from the doorway.

Mabel didn’t take her eyes off the living room doorway at first, but the draw of streamers finally moved her attention back to the rest of the group. “As many as I want?”

“We have at least a hundred rolls at the ready,” Soos said with a thumbs up. “When we told the lady at Party Metropolis what—and who—they were for, she sold us her entire stock.”

Mabel’s mouth curled into a wide smile. “We~ell, I guess that’s a start—”

“Atta girl,” Wendy said with a wink, before making her way to the front door. “Come on, I can’t wait to show you guys how we clean everything up now—”

While Dipper rushed after her with just as much gusto, Mabel trailed slowly behind them, casting a hesitant look in the direction of the living room before the door swung shut behind her.

The shack was quiet now, leaving only Soos and Melody left in the kitchen doorway. After a moment, Melody turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Hey, did either of them eat any breakfast?”

“Don’t think so,” Soos replied. “Don’t think Mr. Pines ate much either. And I know we had Dipper bring Dr. Pines some food, but that was only a few minutes ago and he didn’t have it when he headed for the basement.”

He waved his hands. “So unless he picked up some kinda superpowers in the Multiverse that let him—I dunno, inhale all his food in one big gulp or something, it’s a tossup if he actually ate anything,” he said, before pressing one hand to his chin. “Either way, I should probably go get that plate from Abuelita’s room.”

With a smile, Melody ducked back into the kitchen. “You take care of that while I’ll go ahead and stick four premade plates of food in the fridge for later,” she said. “They’ll eat when they get hungry, right? And if not…then we have four ready-made plates to eat later.”

“You’re so smart,” Soos said, giving her a smile as he head towards the hall. “I want the last of that lasagna though, babe! You did such a good job making it!”

“Soos, it was premade.”

“Well, you can heat up a premade pasta better than anyone I know!”

— — — — — — — —

The elevator rumbled slowly as it descended beneath the house, the vibrations making the chair—and by extension, Bill—bounce slightly in place.

It didn’t take a genius to guess where the two of them were going, and a cheeky smile was widening across Bill’s face as they continued downwards. “So, Sixer, taking me down to the lab?” he asked. “Gonna run a few tests? Maybe poke me with a couple of needles?”

He tilted his head closer to Ford. “Come ooooon, I know you can’t resist a chance to take some sample blood!” he said cheerfully. “And if I know anything about you mortals, it’s that you’ve got a LOT of blood to spare~!”

Ford remained silent, gaze fixed ahead as the elevator finally slowly to a stop, with the small ding of a bell signaling their arrival. Once the doors slid open, he grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it behind him as he stepped out into the—

—private study.

Huh?

Bill had expected Ford to take them all the way down to the main laboratory for whatever plans he had in mind. More privacy, the wide open space of the portal room acting as a nostalgic backdrop for the both of them…

He couldn’t possibly imagine why Ford would bring them to his stuffy old study instead.

The chair legs clattered loudly against the floor as Ford dragged him through the room, past all the various collections he had accrued over his years of study. Collections that Bill couldn’t help but take a look at while he was pulled along.

Sure, he’d seen plenty of them more times than he could count—whether it was through Stanford’s eyes or the eyes of one of the countless triangles that he had once kept in his home. But hey, long time no see and Bill was always happy to see!

Besides, maybe he’d finally get a proper look at his vessel’s face for the first time while the two of them were down here. He hadn’t missed the fact that nobody in the household had followed up on his request for a mirror, and he could feel the curiosity about his vessel’s appearance rising with each passing minute.

They probably weren’t very tall, judging by the stubby length of the legs he had stared at—and kicked obnoxiously against his chair—for most of the night. And the way that Ford and Stan had towered over him while he was seated only added more credibility to this theory.

Had Birdbrain given him a short vessel as revenge for all the short jokes he had previously tossed their way? If that was the case, then somebody was being very immature.

Aside from that, a few glances at his hands and the fluff of blond hair that hung down over his eyes, he was completely clueless about what his vessel actually looked like.

Ford continued to drag him through the study and towards the far space at the back of the room. A space that brought an elated sparkle to Bill’s eyes once he realized where they were heading. “Oh, we’re going over here~?” he asked delightedly. “Man, I haven’t seen the shrine in age—oh.”

His initial excitement died in his throat as Ford finally stopped and set the chair in place, allowing Bill to get a clearer look at the area around him.

Gone were the golden statues and shimmering prisms resembling his likeness, and the usual tapestries of deep red and gold—each thread stitched with care by Ford’s own hand; he had really gone the extra mile back then—were now replaced with nothing but dreary-gray walls and assorted garbage that Ford had yet to clean up.

The beloved shrine that had once been Ford’s glorious tribute to Bill’s greatness, his godliness—

Gone. Completely torn down.

To add insult to injury, Ford had set the chair down right in the very center of the mess—withered ruins of a once-magnificent display—and made his way over to his workspace. Leaving Bill to stew in his bitterness as he cast a sour look around him, gaze landing on the only thing left near him outside of the discarded trash.

More specifically, an elaborate computer system with its main screen completely busted.

Ford might’ve attempted to cut him off before creating Project Mentem, but having eyes everywhere allowed him to keep tabs on things outside the mindscape. 

And boy howdy, he had sure kept tabs on Ford after his cruel and unwarranted betrayal. Even going so far as to rip handfuls of wires out of the machine whenever Ford’s body succumbed to sleep, setting his progress on the project back further and further. 

Sure, that problem had temporarily solved itself in the form of the Portal incident, but Ford had gotten straight to work upon his return and finally finished the project to completion.

Yeesh, between that and the destruction of the portal, Ford had really spent the entire month-and-a-half after returning to this dimension being as inconvenient to Bill as possible.

A brief spike of panic shot through Bill as the thought of Ford using the machine on him bubbled to the front of his mind. The technology was designed to scramble minds and make reading them near impossible—although for the record, Stanford, he would’ve eventually found some kind of work-around for that—but Bill also knew that before the scrambling process began, the machine would project all those thoughts onto the screen itself.

A weird design choice on Ford’s end, but in an indirect way, it granted him his own artificial method of reading minds.

Sure, the machine had been damaged shortly after completion—oh, Bill had to give Pine Tree some praise in that regard; probably one of the most useful things the little pipsqueak had done in his entire life. But if Ford had been smart enough to understand the complex, multidimensional schematics that Bill had provided for him for the portal’s construction, then repairing some fancy-schmancy thought scrambler would be child’s play.

If Ford managed to get Project Mentem working again, there was a chance that he could snag a glimpse at the deal Bill had made with Tangy. To see a lot of things that he had no business seeing, to know things he had no business knowing—

Hold on a second.

Bill continued to stare hard at the old computer, gaze fixed on one of the smaller, undamaged monitors. The screen was decades old—a tried-and-true relic of the early nineteen-eighties, much like the rest of the technology that Ford and his…assistant had used for their inventions around that point in time—and the inactivity of the machine left a dark reflection of the room and anyone in it on the glass.

And while the angle Bill was situated at made it difficult for him to get a clear look with his functional eye, he could almost make out his vessel’s face. If only he could turn his head at juuuust the right angle—

“Hey—hey!”

And suddenly his head was guided—jerked back to the front by a firm hand around his jaw, and Bill found himself face-to-face with Ford. 

He expected to see the same anger in his eyes that he’d been subjected to for the past several hours. But Ford’s expression was more studious, pupils darting back and forth behind his old lenses in deep concentration—

“ACK!”

A small flash of light was shone in his functional eye before Bill had time to brace himself, and he shrank away from it as best he could—despite Ford’s hand keeping both his head and the small flashlight in place. “Hey, come on,” he griped, snapping his eyelid closed with a nasty look. “Trying to kill me is one thing, but blinding me’s a low blow, even for you!”

Eventually the light was shifted to his right eye, and Ford kept it there for a moment before finally clicking the small flashlight off and tucking it back into his coat. “Had a feeling…”

Despite his irritation towards being manhandled, Bill raised an eyebrow at that remark. Outside of the occasional threat, Ford hadn’t said anything to him the entire night he’d been back.

Granted, his remark was more about him than to him, but it was close enough to count! “Oh, so are you finally ready to talk to me, Sixer?” he tried with a cutesy bat of his eyelashes. “Because lemme tell ya: after being rudely ignored all night, I’m not so sure I’m even in the mood to—hey!”

And now Ford had both his jaw and forehead in a tight grip, keeping his mouth propped open for a moment so he could look inside. “Dental structure appears normal,” he mused quietly. “Canines have already grown in, second molars—”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re researching me,” Bill said with a perturbed scowl once Ford finally let go of his head to scribble down his findings. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered and open to answering any questions you might have about me.”

He flashed Ford a grin. “But like I warned your brother last night, I’d advise against sticking those freaky hands of yours anywhere near these puppies, unless you feel like going from six fingers to five!” he said with a snap of his teeth. “I’d advise against it, though. Those extra fingers of yours are probably your best qualities—can you stop?!”

Ford’s hands were back on his head, this time to push that blonde tuft of hair out of his eyes—

“Oh.”

Ford’s curious stare at his forehead gave Bill pause for a moment, and he raised an eyebrow. “What? What’s with the ominous ‘oh’-ing?”

Ford continued to stare in silence for a few seconds, before turning back to his notes to scribble something down.

“Hey, you tell me what you’ve written right now!” Bill demanded, face hot with anger. “Do you hear me, Sixer?! You don’t get to poke and prod me like a lump of flesh clay and then just sit there and not tell me what you’re writing!”

Despite Bill’s ire, Ford ignored him in favor of finishing his notes, only stopping to reach for the rope he had grabbed from the bedroom. And as Bill watched, he laid the rope in a perfect circle on the floor around the chair and himself. 

Yeesh, whether it was through a sketch in a notebook, spray paint on the ground, or with a simple rope, Ford really did have a knack for creating near-perfect circles. An impressive talent, although Bill had always—and understandably—favored his ability to draw a perfect equilateral triangle far more than some silly circles.

Once Ford had closed the circle, he moved to one of the nearby storage cupboards for the needed moonstones and vial of mercury. “You know, I feel like you’re being a biiiiit excessive with all of this, Fordsy,” Bill piped up. “I mean, I’m already bound pretty tightly over here. What’s another spell circle going to do?”

Rather than reply, Ford set the remaining objects in place and returned to his desk to fiddle with something just out of Bill’s line of sight—despite several failed attempts on Bill’s end to stretch his body far enough to get a peek. And after a few minutes, he stepped away again and made his way towards the spiral staircase on the other side of the study.

Bill continued to watch as he descended upwards and towards the level that waited just above the room; a hallway that connected to the cellar beneath one side of the shack, an additional hidden entrance that opened up to the house on the other, and a bathroom smack dab in the very center. All of which was comfortably situated just beneath the stairwell on the upper floor.

All in all, a general area that provided solutions to more than one type of emergency.

It was only when Ford disappeared completely from sight near the top of the stairs that Bill turned his attention back to the desk. So Mister Brainiac wanted to play sneaky with his plans, did he? Well, if there was anything he should’ve picked up on last night, it was that he should’ve used that extra rope to restrain Bill’s legs!

Or maybe not, since that would’ve only inconvenienced him further.

With an inhale of breath, Bill leaned backwards in the chair before throwing all of body weight forward and bringing himself to his feet. He wasn’t quite used to using his new human limbs yet—let alone with a whole chair on his back—but all he needed to do was get within reach of something sharp long enough to cut his ropes.

Sure, the circle on the floor limited his range of motion, but the rope had been placed right up against the broken monitors. Maybe if he angled the legs of the chair enough, he could get a piece of glass from the broken computer monitor within his line of reach. All he needed to do was take a few wobbly steps—

“Oh, come on!”

—wobblier than expected, apparently. For it was one humiliating crash later that Bill found himself as acquainted with the hardwood floor as he had been with the rug back in Abuelita’s bedroom. 

His face was smushed against the ground in a way that barred his sight of the stairs. But he could hear Ford stomping back down them in an instant—likely to investigate the source of the crashing sound—and it was only a few seconds later that an unseen hand gripped the back of the chair and hoisted it up off the floor.

Both chair and Bill were rotated forward again, and his own glare met Ford’s as the two of them stared at each other in furious silence. “See, I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” Bill finally said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re not the one who keeps giving the floorboards the wrong impression about what kinda shape I am.”

He tilted his head dramatically. “With how often my face meets the floor, these poor planks probably see me as some kind of…woodwork womanizer at this point~! My reputation’s gonna take ages to recover from such a scathing blow!”

He dropped the theatrics for a moment to roll his eyes. “Or at least, it would if I actually cared about that kinda thing, haha!”

With a huff, Ford set the chair back in place with a solid thunk of the chair legs, only to step just out of range when Bill tried to kick at him. “And seriously, would it kill you to put some carpet or a rug down in here?”

“I had a rug.”

“Yeah, well, what happened to—”

Any further protests died in Bill’s throat under Ford’s narrowed glare, and he looked away with a muttered: “...Could’ve just bought another one.” as Ford returned to his desk.

— — — — — — —

Even as far back as their childhood, Stan had often teased Ford for the way he organized things. Whether it was his half of their dresser drawers, his school binders—

—heck, even his beloved journals of all the Whatchamacallits and Whatsittoyas of Gravity Falls had been organized to some degree.

Granted, everything was always organized in an incredibly-nerdy way—one that only Stanford Pines and Stanford Pines alone could properly decipher. Sorting sock brands by alphabetical order? Academic awards by height and medal quality?

And organized didn’t always mean clean. Even a complete and total memory wipe hadn’t managed to make Stan forget the time he had come home to most of Ford’s science books and countless sheets of paper with associated scribblings scattered around the bedroom. All of which Ford had insisted that Stan not move in the slightest, because he was ‘on the verge of completing a super important experiment for the science fair, and couldn’t afford to move a single paper’.

Wait, had it been for the science fair? It could’ve just been some random project—whatever, it didn’t matter at the moment.

Regardless of his eccentric methods—and how often Stan had ended up spending the night on the living room couch to avoid another one of his brother’s nerdy all-nighters—the fact of the matter was that Ford was an expert in keeping his stuff organized. A place for everything and everything in its place, and all that other jazz Ma had always taught them growing up.

And despite Stan reacting to such behavior in the only way he knew how to react—juvenile, brotherly teasing with the occasional noogie for good measure—Ford had always gotten the upper hand in the end whenever they needed to locate something in a hurry.

And thankfully that mindset had carried over to adulthood, and included his notes on all of the oddities that the two of them had discovered during their sea travels across the past nine months.

It had taken Stan about two minutes to locate said notes after he finally managed to calm down from the events that had unfolded inside the shack. Whether or not that also took two minutes was up for debate—if there was a universe out there where two minutes and ten minutes were the exact same length of time.

Yeesh, Stan could practically hear Ford in his head at the very thought, going off on elaborate story about how he’d actually jumped through several dimensions where time worked like that during his travels.

His grip on the saltwater-stained journal—one whose front was emblazoned with a golden hand and the number four—tightened as he moved to the counter at the back of the cabin, and set it down in front of him before flipping open to the first page.

It wasn’t the best idea in the world, since it limited their options to sea-based methods. And unless that little triangle twerp had some unknown weakness to water, they probably wouldn’t get anywhere with just the one book. 

But for now, it was an idea.

#Hayley Writes Triangulum #Gravity Falls #Triangulum The Fic #Bill Cipher #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #My Writing #Long Post #(More characters in the chapter; they are just tagged for the art)

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as their natal charts: vernon

sun in aquarius, moon in scorpio

this man is a deep thinker, who does not like to be under someone's control; creative and strong, he's genuinely nice but his reserved and a bit detached nature can make him look bad, he is someone who is sincerely happy with who he is and doesn't care what others think

'hansollie,' you whine in a baby voice, hiding your face on his chest.

'hm? what is it?' he asks, immediately wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. 'what happened?'

'everyone is staring,' you mumble quietly, too shy to look up. when he suggested to dance in the park and film it, you agreed because you liked this idea and because it's impossible to say no to his sparkling eyes. but at that time park was blisfully empty unlike now, when it's full of people, who are all very interested in you two.

'so what?' vernon whispers into your ear, tightening his grip. 'let them, sunshine. they are admiring, not judging, i promise.'

too scared to take a peek from his shoulder, you didn't say anything on this, letting hansol sway you two to the rhythm of the song. it's easy to forget about the rest of the world in his arms, hansol has this uncanny ability of making you feel invincible. he doesn't care what other people think of him and when you're together, this great ability transfers to you too. his hands caress your back softly and he plants small kiss on your cheek, whispering: 'if you are uncomfortable, love, then we can stop. just say a word.'

this makes you smile. hansol may not care about other people, but you, your thoughts, your feelings are his utmost priority. you finally look up from his chest, meeting his worried eyes dead on. there's deep etched frown between his eyebrows and you reach out to smooth it out, smiling at him. 'song is ending, let's finish it and then go home? besides,' you take a quick look at the crowd, 'everyone is looking at us like we're the cutest couple they've ever seen. we can't spoil their show.'

hansol laughs, leaning in to peck your lips chastely. 'well, to be honest, we are the cutest couple anyone has ever seen.' he presses your foreheads together, looking at you adoringly. 'all the cuteness is thanks to you, by the way.'

'you are right,' you giggle, forgetting about the crowd and anything else. who cares what they think and who needs them at all, when hansol is next to you, holding you close and looking at you like you are the reason sun is up?

this man contradicts himself: he needs to be loved and be 100% independent at the same time, he can get jealous but won't accept any doubt towards him. he will never be too emotional, which doesn't mean his love is fake; he's loyal and commited, but he needs space and his partner should understand that. he's very much 'best friends turned lovers' type, this arc fits him the most.

'give me some time, okay?' hansol asks, holding your hands in his.

it's not the first time he asks for this after a fight, but every single he does, you feel doubt creep into you - what if he won't come back? you quickly shake this thought off though, because you know him better than that. his need for space is understandable and you nod, trying to hide your sadness. 'of course. we are.. good, right?'

his lips are on yours in the next second and you kiss him back, savoring this moment of closeness. 'we are good,' he assures you sincerely. 'i just need some time away to think it over, okay?' at your nod, he leans in, kissing you once more. 'look at me, love. i'm not leaving, okay? i'd never do that to you.'

'i know,' you whisper, looking at him. you not doubting him is so, so important for him and you know it; you nod again, trying to smile. 'i trust you. take all the time you need.'

beautiful smile blooms on his face at this and he kisses both of your hands. 'i am yours,' he says seriously, looking in your eyes. 'just let me think it over, i don't want this kind of fight to ever happen again.'

he means it, you know he does. 'me too. i'm sorry.'

'i'm sorry too,' he holds you close. 'we'll work on this one, yeah?'

you look at the way his thumb gently draws circles on your wrist and nod. his intention to learn and get better will never cease to amaze you. 'yeah. we'll work on this one.'

a/n: on the list of 'mtl will analyze the fight and come back to talk it out' out of seventeen members, hansol is numero uno :') what do you guys think? - nini

my masterlist is here

tagging @prpldahy

#seventeen imagine #seventeen reaction #seventeen vernon #vernon chwe #vernon fanfic #hansol imagine #hansol fanfic #seventeen hansol #choi hansol #hansol x reader #svt vernon #svt hansol #i just love him so much because his placements are so unique like #he IS sincerely happy with who he is #i am so jealous but also so happy for him