#she thought that they'd both stay the same

[thecurioustale]

My Thoughts on Jenny Nicholson and the Star Wars Hotel

I watched Jenny Nicholson's four-hour "The Spectacular Failure of the Star Wars Hotel" video essay that YouTube showed me recently but which till now I couldn't bring myself to construct a day around. She's in great form here, and I'm pleased to say I go back as a fan of her work all the way to her Friendship Is Witchcraft days. (Blows my mind that she voiced all Mane Six characters, and others, so well.)

Anyway, long story short, Disney built a Star Wars hotel at Disneyworld in 2022 that was themed as a voyage on a spaceship, then proceeded to charge thousands of dollars per person per night, the most expensive publicly-available Disney theme park hotel experience by miles and miles, and then closed the hotel in 2023 after having spent hundreds of millions of dollars. Jenny went into the experience as a member of the core target demographic and spent four hours talking about all the ways it was an underwhelming or outright disappointing experience.

Her video reminded me of Hasbro's own misadventures in corporate greed with Magic: The Gathering, which has suffered in recent years from price increases, disengagement from the fan community, and a huge proliferation of product spam—i.e. more products overall, more ways to buy a given product (e.g., the proliferation of different boxes, which eventually killed the original draft booster box that had powered Magic for 30 years), and more variants of individual cards within and between products.

Hasbro and Disney are very similar in the economic space they operate in, and also utilize similar business strategies. Disney is essentially the S-tier megacorporation to Hasbro's B-tier, and we have seen many of the same corporate trends play out in both companies.

When it comes to Disney theme parks, they have massively increased ticket prices over the years, well beyond the rate of inflation, and have also implemented advance-scheduling systems for faster access to rides that has made the process of exploring a Disney theme park much less spontaneous and a lot more regimented and stressful.

Disney realized, years ago, that their limited number of theme parks—they only really have two, not counting the various sub-parks: Disneyland on the West Coast and Disneyworld on the East Coast—together with Disney's entrenched status as a cultural icon with lots of goodwill and brand recognition among the public, are vastly underserving public demand, allowing them to inflate the price of a single trip almost arbitrarily, well into the four digits—or even the five-digits if you're taking the family and spending several days.

The Star Wars hotel was Disney's "Magic 30": a product so ludicrously expensive as to incur immediate and universal condemnation by their own fans. It's clear to me what Disney was doing: They'd happily turned the conventional price knob up and up and up for years. Now they wanted to experiment with a fundamentally more expensive product class, basically five to ten times more expensive. They wanted to see if the market could support it. Because the growing disparity of wealth in America, together with America's obscene wealth as a nation relative to the rest of the world, means that it's definitely possible: There are definitely millions of people out there who could book a stay at the Star Wars hotel if they wanted to. And Disney was like "Let's see if they will."

And you know what? I think it could have succeeded. Because there really is an obscene excess of wealth in this country, even though most of us don't have any access to it. And we are a culture whose zeitgeist is ever ravenous for the next big, flashy experience.

But instead the venture failed spectacularly. Why? Because such reckless corporate greed is, itself, usually a sign of deep organizational rot and incompetency among the board and executive leadership. In other words, their hotel failed for the same reason they tried building it in the first place: Disney has grown stupid.

The way it failed, going by Jenny's video, is down to two independent reasons:

An outrageous degree of "penny-wise, pound foolish" thinking;

A fundamental failure to anticipate the comfort and pleasure of the guest.

The former is the more obvious of the two, and what really stood out to me as emblematic of it in this whole boondoggle were two simple thing: 1) The hotel rooms didn't have complimentary Disney+; and 2) the free loaner umbrellas for hotel guests visiting the Star Wars Land in Disneyworld were either so worn-out or so shoddy to begin with that, unless it was a big coincidence, both Jenny's and Jenny's sister's umbrella failed while in use. This was in the context of Disneyworld's most expensive customer experience ever, by a lot, and Disney was nickel-and-diming them. Jenny's video goes into a great depth of detail on the dozens if not hundreds of corners they cut; it was basically everything but the food. The result was an antagonistic relationship between Disney and their hotel guests where almost everything interesting cost more money (usually a lot more money) while almost everything included in the main ticket price was of cheap quality or stingy in its allotment. Every aspect of the whole process, from the scammy vibes of booking a room in the first place, to the pathetic after-care for customers who reported a problem after their stay, was likely to leave a sour taste in the customer's mouth.

When you're paying the most expensive prices in the history of a product category, you really just need to be given an up-front price that includes all or nearly all of it. You'll know what you're in for, and you can make an informed decision, and then it's really just down to the host to provide an experience and level of service that matches those high dollar outlays. But instead, as Jenny pointed out, it's like you're dealing with Spirit Airlines, where you're gonna pay a fee for literally everything beyond sitting your body quietly on the airplane.

Mind-boggling hubris. Disney needs to be broken up for the monopoly that it is, and this is just one more example of how convinced of their own inevitability and supremacy Disney has become.

The other main failure on Disney's part is the subtler one.

Jenny focused on how the Star Wars themed choose-your-own-adventure game, which was at the heart of the hotels' central conceit of "live your own personal Star Wars story," was irreparably dysfunctional. Not only was the app, through which most of the "experience" was conveyed, horribly designed; and not only were the tasks delivered through this app mostly busywork to anyone other than young children, consisting of little more than walking around and scanning inanimate objects; but the storyline's entry points and decision points were completely impenetrable through reasonable means, to the point of seeming arbitrary. Jenny proactively tried and failed to get into her preferred storyline; then tried and failed to get into any storyline; then was automatically sorted into one the next morning; and ultimately ended up having only one (dubiously) interactive story experience over the whole weekend.

She talked about how the tightly-regimented and incredibly full schedule was so mentally and physically draining that on the final night she fled her dinner table fearing she would vomit and had to stand in her hotel room staring at herself in the mirror for a while, to understand her illness (which turned out to be stress-induced exhaustion) and center herself.

She talked about how she didn't get to see a much-coveted music show during dinner on her first night because she was seated behind a giant column.

Really, these things are manifestations of the larger and more fundamental failure on Disney's part to anticipate the comfort and pleasure of the guest, as I put it.

As I was watching her video, two thoughts came to me in this vein:

First was that this whole experience really needed to be "playtested," as we might say in Magic. I mean, I'm sure there nominally was, but whatever playtesting they did was completely ineffective. Good playtesting would have brought most of these issues to light.

Second was that the Disney of today has completely lost touch with the namesake of their industry: hospitality. This would never have happened at a new luxury resort by an established world-class hotelier a century ago. Because they understood the basics. Little things, like hot towels.

I could tell just from Jenny's video that this whole hotel was decided from the top-down by soulless, disconnected corporate suits who blatantly disregarded whatever good suggestions I'm sure the Imagineers® came up with. For the failures to be as expansive and ubiquitous as Jenny's video documented, no doubt the institutional rot extends down at least as far as the project manager level, if not down to individual Imagineers® and beyond, but there have to be at least some good ones, and clearly they were overruled early and often. Whenever Disney's leadership was faced with a decision between anticipating the comfort and pleasure of the guest, and saving a couple bucks on a guest who was literally laying out several thousands of dollars to be there, leadership chose the latter.

They were so arrogant that they believed, without noticing or questioning it (unless Disney's leadership is in fact cartoon evil), that they would tell the customer what constitutes a good experience, and the customer would pay top dollar for it. And so you get a guest experience where customers who are actively trying to pick a given storyline can't get any storyline and are later seated for the dinner show behind a giant fucking column.

It's sad, and we should all be glad that their hotel failed. Not that Disney is likely to learn the right lessons from their failure, but the long-term solution here is for leisure dollars to be directed toward other companies. For the several thousand bucks that Jenny paid, she could have had a true luxury vacation in most parts of the world—and for longer than two nights.

One thing that I noticed during the four hours of her video was that Disney, or at least the people in charge of developing this hotel, didn't seem to understand what constitutes an enjoyable story experience. I am forgiving of the low level of complexity in the various puzzles, since the public is famously stupid plus a lot of these guests are going to be children. But there was so little imagination in the actual plot beats: Chewie sneaks in, gets arrested, and busts out. You get to help some Resistance fighters smuggle their luggage. Like, it's insipid. I mean, ultimately, most pop storytelling is insipid, but what I mean is that the dressings were insipid too. Dressing a story up is what makes stories great, at least at the mainstream level. There was no pomp and flourish; no clever interweaving; no electric events that put people on the edge of their seats. Just walking around on your phone for two days scanning crates and occasionally being in the same room while somebody busts Chewie out of the clink—assuming you even make it to the story events in time, since they often fired early.

The whole thing smacks of rule by committee, too many cooks, and suits suits suits all the way down.

I think it's a sign of the times that this is happening. We are once again in Robber-Baron territory in this land. The big corporations and the oligarchs who run them have become so obscenely rich and so utterly disconnected from ordinary life, and their corporate cultures have become so masturbatory and so officious, that they are increasingly creating products for idealized, phantom audiences. They increasingly don't understand real people or real life.

And we can and should bring the weight of the government down on them, more to break up monopolies and allow new and established competitors to seriously challenge them than to actively punish these companies for making money, but even more so we just need to spend our dollars elsewhere. I mean, I'm speaking hypothetically here; I am poor so none of this even applies to me in the first place.

Hence why, even after inflation, this is still just my two cents.

#Jenny Nicholson #Star Wars Hotel #Galactic Starcruiser #Justice for Amethia Tope

[punkeropercyjackson]

The Anomalies:Lore

Layed out for everybody who likes my content of Spiderverse x Pjo x DC but dosen't really understand what's going on/what it means/what brings it on!

@insomniac-jay @mayameanderings @theautisticcentre @jellyfilledeyes @jellyjays @nogender-onlystars @desi-pluto @moonage-gaydream @refrigeratedboombursts @julieemarine @jelmet @genderfluid-bat @a-confused-ranger @imreallyonthishellsite @dead111111111111 @error-core-animations @yukii0nna @tuxedkitt @a-hypnos-v @st4r-fire

The title refers to Miles,Percy and Jason.They're called 'The Anomalies' because they're 'not supposed to exist' and Miles was called one canonically,Percy was born from Poseidon breaking the pact and Jason was ressurected originally from Superboy Prime breaking reality.I came up with the idea of them being a team because i realized back when Atsv came out that with their personalities,they'd be best friends and need to be a trio to work together perfectly as Miles with Percy or Jason is interesting on it's own but better if it's all three of them and Percy and Jason becoming instant besties is ooc and insulting to their characters

Percy and Jason are monoracial afro-dominican and darkskin and they're all trans and audhd-Miles is transmascfem and uses that as his identity due to his experiences with gender as a black person,Jason is transmasc agender with left girl for yuri purposes and Percy is a trans woman who's name is short for Persephone.She named herself after the og as a thank you to her for giving her Metamorphose,food that's been blessed by Aphrodite to give the eater their ideal apperance and is basically hrt when it comes to trans people,and she's super voluptous with realistic muscles and fat

Percy also dyes her faded from gray to white streak sea blue to blend in the mortal world and Miles' and Jason's radioactive spider bite and Lazarus Pit dunk were their own hrt as they have the same effect Metamorphose does in that part.Percy and Miles are pastel punk but Miles leans more into the cutesy/kiddy aspects and Percy's more hardcore/closer to old school punk and Jason is goth punk and Percy's hair is a bit past her hips and she wears it naturally,Miles starts with her canon hairstyle but switches to dreads later on and Jason and her and dreadhead bros

Percy's earth is Earth 27 and Jason's earth is Prime Earth

They met post itsv but pre atsv,post hoo and toa dosen't exist and right after utrh so no og rhato either(everyone say thank you Miles for changing the timeline and saving us and Percy and Jason from that fuckery).Doc Ock came back to New York and literally smacked Miles into another dimension with a device she made,Percy was banished from her realm by the Olympians for her defiement of them at the same time and they both crashed into Jason on his motorcyle in his Red Hood gear just as he made it to the outskirts of Gotham as they shot out of their portals and into his life.After a bit of talking to figure out what was going on and who they were,Jason agreed to guide them since it was his dimension and instantly clicked with Miles but detested Percy and the reverse is also true as they only stuck together to stay with Miles at first

Until the slow burn burned and now they're ride or die best friends.Miles is on the same level to them as they are eachother and they're equally important to him too.Miles reminded Jason of his Robin self('You're like me......The me that died')and to Percy of Nico and she reminded Miles of Gwen and he thought Jason's losercore behavior was the funniest fucking shit so he kept him around for the bit and Jason and Percy clashed so hard because they're the same but foils in a way that leads to bickering unlike with Miles where it leads to soft interactions they don't do with most people

Miles ends up becoming a Blue Lantern as he gets a Power Ring by his friendship with Kyle and their side teamups and earns Apollo's blessing for his sheer artistic talent and earnest dedication to his art that made him actually cry like a baby as he gave it to him and Percy had to hold herself back from slashing him away from Miles and it gives him a blonde streak in his hair that ends up permanent but turns into a white streak with the intensity of the situation.He joins Young Justice as an honorary member too and as an adult,her hero name is 'Ultimate' both for being more sutible and gender neutrality since she's a boygirl that's fully settled into her identity

Percy is part kryptonian because Sally is and that's why her eyes change sea colors as she's an alien hybrid with her grandparents escaping Krypton just as it exploded and got sucked into a portal that led them to 27.She also ends up hosting Venom for a while and he's more scared of her than she is of him by the end.Clark acts as a fatherly mentor to her and even gives her and Sally(once she enters the picture)their own kryptonian names as 'Per-El' and 'Sal-El' but even before that,she makes her hero name 'Hydro' and dons the Superfam emblem on her costume and it's white with the rest of her costume being black and blue and it has a hood and a lower face mask like Stephanie's

Jason develops werewolf-esque spiderperson powers thanks to extensive exposure of Miles' spider dna to his Lazarus Pit dna making him mutate.He was pissed about it at first,especially with Percy's teasing and felt bad about Miles' distressed guilt but learned to control his new abilities and used 'Batspider' as a codename and modeled his costume after Miles' but with his own twists like his Spider symbol being cracked('Jason,you look like fucking Emo Elmo' '.......How would anyone be able to tell i'm black in this,Percy?????' 'Same way they do me and Miles.It's about the vibes').He's also a 'Greek Gadgeteer' aka he worked his ass off to be an expert on and collector of greek mythos items

Miles is found siblings with Percy and Jason.Percy and Jason however are a romantic couple-Yeah idc how much everybody hates this ship anymore,Jaypercy is REAL.Reluctant allies/frenemies to best friends to lovers and Miles threw them a little fake wedding when they got together after a loooong amount of pining and relathionship development

Team Mom Percy so true.She does her best to make sure they all eat good,sleep well,don't go out on missions with too bad of injuries,keep up their training and are reassured they're loved.Miles and Jason gladly return the favor(though Jason's more subtle about it)

Percy and Jason=Miles hype and defense squad

Percy enourages Miles to embrace his inner kid and eventually tells him one of the reason's for it is her own extremely lonely childhood that she dosen't wanna see him go through.That was the first time she'd been his first shoulder to cry on and they were closer than ever afterwards.He appreciated it a lot because he was getting at the age where it's considered innapropriate to act the way he does because it's 'childish' and it was upsetting him

Jason teaches Miles to chanel his anger in useful ways and to fight back instead of playing The Nice Normal GuyTM and Miles helps Jason be a better person just by existing and being his best friend and pseudo-little brother

Jason regularly uses Miles' head as an arm rest and has an arm slung around Percy's shoulder,both as affection but the latter also for protective reasons

Their nicknames for eachother are 'Girasolito' and 'Jaybat'(Percy),'Little Man' and 'Bluey'(Jason)and 'Campanilla' and 'Big Guy'(Miles)

They all have big white blob eyes in their costumes,including Jason with his helmet!!!Also,in superhero dimensions,masks and helmets and equivalents move with the wearers expression('H-How is your-' 'It's a superhero thing' '*Jason points in confirmation*')

They diy'd matching tops that say 'White Streak Gang'(Miles' is a sleeveless hoodie,Percy's is a crop top and Jason's is a baggy t-shirt)

They dubbed themselves 'The Anomalies' in-universe as reclamation against the ones who'd hurt them

CHAOTIC ASF EVEN OFF DUTY.Dairy Super trips at odd hours,saying the weirdest shit because they're just that open with eachother,fucking around with their powers and even more!!Their love language is being sweet freaks together

Misc stuff because most of my brainrot is of them but TA has existed for almost a year so the rest of the gang does get something too!!

They have a B-Team:The Abnormals,Peni,Hazel and Duke!!Duke is 15 and Robin as Bruce's adoptive son,Hazel got bitten by an interdimensional spider like Miles did and so she's Earth 27 Spiderwoman and nicknamed 'Pinkspider' who agreed to join Spider Society to find Percy and Peni is fresh out of her Canon Event when they meet at it and closer to her comics version.Duke ends up in Spider Society while dealing with Cironielian Chrysalis Eater who teleports him to it and that's how The Abnormals began as he knocked over Peni and Hazel trying to disentangle himself from goop the second Hazel realized she's a lesbian and has a crush on Peni.They become a super middle school friend group(despite being high school age LMAO)and do hero work together too,Duke is a reality warper,Peni is a cyborg with new body parts to replace the ones lost in Spidergeddon and Hazel's Spiderpowers are really horror based to match her macabe self.Penzel dosen't get together until they're both adults with their current dynamic a very chaste one

Stephanie becomes a mermaid shifter by Amphirite turning into one at her wish and her Atlantian-adjacent name is Stefano and she instantly hit it off with Percy,Gwen changes her name to 'Songspider' post-saving herself from 'Gwen Stacy always dies',Miles G retires from direct vigilantehood out of trauma to become their Guy In The Chair under 'Orpheus',Hobie mutates into having a supersonic voice by being with Percy all the time in her Venom days and dubs himself 'Punk Canary' the same way Jason did with Miles(including being like a big sister and her little brother)and Batspider,Thalia gains Speedster powers and names herself 'Shockstrike' as she pseudo-joins the Flashfam,Nico dosen't gain new powers but joins in as 'The Ghost Cape' because he wants to be with his sisters(meant to type 'The Ghost King' and came up with an actual legit moniker for him finally)and Jason is injected with the Wolverine X-gene and his codename is 'Wolv'.Gwen's half afro-dominican on her mom's side,Stephanie is jamaican-south korean,Nico is black monoracial and Beryl Grace was a snowbunny /hj

Technically there's also a C-Team but i'd only call it that because Cass is on it since she wants no connections to Jason and it's her-A Hades 27 legacy,Thalia,Nico and Hobie and they call themselves 'The Analogues'.I keep thinking Gwen should be a main Anomalies member but i love the Miles Percy Jason Trinity too much to add anyone else so her and the above gang are filed under Honorary Anomalies!!

Yara is Percy's soul sister and drops into the plot very often both seriously and just to hang

Aaaaaand Tim x Miles x Hobie is a thing!!!I can't stand Tim/Hobie for no reason so it's a vee relathionship!Tim is black/white mixed because i don't wanna insert a white boy into Punkflower and Timiles is a Zing Moment a la Hotel Transylvania and their following relathionship is just as goofy as that description

#the anomalies #atsv #spiderman #pjo #batfam #dc #miles morales #percy jackson #persephone jackson #jason todd #jaypercy #the abnormals #honorary anomalies #the analogues #peni parker #hazel levesque #duke thomas #penzel #stephanie brown #gwen stacy #miles g morales #hobie brown #thalia grace #nico di angelo #jason grace #cassandra cain #tim drake #skapunkflower #yara flor #summerposting

[coldhndss]

Tulip 2/2 ft. Isagi. Y

You slumped back onto your bed, photo frame still in hand. 

You had always expected it to end like this anyways. Your selfishness always took precedence over other people’s feelings, especially those who cared most about you. 

You found yourself unable to cry. 

Regret reverberated throughout your entire body, and what ate away at you most was that you knew Yoichi would be blaming your mistakes on him.

All you wanted was to apologise. You used to take it as a privilege, never imagining he would stray so far from your grasp.

Maybe a nap would wash it all away.

Until you woke up, that was.

You wake abruptly to the sudden sound of knocking. 

Checking your phone, you find that 2 hours have passed. 

“Coming!” You call out, looking in the mirror to tidy yourself up before opening the door. You notice that your cheeks were streaked with dried tears.

He crosses your mind, but you quickly dismiss even the mere idea of him being there. After all you’ve done, do you really think he’ll give you even a thought? 

He wouldn’t come to see you first thing after being inside a training facility for months. He’d definitely visit people who actually care for him.

Your heart beats heavily within the confines of your body.

You reach for the doorknob, twist it, and open it.

Surely the person knocking on your door in the middle of the day right after you woke up from the specific time slot that you allocated for sleep every afternoon, wouldn’t be him. 

Though, he was always particular about not hindering you or interrupting your free time, always making sure he had an idea of the times that you’re busy, or how you were feeling before approaching you.

Surely, it wasn’t:

“Yoichi..?”

No, no this isn’t him. He looks completely different from what you remember. He looks.. taller? He’s standing with confidence and his entire demeanor is different..

Though..

“Hey, y/n..” 

But his smile is exactly as you remember. 

The way the corners of his lips curve upwards, and as lets out a joyful, yet awkward laugh stringing along with his words. The way he gets too nervous to maintain direct eye-contact, and glances towards the wall or the floor after greeting you.

The way he looks back up at you timidly, seeking validation. 

It was all the same.

“Listen uh, I’m really sorry for.. everything” He spoke with a soft, sympathetic tone. 

You were not about to let this opportunity go, you refused to lose him again. Cupping his face in your hands and looking him straight in his eyes, you said “Don’t apologise. I don’t want you blaming yourself for my mistakes anymore”.

He reaches for your forearms with both hands and gently holds them as your hands remain on his face. You feel the heat of his cheeks in the palm of your hands as he looks downwards in embarrassment. 

Inching closer, he rests his forehead on your head and exhales softly.

“I just don’t want to disappoint you. I want to live up to what you expect of me, y/n.” He coyly responded.

“Yoichi, that’s not something you need to worry about. We’re not kids anymore, that stuff doesn’t matter” You paused and took a slow deep breath. You can finally get it off your chest.

“Yet, I’m sorry for ignoring you before you left, I don’t even want to imagine the way I made you felt. I.. I was so selfish..” You shuffled your feet, embarrassed. Your face began to heat up, and before you knew it, a tear dropped down your right cheek. 

You lifted a hand to wipe it, but Yoichi had beaten you to it. 

“That’s not true. I was in the wrong from the moment I hesitated to tell you about everything”. He wiped your tear with his thumb before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. 

He smiled; “This entire time, I was preparing what to say to you, and yet, you still managed to stump me”. Yoichi clasped his arms around you tightly yet gently and held you close. The grasp of his body felt different to before, and his newfound confidence brought you closure. He held you in his arms as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. Your heart resounded within your chest with every beat becoming louder and bearing more pressure.

Your arms remained by your side.

Giving in was not something you were prepared to do. Not in your current mindset.

The way he had changed so much, yet so little.. It made you think;

Maybe it is okay to change. To leave my bad habits behind and stop finding new ways to run away from my problems. To take a page out of Yoichi’s book, and finally leave my wrongs in the past.

You eventually gave in and wrapped your arms around his back, squeezing as tightly as you were able to. Without him, you would’ve been stuck in a loop of your congested mind, continuously likening every one of your lies with the truths of someone else. 

“y/n..?” He suddenly spoke.

“Yeah?”

“Um.. you’re squeezing me a bit too tight” He chuckled.

“..Sorry”

#ISAGIIIIII #so basically the y/n of this story is a girl who runs away from her problems #she's meant to be weak minded and that's why she sleeps to forget or convinces herself that she's right and isagi is wrong #and I thought that would rlly bring out isagis kind qualities yk #wanted them to shine #its like since she grew up with him #she thought that they'd both stay the same #but turns out isagi matured and she was the one who didn't #and his confidence gives her that push to 'grow up' mentally #OVERANALYSINGGG #blue lock #isagi yoichi #writing #blue lock x reader #bllk #isagi x reader #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #also its called tulip because his smile reminds her of yellow tulips #which are said to signify happiness and cheerfulness #just a little detail I wanted to add #anyways byeee #coldhandsss

[lesbians-all-the-way-down]

My life won't be complete until I name the other lead in the historical fiction I've decided I'm going to write.

#but I've decided that the reason Jo and the other one get to stay together after the war without question #is because they always just claim they understand each other in ways no one else could. #it makes me kind of sad that they cant have kids so i might give Josie a husband that dies in the war #that when one wakes up screaming the other knows exactly why and is the only one who does. #because they were together through the whole war. they saw the same things. #i might also give one a husband? it wouldn't be Josie. #he would die. that would be part of the excuse too. #“well why don't you nice women marry soldiers? they know the horrors too #“she did. her husband died capturing Passchendaele and you want her to just replace him? #she is a mourning widow. And i am just a friend who understands. #i might give them both husbands. but it depends. #(Josie gives off agreement vibes. like they're both gay and in love with someone so they act as beards) #(whereas the other one gives off “im pretending I like men so he can be happy and i can be accepted” vibes) #but anyway i might give Josie a husband that dies in the war. and then the other one's husband would live through it and they'd stay married #but he would kill himself (within the year probably) as so many soldiers did. and she would be pregnant. #so that they could have a kid. because i think they deserve a kid. #god josie wouldn't know she wants kids but shed be such a good mom if it came down to it #but wait #ww2 if they wanted to sign up for it one of them would have to stay with their kid #I'd think Josie would be the one to go back and serve again. shes suited for it. she was in charge. #but she was wounded. bad i think. possibly just a leg injury but I'd love to go abdominal. #so she was probably honourably discharged. she can't go back. it would have to be the other one. #I don't think my heart could kill off either of them but especially not the other one if it would leave Josie and their kid all alone #james is rambling again #ocs #rambling #thoughts #writer #writing #original character

[jinnie-ret]

stray kids reaction to s/o who can't sleep in the same bed

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: cheating, implied toxic relationships (not with skz)

request (from anon): I wanna request a skz reaction to their s/o who has trust issues and prefers to deal e things herself and also prefers to sleep alone in her room n stuff bc she trusts them but she needs to work her way up with being comfortable and ok to feel vulnerable enough to sleep w them n how they'd react to s/o taking months to a year for the to finally allow themselves to sleep next to them or even the same room as them?

SKZ REACTIONS MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Bang Chan

Your boyfriend Chan had texted you asking you to come over last minute, but of course, you weren't going to deny you or him from seeing each other. The issue was, plans being this last minute meant you hadn't had time to shave your legs. You didn't think Chan was the type of guy to judge you or anyone for having hairy legs, but it was more so your own qualms about things, and not feeling like you were deep enough into your relationship to trust that it wouldn't make him look at you in a different light.

Currently you were both heading into his bedroom, ready to cuddle and get some sleep - yes, you had managed to get your boyfriend to steer away from staying up all night.

You dove into the bed, Chan chuckling behind you as you shuffled under the blankets, wiggling like a worm.

"Babe, what are you doing?" Chan laughed at you as he stripped out of his t-shirt and joined you in bed.

"Going to sleep?" your voice was muffled by the pillows your face was pressed into.

"Oh right, in jeans, yeah?" Chan laid on his side, brushing your hair out of your face.

"Sometimes when I nap in them they turn into pantaloons and I've really been into ATEEZ and pirates lately," you rambled on. Yes there was some truth in that, but it wasn't the thing that needed revealing today.

"Babe what?" Chan blinked confusedly at your rambling, "why don't you get comfy?"

"Ummm... Actually I think the sofa is more comfy, I'll just sleep there," you scrambled out of the bed.

"What's wrong with the bed?" Chan grabbed your hand gently, pulling you back towards him with a slight frown as he sat up, "you've slept in it before."

"I ummm..." your voice wavered, looking at the floor and chewing the inside of your cheek feeling awkward.

"Babe, just tell me," he shuffled over to be sat directly next to you.

"I haven't shaved," you mumble incoherently.

"Huh? What was that baby?" Chan wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer.

"I didn't shave my legs... I'm embarrassed," you admit with big eyes, looking at Chan's expression and hoping not to see disgust.

"Is that all? Babe I don't care if your legs are hairy, I want to be with a woman, not a little girl, I don't care if your legs get hairy it's natural, yeah?" Chan preaches to you after a sigh of relief. He had his arm still around your shoulder, yet he was rocking you side to side.

"Hmmm..." you said in thought, trying to fight off a grin appearing on your face and instead look contemplative instead.

"What, was it something I said?" Chan rose an eyebrow.

"Yeah actually..." you fake sighed.

"Oh I'm sorry what was it that I said?" Chan intertwined your hands, speaking carefully and wanting you to feel comfortable enough about what was said wrong.

"You say you want to be with a woman not a little girl, so why do you insist that I call you Dadd-" you start laughing, just about managing to get your words out.

"Stoppp, stoppp, go, shoo, you, go put your pyjamas on funny girl," Chan sighed with a laugh, unable to hide it as he pushed you to stand.

"Ok Dadd-" you turned to tease him again, before he cut you off.

"Y/N!" he chased after you, tickling your sides as you squealed and laughed. You were glad that he didn't care about you having hairy legs. It was now reassuring in the future for any worries that you had, that he'd understand.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Minho

"I swear you hug the cats more than me," he smirked, simply teasing you from where he was sat at the other end of the sofa with Dori in his lap. You had the ginger babies Soonie and Doongie in yours. You were glad though because it brought you great comfort with the paranoia you had been feeling more and more recently.

He was your boyfriend, and you loved him, but you worried his teasing comments were actually subtle digs. You were still shy about being physically affectionate with him, particularly with sharing a bed with him.

"I-i'm sorry Min, I'm trying," your voice wobbles.

"Darling, I'm joking, don't worry," Minho lifted Dori off of his lap, standing up and stretching and not seeing the distress that still remained on your face. "Right, I'm going to get some sleep, you want to join?"

"I-i'm not ready yet, sorry Min."

"It's ok, darling." He always announced when he was going to bed, always leaving the question in the air so you could say yes if you felt ready. But that still wasn't the case this time, and as he turned to get a glass of water from the kitchen, he was stopped in his tracks by your cries.

"I-it's not because I don't love you, because I do!! I really do!! I just want to work myself up for it you know? I don't wanna be awkward and stuff but-" you had lifted the cafs off of your lap, feeling guilty and in that moment seeing him turn away from you felt like he was annoyed.

"Hey, hey, darling, where's all these tears coming from, hmm?" Minho soothed you, his voice slightly higher pitched when he was being gentle with you. "I told you, it's ok, really," he wiped your tears off of your cheeks.

"I feel like I'm being annoying," you sniffled, looking down only for him to tilt your chin upwards.

"I'd rather you be comfortable, ok?" Minho was always patient with you, "don't let it stress you out ok?"

"O-ok," you took in a deep breath, calming yourself down.

"I love you, get some rest, ok darling?"

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Changbin

Your boyfriend was peacefully sleeping in bed, small snores escaping his lips as his face was squished against one of his thick arms. And he was a light sleeper, probably from previously living in a dorm full of boys before that were chaotic to say the least, and that was from what you saw meeting them outside of their home space.

You tiptoed into the bedroom, taking a deep breath. Never sleeping in the same bed as him was something you knew didn't deter him but you could see it when he'd miss you goodnight that he wished that you would sleep with him. That boy wanted nothing more than to hold you all night in his arms, but he respected your decision still. Tonight, things were different.

Slowly crawling into bed next to him, you lifted up the duvet and laid down beside him, slowly resting your head against the top of his back and an arm across his waist. You were nervous, yes, but you had missed his comfort after wishing each other good night, even though it had only been half an hour.

The beast had awoken, quite dramatically you must admit. But it was fair, considering you wouldn't normally sleep next to him he wouldn't be expecting anyone in bed next to him.

"Huh...? Woah! What?! Honey?" Changbin's initial murmurs had turned to surprised joyful shouts as he flew out of bed to make sure this was all real. You just sat there stunned with your hands covering your ears.

Your boyfriend did a happy dance, jumping into bed next to you as he wiggled against you, and instead he was the big spoon this time round. His heartbeat was racing and so was yours.

"Surprise?" you giggled, making him coo and squish your cheeks.

"My honey," Changbin kissed your cheek before cuddling up to you even tighter, "good night."

Now that, was in a much deeper voice in comparison to his excited shouts. The duality of this man, and he was all yours.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Hyunjin

"Baby! I haven't seen you in ages!" Hyunjin quickly got up from his seat, bringing you into a hug. With your usual solace in his presence you sink into his embrace.

"Hey Jinnie," you then sat down across from him in the cafe.

"I'm so glad you saw me today, I was worried about you," Hyunjin grabbed your hands, holding them in his.

"Worried? You don't have to worry about me," you offered an awkward smile, knowing fully well why he felt this way. He had asked you on multiple dates just to see you when he was miraculously free from his busy schedule. But each time you cancelled, getting worried you were falling too deeply only for it to be thrown away. You were scared to get close in case you got hurt, so you flaked out from each time he wanted to see you. It wasn't until your friends prompted you to see him that you thought maybe you should this time.

"You haven't been wanting to see me... I haven't done something wrong have I, baby?" Hyunjin worried, one of his hands releasing one of yours in turn to sip from his iced americano.

"It's not you Jinnie, I'm just... scared," you answered honestly, for the sake of reassuring him. It didn't feel fair for him to worry without knowing why you were really avoiding him.

"Scared? Of what?" Hyunjin leant forwards, elbows not resting on the table between you both.

"I-i don't want to ruin things between us because once we get closer we'll be going round each other's apartments and then it's sharing a bed together and I'm just not ready for that yet," you explained, words tumbling past your lips as you felt flustered.

"Oh baby, we never have to force anything, I'd never rush you if you're not ready. If your pace is slower than mine, so be it. I will not make you catch up with me, I'll be right next to you instead," Hyunjin promised you, looking deeply into your eyes so you knew it. "I wish you told me sooner, I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too Jinnie."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Han

"Please don't feel bad my baby, I really don't mind," Han pleaded, not wanting you to feel guilty. You both held hands as you were sat on the sofa watching a film, specifically, Spirited Away.

"You don't find it weird?" you weakly ask, eyes not leaving the TV screen.

"I've never been with anyone before that's felt the same way, but I love you, so I'm not about to throw that away because you're not ready to sleep in the same bed as me," Han spoke calmly, like it was something he had gone over in his head plenty of times.

"I want to, I really want to, Ji, I'm sorry babe," your voice wobbled, thick with emotion, Han kissing your hand as he tentatively brought your it to his plush lips, always careful with you. He was always understanding that you needed more time with things due to previous relationships.

"Hey, hey, it's ok, I have an idea," Han grinned, leaving the sofa without any explanation and getting busy with moving things around in the bedroom.

~~~

"Come on, it's like a sleepover every night, I don't know why I didn't think of it in the first place..." Han felt proud of himself gazing across at you from the bed. You see, Han had taken it into his own hands to make you feel more comfortable around him to sleep near him, not quite next to him yet. Fortunately, his apartment came with a spare bed frame, bedding, the works, so he had set up a bed for you across from his own. It was perfect, right? You didn't have to sleep next to him in bed yet, but at least you could stay over this time, and one day cuddle in bed til you fall asleep.

That was what Han hoped. You on the other hand, were too busy in your own world, thinking about the worst things that could happen to mentally prepare yourself, your hand twisting the blanket in its grip.

"Baby, is it too much? I can drive you home now if you want?" Han stretched his leg out, nudging your foot with his own to shake you out of your thoughts.

"N-no I'm just gonna umm... Let you fall asleep first... Makes me feel safer so I know that you won't do anything you know," you rambled with your jaw clenched. That all too familiar lump in your throat was making its presence known and you didn't know if you were going to yawn or cry.

"Hey?" Han softly said.

"Y-yeah?" you nervously look up at him, only to see pure adoration and warmth oozing from those boba eyes of his.

"It's ok, yeah, I wouldn't do that to you, I care about you far too much," Han slowly walked over to you to allow you to process his movement happening in front of you, and brushed some hair back from your eyes.

"You're the best," you murmured, leaning your face further into his hand making him grin.

"I know, baby."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Felix

There it was again, that funny feeling. You hadn't gotten so lucky before being cheated on in your previous relationship, so when you smelt the different perfume on the pillows in your bedroom, you were heartbroken. You didn't have it in you to be angry at Felix, not him. Maybe just at yourself for not noticing it sooner. But maybe a part of you wanted the pain, to know for sure it was true, because you didn't leave straight away, no, you just waited for him to notice something was up.

"Hi love, you going to sleep?" Felix grinned as he came up to you, stroking your hair out of your face. And you let him.

"Yeah... I was going to borrow one of your pillows but I couldn't help but notice it smelt differently," you brushed his hands off of your hair.

"Oh, did you like the smell?" Felix beamed at you, ever so sunny when all you felt was blue.

"Are you kidding me? Did I like it?" your voice cracked. "Lixie, is this some sick joke?"

"Love..." he reached out to hold your shoulders but you backed further away.

"Don't. Please don't. I gave you a chance just then to admit what you had done. Is it because of me? Because I'm not ready to sleep in bed next to you, you have to get another woman? And don't try to tell me I borrowed that pillow last night because my perfume does not smell like that!" you cried, wiping your nose as you did and pointing at the bed in disgust.

"It could though, let me explain, love," Felix held your hands and even though he was the source of your upset, or at least the version of him that your brain created was, you sat with him on the sofa.

"It's a new perfume, not from another woman, but for you if you like it. I-i just didn't want to give you one and you didn't like the scent so I got the tester to try out and if you liked it then I was going to buy the bottle for you," Felix brought you into his arms whilst he explained, and you felt like a bitch.

"I'm such a bitch."

"No, no, don't be silly love, I didn't realise that it could have been triggering for you, ok, so don't call yourself that," Felix mumbled in his deep voice soothingly, kissing you on the head.

"I did like the perfume scent by the way," you whispered. That's what would have been more annoying - that the imaginary woman had a good taste in scents.

"I'm glad you do, love."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Seungmin

You had been judged many a time by your last boyfriend for your sleeping habits, whether it was for your not so soft snores or when sometimes you'd accidentally drool because of having your cheek pressed against your hand all night. So when you got with Seungmin, you were hesitant in sharing a bed with him, let alone falling asleep next to him. Sometimes you just couldn't help it.

The two of you had been watching a movie and foolishly you let yourself fall asleep, only to be awoken by Seungmin's giggles.

"I never knew you were a snorer, honey," Seungmin laughed to himself, but you were awoke in an instant, the sounds of your peaceful sleep cut off as you looked at him in alert.

"Oh sorry, I know I'm loud, I, umm..." you rambled awkwardly, cheeks inflamed in a rosy red tint, bringing the blanket more around your body in attempt to comfort yourself.

"Like a drone or something," your boyfriend giggled once more, but his smile faded at seeing you frown. "Hey I'm just joking..."

"No you're not," you mumble grumpily. It had to come back to this. Always. You couldn't help it. It was a habit for a reason.

"I am, I am, don't hide from me," Seungmin insisted, tugging the blanket away from you face, bopping the pout your lips wore.

"Stoppp, I'm embarrassed, Minnie," you pushed his hands away, well tried to.

"Don't be, I don't care, honestly, I sleep easily and plus you're not the only one who snores," Seungmin pulled you into his arms.

"You snore too?" you rose an eyebrow, you had never heard him do so before.

"No but Channie does. He's like a foghorn. So don't worry, yours is far better," Seungmin chuckled, teasing his leader when he wasn't even there.

"You sure? I never wanted to disturb you, is all," you look up at him as he leans down slightly to kiss you on the head with a sweet smile.

"Very, now please sleep in my arms, you can relax, honey," Seungmin gently rubbed your back as you turned to face him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Jeongin

Worst. Day. Ever.

Was it normal for a part time job at a cafe to be chaotic? No, not the one you worked at anyways. This was why it was such a surprise for you to deal with a rowdy customer that decided that he didn't like his coffee because it was 'too hot' and wanted a refund, all whilst you had the busiest shift of your life. Well, he certainly didn't get one after chucking the freshly brewed beverage all over you.

You were dismissed earlier by your manager, who could see how anxious you were feeling, and after you were checked over you returned to yours and Jeongin's apartment, being the first home for once. And you couldn't resist the comfort of his soft, plush bed as your spot to let yourself cry, despite the fact you've never slept next to him before. In fact, your unfamiliarity of being in the room distracted you from the fact the front door unlocked and that there were foosteps heading straight towsrds you.

"Jagi?" Jeongin asked confusedly seeing you curled up in his bed. It wasn't a sight he expected to see. He understood you had boundaries and didn't feel ready sharing a bed yet. The more concerning thing was the sobs wracking through your body.

"Oh?" you jumped, turning to see your boyfriend with care and sadness shining in his eyes at the sight of your tears.

"What's the matter, hmm?" Jeongin slowly sat down next to you, resting a hand gently on your knee. That was when you dissolved into tears once more. "Oh, jagi," he instinctively pulled you in for a cuddle, before you shuffled out of his arms.

"I'm sorry, I've just had such a bad day and your bed looked so comfy and-"

"Why's your neck all red?" Jeongin frowned.

"Angry customer, threw his drink at me, and it hurt, and then my manager sent me home and-"

"Come here," Jeongin quietened you, opening his arms once more which you accepted this time.

"I'm sorry," you cried into his chest.

"Don't be sorry. I don't care that you laid down in the bed. I'm more worried about you, Jagi, ok?" Jeongin's embrace became tighter when he heard your small whimpers, a clear sign that you were trying to stop yourself from crying.

"Just wanna forget about today," you mumbled sadly.

"I know, I know, let's ummm... Ok maybe not a hot bath... let me get some cream for you, treat those burns," Jeongin pecked you on the cheek, deciding against your skin enduring more pain from hot water, and quickly got up, soon returning with some ointment for you. He made the decision to gently rub it into your neck, having a better pair of eyes than you did. One, because you couldn't see it fully, two, because your eyes were still slightly blurred from tears.

"T-thank you, Innie," you kissed his hand before it fully pulled away from your neck, making a weird face as the cream went onto your lips, the taste of it not so pleasant.

"Silly girl, here," he wiped the cream off your lips with his thumb, kissing you just to make sure the taste still wasn't there, and then you were both satisfied.

"Love you, Innie."

"Love you too, Jagi, even with panda eyes."

"Shit, I forgot I wore mascara today."

"I know, Jagi, I know."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kai-lee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist

#skz reactions #stray kids reaction #stray kids reactions #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz angst #stray kids angst #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

[luveline]

hi bae, just wondering if you could write something like roommate!marauders and reader with anxiety where everytime one of them goes out she gets really worried that’s somethings gonna happen to them and waits up for them and just feels like a burden when she calls to make sure they’re alright and just general anxiety things and them being so sweet about it

love u

love u too♡

cw death related anxiety

“Hey, Remus?” you ask tentatively. 

Your housemate lays across the sofa with his dinner half eaten on the coffee table and a book tented on his chest. He's ignoring both in favour of the television, a rerun of Family Fortunes turning the sofa cushions and his pale skin a light blue. 

He drags his blue-tinged gaze from the subtitles to your frowning. “What's wrong?” he asks. You're surprised he heard you over the sound of Sirius’ stereo echoing down the stairs. 

“Where did James say he was going?” 

“I think he said he'd be at the gym for an hour now he's not in work. Want me to call him?” 

“Why would you call him?” you ask, instead of saying yes, please, like you want to. 

“You're worrying again.” 

They know how you are. It doesn't mean they have to understand —it isn't logical to think James is hurt because he hasn't been home today yet, and none of them are required to humour you in your worry, but they always do. 

You feel sick as he takes his phone from his pocket. You've convinced yourself that James is dead, that his car curled around a bend too quickly on the drive in the rain, or that something happened at the gym, or that he never made it there at all, had a fit in the car park outside of work. Even as you think it, you know it's implausible, unlikely, just a repetitive negative anxiety worming its way into your head, but you can't make it stop. 

James doesn't answer the first time, which doesn't help, and then when he does answer the second time you're waiting for bad news. Remus smiles as he talks. “Hello? Jamie?”

James doesn't need speak phone to be heard. “Remus! I'm at the gym, what's happening?”

Remus wrinkles his nose. “What's happening? Since when do you say that?”

“What's up?” James corrects. “I'm on my way out of the gym, can you talk? You can keep me company while I drive.” 

Remus holds out the phone to you. 

“Remus?” James asks into the room. You take the phone before he can hang up, and decide to be honest, but the words get stuck like toffee between your teeth. “Hello?” 

“Hey,” you say, sending Remus a grateful look. He moves over to make room on settee for you, and his arm wraps familiarly around your shoulders as you settle in. He turns his attention back to his show. 

“Oh my god hey, angel. Remus okay?” 

“I was making him ring you, sorry. I thought… you know what I'm like. It's getting late and you aren't home, and I know I don't have the right to pester you about where you are.”

“Yeah you do,” James says, his voice louder, like his mouth is very close to the microphone. “Course you do. I'd worry too if you weren't home yet.” 

“I do this all the time, though.”

Just last week he and Sirius were out late and you'd panicked that they'd both been hurt. You stayed up until almost one in the morning waiting for them to get home from a music shop in the city, each minute after eleven like a shot of ice water in your veins. Sirius jumped when he saw you waiting in the living room, but then he'd given you a hug and rubbed at your shoulders roughly. You didn't wait up for us, did you? 

“It's worse lately, yeah?” James asks. You hum non-committal, and Remus gives you a squeeze in typical Remus fashion. You hadn't even realised he was listening, but his support makes this easier. “You're worrying about us more.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don't know why. And it sucks because I know it's making me a lot to deal with.” 

“I would one thousand percent prefer it if you rang me then sat there worrying. That would make me feel better. And Remus and Sirius feel the same way, okay? We could all stand to ring each other a bit more anyways.” 

You rub your nose into your hand. “Sorry,” you mumble. 

“There's no need to be. I love you, ‘n I just want you to be happy. If a phone call can make that happen then why shouldn't you do it? And it's not like they're a big imposition, I like talking to you. We all do.”

James is home from the gym what could only be ten minutes later, and he leans over the back of the settee to kiss your forehead chasely. “Here we are, all safe and well.” 

“You haven't seen Sirius yet,” Remus points out.

“I can bloody well hear him. What is he listening to? Is that U2?” James shakes his head in disgust. “I can see why you were so worried I wasn't coming home. Let me go put a stop to that immediately.” 

#the marauders #marauders #poly marauders #poly!marauders #poly marauders x reader #poly!marauders x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #james potter fanfiction #remus lupin fic #james potter fic #the marauders x reader #the marauders x fem!reader #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #sirius black x reader implied is

[penelopepine]

Maybe I'll write this later:

Poly!141 x Bull Rider Reader

Poly!141 go on a vacation to a cabin owned by Laswell. She let's them know that the county fair is in town the same time as them, and that they should check it out. Says they should experience this aspect of the states. Mentions at the very least they should go and watch the bull riders.

Poly!141 go to the fair. Price thought it sounded interesting, but didn't care either way. Gaz thought that it was a fun idea; definitely wanted to go. Soap was the most hype about going; he was down to go the moment he knew about it. Ghost didn't really want to go. The only reason he did was because he couldn't say no to Gaz's big brown eyes or Soap's pretty begging.

Poly!141 do all of them normal fair activities. They checked out the cooking competition. Trying all the chilies, pies, dips, and cakes. Making bets between themselves on which ones will win.

They play a few of the fair games. Price absolutely dominates at the balloon darts game, and wins prizes for all of the others. Soap tries to his best to win at ring toss; he REALLY wants one of those giant stuffed animals. He doesn't care how impractical carrying that thing is going to be. Try as he may he can't do it though. Soap had given up, and decided to give his last throw to Gaz; who won in one throw! This both delighted and infuriated Soap. Ghost was totally ready to just buy or steal the giant stuffed animal if he hadn't made it.

Poly!141 are finally able to watch the fair shows later during the day. The first they watch is the ax throwing competition. Ghost spends the whole time judging their stances and forms. While also silently admiring the strength that some of them have. Gaz can't stop thinking about how if Price wore a flannel shirt that he would fit right in, and they'd probably lose him in the crowd.

After that is when they go and watch the bull riding competition. Soap is immediately invested in what's happening, and is convinced that he could do this as well. Price is impressed; watching these men and woman willing get bucked around while they could easily get hurt. Ghost spends his time holding Soap down trying to tell him that he can't go down there and ask to do that. Gaz wants to try this for himself, but he knows better than to try it on a real animal. Looks up places they could go and ride a mechanical bull instead.

Poly!141 are instantly drawn to you when you make your appearance. Your smile was dazzling, and they definitely weren't looking at how good your ass looks in those pants.

Bull Rider Reader is an experienced rider. They've been performing since a young age, and has made a bit of a name for themselves within the community. They know how to make a show, and wow the crowd.

Once the show is done Bull Rider Reader runs into Poly!141. Soap is asking questions about how it feels to ride a bull, and how could he do that too. Gaz is saying that they were very entertaining to watch, and asking how long they've been doing this. Ghost is mostly silent; only saying that they did good and wondering to himself if bull riding would come in handy in other aspects of life. Specifically the bedroom. Price is the one who asks Bull Rider Reader if they live around the area or if they traveled for this event.

Poly!141 invite Bull Rider Reader to watch the fireworks with them, and later asks if they would want to hang out a different day since they're still on vacation for a few more days.

Bull Rider Reader knows a bar with a good mechanical bull, and offers to teach them some tips. Poly!141 is instantly down and ready to learn.

The next day everyone meets up and the amount of flirting is through the roof on both sides. Light touches and sexual innuendos are at a none stop with this group. The night ends with everyone having ridden the bull; even Ghost who was easily the best and managed to stay on the longest out of everyone.

Everyone leaves feeling happy and a new number in their phones.

#141 x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john price x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #call of duty #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #kyle gaz x reader #x reader #poly 141 #tf 141 x reader

[firesnap]

I'm going to clarify what happened on Lexie's stream because someone thought I was saying Wilbur was also Lexie's abuser.

Lexie is a UK based content creator. She ran in the same circle as most of the Brighton crew that included Wilbur and Shelby. Four months ago (? I think), she came out with a story on youtube about how she'd been dating another content creator and the relationship had been incredibly abusive

In her stream today, she and Shelby talked about how talking to each other and having each other for support is what made them realize the extent of abuse they'd both suffered by their last boyfriends. They did not share the same ex. Lexie's abuser was another CC in that circle of content creators.

Shelby commented on how Lexie's story has not gotten nearly the support that her own has.

Lexie commented that whenever she talked to other creators about wanting to tell her story it was specifically the male cc's she knew that would tell her to let it go.

Lexie also said, despite her talking about her abuse before ever publishing that video, very very few people in their friend group have distanced themselves from her abuser and still make content or socialize with him.

Lexie and Shelby's abusers are all come from that same circle of content creators that hub in Brighton. Any male cc that isn't an abuser in that circle are at least complicit because they have chosen to side with their friends and stay silent.

If you are a fan of any of the people in that Brighton group, you should be very very aware of the people you're supporting. The cycle of abuse will always continue as long as people think there's profit in staying silent.

#the current state of things #wilbur soot #lexie marie #shubble

[envy-of-the-apple]

Okay,, you have to let us know are the eggs any characters Specifically like megumi or itadori? I bet they would be clingy mommas boys.

Love you crumbs you give us and happy late birthday 🫶🏻

awww ty bestie okay okay okay holdonholdon

You'd name the hatchlings. Idk if I mentioned this or not but in the excerpt, the reader names Suguru and Satoru cuz they didn't have a concept of language yet. I think once they had a general concept of human language, they'd use their human names for each other just like you do.

When Nobara, Yuji and Megumi hatch, they'd definitely hang onto you the most. It's mostly because you are the most caring out of the throuple you were forced into. It makes sense for you to care about them, right? After all, human babies are pretty helpless and that's how far your knowledge extends. And they're adorable, with big round eyes, making cute little chitters. You get a tiny bit protective of them, especially considering the other two nagas don't carry the same sentiment. Suguru is clearly a believer of tough love and you've caught Satoru trying to put one of the eggs in his mouth (you're pretty sure he was joking...but you arent risking it when they're this tiny). They're small right now, but naga hatchlings grow up fast. They're practically your height in just a couple of years.

I feel personally, Yuji would be the (most outwardly) clingiest. He's affectionate, more dog than snake, sometimes. He's the largest of his siblings. When he was smaller, his favorite thing to do was wrap himself around your shoulders and you'd carry him around. He can't do that now, but he has other ways of spending time with you. He 'hunts' with you the most, assisting you with collecting berries and fruit. Apart from you, he'd bond with Satoru more. They share a similar personality, both are easily amused.

Megumi would be the shyest, but he loves you just as much as his siblings do. Much like his fathers, he enjoys the warmth you provide and would love cuddling with you in the languid hours of the evening. He doesn't do that much when he's older, but he's still interested in spending time with you! He likes quality time, the most. Eventually, during your time on the island, you'd have set up a tiny garden. He'd help with that. He and Suguru would have lots of similarities, so you'd often catch them together. They'd both help with your garden, helping cultivate the seeds and soil. It's not natural for them, but they understand you're different from nagafolk

But I think Nobara would be the one you're the closest to. She hatched the first. She's also different from her brothers. Again, in the naga species, the females become something akin to sirens. Slowly, you'd notice how different she is compared to her brothers, how much she enjoys the water, how dry her skin gets when she stays on land for too long. She'd evolve differently. Webbed hands, her tail would be more lithe, finned.

Because she's so different, Satoru and Suguru don't have much of an interest in her. Again, much like reptiles, nagas are fairly independent at a young age. Satoru and Suguru allow the hatchlings to stick around because you'd pitch a fit otherwise and they try to keep their mate happy. Once it becomes clear Nobara is aquatically gifted, you'd be terrified of the thought of her being out alone at sea, so you'd often go out with her, not caring how pruny your fingers get. Because of how much time you spend with her, I think she'd be the most interested in humans. She'd ask you about human culture, human customs. Every once in a while, she'd go out and collect remnants of humanity, clothes, trinkets, jewelry, anything she can find off the ocean floor. She'd sit on the rocky shore, holding out each one, demanding you to explain them to her.

You wouldn't dare mention how much you fear her fathers, but I feel Nobara would be the first to realize that you don't want to be here. She can see it in your eyes, the longing whenever you're explaining another human trinket. She wants you to be happy, but if you go back to the humans....would you still have time for her? Would you still braid her hair? Take care of her? Love her?

In the end, Nobara is the most similar to her fathers. She'd keep you on the island too.

ughhhhhh i should just write that chaptered naga fic already this is getting ridiculous.

#yandere #x reader #dark content #yandere jjk #dark gojo satoru #dark jjk #dark geto suguru #naga au #naga satosugu #naga gojo satoru #naga geto suguru #naga fushiguro megumi #naga itadori yuuji #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #yandere satosugu #siren nobara kugisaki #Top of the Food Chain

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I was wondering if you could do like Wednesday x fem yn but like Wednesday trying to tell mortica and gomez she has a gf and not knowing how they'd react and edin trys to help her and in the end they find out somehow you can pick if they take it good or bad but yea

A/n: I’ve seen this get asked to another person but I’m too proud of what I had already written to throw it away.

The crystal ball upon Wednesday’s desk taunted her with the impending call from her parents. Wednesday was something she hadn’t been in a long time; worried. The last time she had spoken with her parents, a lot had changed and one of the most recent and most prominent changes was that she had found herself a girlfriend.

How you met was the typical run of the mill meet cute, Wednesday was caught doing something she wasn’t meant to and she threatened to take your tongue, vocal chords and hands should you ever rat her out. Your response? “You’re beautiful.” Ever since then you had been constantly drawn to the chaos that was Wednesday Addams and not once has the thought of ever letting you go crossed her wicked mind. She was happy, a word she never thought she’d use in a lifetime but truly, for the first time in a long time she was happy. You made the insides of her hollow husk of a human vessel warm.

You lit a match and threw it upon her coal heart, setting it ablaze with the very foundations of life as the fires reflected in her dark eyes. You were her cara mia as she was your mon cher. For you Wednesday would die for you, kill for you, even live for you should you command it of her. It was moments like those that she began to see how alike she was to her father; Unhealthy obsessed with the object of their eternal attraction. So unhealthy in fact the pair might possibly be clinically insane with their love. However not even a highly facilitated psychiatric ward would be able to prevent Wednesday from coming back to you.

For she would have it burnt to the ground in your name as though she were a crazed religious fanatic, pleading her love to the only form of higher power that ever truly existed; You. If she had it her way, you’d both would’ve carved out and calcified your beating hearts for the other, to have and to hold until you were both cold and dead within the ground that would make up your grave. You would now and forever more belong to Wednesday as she would belong to you until the dark forces swelled you both whole; snuffing out your mortal flame for good.

So as Wednesday clamped down on her finger nails, bitting them right down to the nub and then some, Enid couldn’t help but feel concerned for her friend as she stared vehemently at her -seemingly- only form of communication with a look in her eyes. “What’s chomping you at the bit.” Enid asked, begrudging to know the answer but knew that Wednesday was in a situation where a friend was something that she could use right now. “My parents will be calling soon.” Wednesday merely said, not taking her eyes off of the crystal ball as though she was awaiting for it to go off.

“That’s great! Unless your relationship with them is questionable at best then that’s…not great.” Enid trails off when she began to notice that she wasn’t helping in making the situation any better even in the slightest. However the blonde wasn’t one to give up even in the face of adversity, Enid presses onward and upward. “My parents only sent me here to mold me in their image, to forge a carbon copy of themselves out of me by the time inn through with this place,” Enid stayed silent, “I get sent to the same dormitory my mother once resided, I have premonitions like she does.” Wednesday falls silent as her fists clenched in silent anguish.

“However I am not my mother, nor will I ever be like her because unlike her I have a heart to give and I gave it to y/n upon a moonlight night; the same night where the crows dropped dead before us and black dahlias bloomed by our feet.” Enid smiled warmly, remembering the twinkle in Wednesday’s eyes when she came back to the dome after her first official date with you down by the greenhouse. It was a dangerous twinkle but a twinkle none the less, Wednesday could’ve told her that you had a sparing match that ended with the tips of your blades poised at the others throat and the werewolf would’ve still somehow find it romantic.

“Now I am seemingly at an impasse with the illogical concerns of how my parents would react to me engaging in romantic circumstances with another girl, despite being well aware of their stances on societal demands.” Wednesday admitted, not use to feeling this vulnerable in front of another person but at this point in their relationship, Wednesday trusted Enid -despite how much of a gossip she could be- a smidge more then she did the rest of the student body that made up Nevermore. So if anything, this was Wednesday’s silent cry for Enid’s help and luckily she wasn’t overly dense to not notice.

“Wednesday,” Enid began as she moved over to stand by her friends’ side, “what your parents think shouldn’t reflect upon your relationship with y/n. You love her and she loves you, so why ruin a perfectly good thing by listening to what you parents think.” She places her hands on Wednesday’s shoulders and made sure that they were meeting eye to eye. “Never, not once, since I’ve came to know you had you given a shit about what others thought of you. So why give a shit now?” Wednesday has to admit, Enid was right. Why should she all of a sudden care when all she’s ever done thus far was deflect other peoples opinion on her. It made no logical sense but she guessed that now that you were in the picture with her; Wednesday worries about her parents perception of you.

Just as Enid was about to continue with her speech, the crystal ball went off and within the clear cut glass could the image of Gomez’ stout figure and Morticia’s taller frame could be seen as though they were actually trapped within the crystal itself. Upon seeing their daughter, Gomez and Morticia sat up straighter and smiled at Wednesday who only stared blankly at them, blinking slowly like a cat does when trying to convey their emotions to their owners. “There’s my little death moth, how’s Nevermore been treating you?” Gomez started as Morticia only took in her daughter’s expressions with a curious furrow in her brow but she didn’t speak upon it. Yet.

“Same as usual, however-“ “however you have found love, with a girl perhaps?” Wednesday straightened at her mother’s words. “How did you-“ “call it a mother’s intuition my dear death blossom.” Morticia’s unnerving voice cut her off as she looked to Gomez who was already looking at her, love sick. “Our daughter has found love Gomez, the ancestors must’ve blessed her already.” Gomez only grasped Morticia’s hand that rested on the chair arm tightly. “That’s amazing ‘tish, our little cope has found her forever mouse to play with until she too becomes a viper, until she becomes an Addams.” Wednesday perks up at this, her parents were indirectly giving you their blessing to marry her, to join your soul with hers as one until the end of your shared days.

Enid, still in the room, was trying her hardest not to squeal in excitement. Sure this event wouldn’t be until later down the line but she hopes she becomes your guys maid of honour.

#wednesday addams x reader #Wednesday Addams x you #Wednesday Addams fanfic #Wednesday Addams fic #Wednesday Addams imagines #Wednesday Addams imagine #wednesday x reader #wednesday imagine #Wednesday x you #Wednesday imagines #Wednesday fanfic #Wednesday fic

[weasleys-wizard-writes]

Latency Lingering {F.W}

Chapter I - Same Eyes, Twice Over

Synopsis: just over three years after making the decision to end things with Fred to keep yourself and your new secret(s) from holding him back, you're finally faced with the consequences when you run into Molly and she sees those very same "secrets" for herself. Suddenly, it seems very unlikely that a life without Fred Weasley in it will remain possible for you.

All the time in the world could not have properly prepared you for this moment.

You weren't entirely convinced, after all, that anyone was supposed to endure the agony of facing a disappointed Molly Weasley head on.

But then, here you were, dual stroller handlebar clenched so tightly in your hands that you feared you might just warp it, doing exactly that.

Had the four years of peace been worth it, you wondered, in exchange for the inevitable chaos that was soon to descend upon you like a long prophesied swarm of locusts set free of the hell from whence they'd come?

Likely not.

But what else could you have done?

You had only been eighteen measly years old, after all, a babe in the grand scheme of things, suddenly thrust into reality as a dull blade might be through flesh and bone.

(Messily, and with a staggering amount of force).

Though, you certainly felt rather unlike the blade in that analogy, and far more so like the flesh...

Nevertheless, you'd persisted. Done what you'd had to in order to preserve your sanity and the livelihood of the man you'd loved.

Perhaps still did, not that it mattered.

Fred was long gone, you had made sure of it that night in the astronomy tower the evening before he and his brother, your once closest friend, had made their daring escape from the hell that had been Hogwarts at that time.

You'd shattered the poor boy's heart after three and a half years of love and adoration, all to preserve his dreams.

Shame you'd done all you could to ensure he'd never know it.

"Please love, I don't understand."

He'd plead, dexterous fingers running through mussed up ginger locks as he paced back and forth about the room you were both stood in.

You'd only just barely resisted the urge to say it was all a joke then, desperate to reach out and feel him one more time, to fix the hairs that had sprung up all about his head as a result of his restless ministrations.

But you hadn't. You couldn't.

Things would be better, you knew, if you just stayed away.

You'd retreated further out of his grasp to keep yourself from holding him not long after the urge had arose. The look in his eyes, pained and confused, was enough to tear your heart in two, though you supposed that it was thirds if you really thought about it.

You would miss George, after all. What was a girl to do without her best friend, especially in times such as these?

"I'm sorry, Fred."

You said resolutely, not feeling nearly as certain as you'd sounded in that moment.

"I just- I can't deal with the distance, nor the strain of it all. There's far too much for me to worry about here, I can't risk stretching myself too thin worrying to death over you and your brother."

That much was true, you supposed, though in the end he'd never really know the half of it. That you couldn't risk stretching yourself too thin because of just how much was about to change, and because it would mean harming another to do so.

You had far more than just yourself to think about now.

In response to your words, your boyfriend stared at you as if you'd grown a second head, beautiful brown eyes wide and teary as he pulled a shaking, uncertain breath in through his parted lips.

"This can't be happening."

He'd whispered, a humorless laugh leaving his mouth and echoing throughout the mostly empty space, nearly making you shudder.

"Merlin Y/n, just last night you were cracking jokes about me taking your surname instead of the other way around. We spoke of a home, domestic dinner parties, Godric, even names for our bloody children!"

He'd exclaimed, hands flying up into their air as you'd watched on sorrowfully, recalling the very conversations he was speaking of.

You'd certainly take his thoughts from them into consideration when you-

"Lords woman, you're wearing a promise ring! This isn't some summer fling you can just toss aside with no warning, we've a whole future planned together!"

He sounded near hysterical now, confusion melding with panic to rob him of reason even in the darkened halls of the astronomy tower, and you'd shuddered to think of what Umbridge would do if she found out the two of you were up there at such an hour.

It was hardly negligible to risk yourself harm anymore, you simply couldn't resolve to allow things to continue any further.

And so, you hadn't.

"Fred, I'm sorry."

You began, lower lip wobbling in a way you hoped he couldn't make out despite the feigned certainty present in your tone.

"But I've made up my mind. We're destined to take life on two very different paths, you and I, and I can't let myself pretend this makes sense for even another moment. I love you far too much to allow this to persist and risk hurting you further."

And with that, you were gone, leaving the love of your life behind to wonder what on earth had gone wrong.

You hadn't seen Fred since then, at least not as far as you were aware, avoiding every event he could possibly turn up at within reason...

Though, avoiding his family, that had proven to be a far more difficult task, particularly whilst you'd been attending Hogwarts with them after the twins had taken their leave, your relationship all but flown away with them.

It turned out though, that pregnancy was easy enough to hide as long as no one looked too close at your poorly maintained glamour charm.

Or, at least it had been for the first few weeks or so...

But then, much to your utter horror (and great surprise) you'd been informed that your darling ex boyfriend had been so kind as to leave you with not just one child to care for in his absence, but two.

It would seem that twins did indeed run in the family.

After that discovery, your glamour charms had taken a lot more effort, focus, and intention.

Graduation, you'd found, could not come soon enough.

And though you had "celebrated" alone, your notably small family wanting little to do with their soon to be teen parent of a daughter, it had felt like your first real victory since your decision to leave Fred had left a gaping hole in the center of your heart.

Perhaps it was possible to keep moving forward after all, if you could make it through several months of schooling at Hogwarts whilst pregnant with twins you would undoubtedly be raising on your own...

Though, truly, not even that could have prepared you for a moment such as this one, because far more than you had ever seen before, Molly Weasley was furious.

She was doing a good enough job of hiding it, but you'd long since learned the meaning of her flaring nostrils, darting gaze, and shifting fingertips, which busied themselves with her wand as casually as she could manage.

You reckoned you were rather lucky she hadn't hexed you yet, judging by how upset she looked.

And, reasonably, you supposed she had every right to be.

After all, it had only been three short years since you had broken her son's heart high up in the astronomy tower at that school you had once so happily called home, yet now you were standing in the same doctor's office waiting room together, one of you with a bruised ankle, and the other with a baby carriage in hand.

And as much as you wished it to be so, it seemed the universe had no intention of switching your positions. It was you with the stroller, and she with the injury, though you were certain you'd be obtaining one soon if the older woman standing before you didn't get the answers she was doubtless looking for.

"Y/n,"

She greeted far too sweetly, her eyebrow twitching ever so slightly below her hairline as her eyes swept over the blanket covered stroller parked in front of you,

"It's lovely to see you. How have you been?"

The question was meant to sound polite, you were sure of it, but the undertone was clear:

"I could have gone my entire life without seeing you again."

It resolved.

"And exactly who did you deem worthy enough to start a family with so soon after breaking Freddie's heart?"

It interrogated.

You scarcely managed to hold back a shudder in response, your smile nervous in spite of your best efforts.

Time had whittled away at your ability to hide how you were feeling, it seemed, since you had last needed to do so during your breakup with Fred.

What a shame, you really could have used that right about now.

"Mrs. Weasley."

You greeted, all but flinching when you nearly said her name instead purely out of habit.

You could scarcely remember the last time you'd had to call the woman by such a formal title, but you supposed you'd lost the right to address her differently the moment you'd thrown Fred's surname back in his face that night in the astronomy tower.

"I've been well. And you?"

Your response was far more submissive to the older woman's intimidation than you'd perhaps intended it to be, but even so, your persistent and undying respect for her won out in the end. It was strange, truly, to consider the woman you'd once very nearly called Mum an enemy.

Molly hummed dismissively in response to your words, brushing off your question with a wave of her hand,

"Oh I've been just the same as always, nothing much to speak of I'm afraid."

She sighed out with faux regret, fixing you with a look of marked interest as she continued,

"But you,"

She said eagerly,

"It would seem that you've been rather busy as of late."

At that, she gestured toward the stroller sat in front of you, and you blanched slightly at the idea of her getting a decent look at its contents.

Molly smiled once more, still far too politely for your comfort,

"Whose the little one, then?"

She coaxed, immediately forcing a short burst of nervous laughter from deep inside your chest.

Once you'd officially regained control of yourself though, you smiled just as politely as she (albeit with an apologetic edge) before replying.

"Little ones, I'm afraid."

You joked, never quite able to stop yourself from trying to make light of a stressful situation.

"Winnifred and Augustine, or, far more popularly, Winnie and August. They're-"

"Twins." Molly finished before you could even get the word out, her eyes widening slightly in surprise, "Yours?"

You nodded slowly, and the woman smiled ever so slightly for the first time since you'd come into view.

"Oh my, my condolences then." She teased, reaching forward to grasp at the blanket that concealed the precious cargo napping away within, doubtless tired after their long day full of bickering back and forth with one another.

She looked up at you then, seemingly unaware of the growing fear in your eyes as you suddenly realized what was about to happen.

"May I?"

She asked, though you could tell from the tone she took that it was far more of a formality than an actual question.

Such was the problem with older women, you'd found - They scarcely seem to bother actually asking your thoughts in regards to them seeing your children.

But this? This certainly could not persist, not if you hoped to-

Without pausing to hear an answer you knew she'd never had any intention of waiting for, Molly Weasley gently tugged at the fabric that had been draped across the front of the carriage, ignoring your nervous sputtering as you tried desperately to find the right words to say.

Unfortunately, they never came.

Forgotten, the blanket that had once hidden your beloved children away from the world fluttered to the ground, and Molly Weasley stared, stock still, at the sight before her.

There, blinking blearily up at the bright lights of the waiting room she was stood in, was a set of twins so familiar that it made her heart skip a beat inside her chest.

Soft ginger hair adorned both of their heads, and delicate freckles far too similar to those she had once threatened to kiss off the faces of her own children decorated their cheeks like stars doubtlessly chock full of constellations just waiting to be found.

But somehow, the feature that caused her the most pause was the eyes of the little ones sitting before her, deep brown and shining in the white overhead lighting of a doctor's office that suddenly felt far too cramped for the feelings she was struggling to maintain control over.

Those eyes bore a striking resemblance to her twins, and somehow even one in particular, one that she knew you were quite familiar with, as things went.

Her gaze darted back up to seek your own, and the moment she found it and saw the overwhelming guilt and fear there, she knew, and her breath caught briefly in her throat.

"Y/n dear,"

She spoke after a few moments of increasingly tense silence, the low chatter of the witches and wizards around you seemingly reduced to nothing as the sound of your own racing heartbeat drowned them out with ease.

Molly reached out to you then, slowly and gingerly, as if you were some wild animal she feared might dart away at any moment.

And truth be told, you very nearly felt like one too, especially as the following question left your almost former mother in law's lips,

"What is their surname?"

And immediately, you shook your head, far too overwhelmed with the situation at hand to handle any of it properly.

Years and years of fleeing in fear of this exact moment had done you no favors in preparing for it, and your shaking hands and tear filled eyes betrayed that fact with an embarrassing level of evidence.

"Oh Molly,"

You begged softly, using the woman's given name for the first time in years,

"Please don't ask me that. I promise you don't want me to say-"

"Winnifred and Augustine Weasley?"

A nurse called out hesitantly to the sea of patients located in the waiting room, her eyes trained briefly on the clipboard in front of her as if to double check her words before she looked back up curiously, gaze sweeping back and forth throughout the space, seeking out the two toddlers scheduled with Dr. Hathaway for the 2:00pm slot.

You felt your heart constrict painfully inside your chest as Molly's hand flew to her mouth, her once so certain fingers trembling as the truth of the matter washed over her like a freezing winter squall.

And, ever the coward when it came to family matters such as this, you were quick to clear your throat, doing your best to hide your red rimmed eyes and tear tracked cheeks before waving your hand slightly to the nurse who was still looking anxiously about the waiting area.

"They're just here. Apologies for the delay, I must have misheard you."

Though, from the positively dread filled look on your face, Molly Weasley could tell you had not.

masterlist

#Fred Weasley x reader #Fred weasley x reader angst #Fred Weasley fanfics #Fred Weasley angst #Fred Weasley #Harry Potter x Reader #Harry potter x reader angst #Harry potter x reader fanfiction #Harry Potter x reader fics #Harry Potter angst #HP angst #HP fics #fred weasley x reader fic #fred weasley x reader fluff #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader smut

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA For telling my partner I'd like to bring my ex into our relationship?

I'm copying this over from r/relationship_advice, because the responses are giving me the impression they don't really get what polyamory is & I'm hoping tumblr does. For reference: there's me (29M), my ex (28, Trans Man), and my partner (30M).

My ex and I were best friends in high school, went to the same college, & dated through the tail end of undergrad, for about a year and change. We ended things on very good terms, the only reason we broke up was a difference in life paths: I stayed in the city to get my Master's, he traveled constantly for his work (he's a sculptor who makes these huge custom multimedia pieces, they're genuinely some of the most beautiful things I've seen). We fell out of touch for the most part, but I'd see him popping up on social media occasionally, or he'd text me when he was in town and we'd hang out, along with some other school friends.

The last time I saw him before our present situation was about 3 1/2 years ago today. We went out for drinks, he came back to my place after, and we ended up hooking up. He stayed in town for about a week, and we hooked up a few more times, and then he left again. He sort of dropped off the face of the earth after that, but he'd always been pretty sporadic, especially when he had a big project, so I didn't think much about it.

Not long after that, I met my current partner. He's truly one of my favorite people in the whole world; he's incredibly thoughtful, and earnest, and passionate about his morals & principles (he's an environmental lawyer), and more than anything, he's someone I never feel like I have to pretend with. He asked for my number, we had our first date a few days later, and ended up staying awake the entire night just talking about anything and everything, so we went ahead and got 5am pancakes and called it our second date. We've been together for a little over 3 years now, we've been moved in together for about 2, and while we've had the occasional fight or rough patch I can definitely say I love this man, and I plan to spend the rest of my life with him.

So, the big change.

About a year ago (~2 years since seeing my ex, my partner and I have lived together for about a year at this point), my partner and I are having a night in, and there's a knock at the door. It's my ex, looking absolutely ragged, holding a 15 month old baby. As in, a baby who was conceived 24 months before then. Yep, it's pretty much what you're guessing. I let them both in, we had a sit down in the kitchen, and he told me everything he'd been doing in the past 2 years in between me cussing him out for keeping it all from me in the first place. I really do want to keep this as short as possible, so to give you the super condensed version:

She's my daughter, he's completely sure about that, there's no one else he's been with the math is even close to correct for

The second he found out he was pregnant, he more or less panicked. He's got a whole Thing about feeling like he's irresponsible/not a "real" adult, and this really set him off, so telling me felt like "admitting to fucking both our lives up" at the time. His OB/GYN said some pretty awful shit to him about not being more careful as a trans man too, which just made it all even worse

Because of all that, he'd genuinely planned to just never tell me I have a daughter & raise her completely on his own, but a few things compounded to force his hand:

The birth was really rough on him, and his recovery was slow enough he was having trouble going back to work, to the point where money was getting tight

On top of that, our daughter has celiac disease, and between paying out of pocket for blood tests & spending more on baby food she's safe to eat, things got desperate enough he went and took out a really dodgy loan from a scummy payday company

He was at our door because all of this had finally spiraled to a point where he'd lost his apartment, they'd been sleeping in his car for about a week, and he couldn't think of anything else to do

I think I was probably feeling every human emotion in existence at the same time through all of this, but the thing I remember most from the whole conversation was the way my partner kept drifting right back to the baby, and the soft way he looked at her. We put my ex & daughter up in a hotel room for the night and told him we needed to talk, and we'd discuss our options in the morning, but I think even then I kind of knew what our answer was going to be.

Sure enough, for the last year and a half we've been co-parenting our little girl, all three of us. We didn't want to juggle who's got her, or force my ex to find a place to stay, so we've turned my partner's home office into our daughter's room, and redid most of the downstairs layout so my ex could move into an actual bedroom, rather than just sleep on our pullout couch in perpetuity. We finally succeeded in convincing him that rest and recovery was more important than trying to contribute to the house finances right away, and it's been magical watching all that stress and terror slowly fall off him. It's like he's a little more alive again every time I look.

Which is where my question comes in.

I'd like to restate, I love my partner 100%. None of this changes that whatsoever. If I ask, and he says no, that will be the end of the discussion for me completely. But I have eyes. My ex is, objectively, a very attractive man. I know we work well together, and I have to admit I'm very curious to see where that same chemistry could lead now that he's not on the other side of the country half the time. I've also been noticing these little moments between him and my partner. Nothing I'd consider crossing a line, but I've caught my partner checking my ex out several times, as well as vice versa, and they get along remarkably well. Sometimes I'll go to enter a room, and see them both sitting there laughing and chatting and playing with our baby, and I'll just hang back to watch because it makes me so happy.

Add to all that, we're pretty deeply ingrained in each other's lives now. My partner and I don't often go out on dates alone anymore, but the last few times we did it felt as if my ex was missing from the table. We watched a movie together last night, and my ex sat in the middle of us with his feet in my partner's lap and his head on my chest, and it felt just as natural as my arm on my partner's shoulder. It's not about just having sex with him, and it's not that I'd want to invite any old person into our relationship. I know we already all love each other, and I think there's potential for that to become romantic between the two of us and my ex.

It just feels as though we're all holding our breath, waiting for someone else to say it first. My ex certainly isn't going to bring it up when he's living rent free in "our" home (it's his home too, but he doesn't seem to see it like that yet). My partner grew up sheltered enough that I'm not sure he's ever heard of polyamory at all, so he's not going to bring it up. That just leaves me.

My problem is, if I'm wrong about what I think I'm seeing, or if I bring it up the wrong way, I can't take it back. I don't want my partner to feel insecure or betrayed, I don't want my ex to feel pressured or put on the spot, and I definitely don't want my daughter to lose any of us, which I know could happen if we aren't all on the same page. Or worse, if we do all date and it goes badly.

Should I just keep this whole thing secret? Is that even worse? Would I be the asshole for opening this can of worms on everyone else?

Help!

#aita #am i the asshole

[ckret2]

Chapter 39 of human Bill Cipher is SURE he's about to escape being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Ford's confronted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit too obsessed with Bill.

And meanwhile, Bill has found a way to reach his loyal cultists... if he can find somebody willing to help him make contact.

He thinks Ford is the perfect target.

Maybe, just maybe, the obsession goes both ways.

(warning for an incident of self-harm via burning, and depersonalization and/or dysphoria (depending on how you interpret it) re: Bill feeling even worse about his body than usual.)

####

Soos, Stan, and Ford had stayed up half the night trying to generate enough NowUSeeitNowUDontium to prevent it from vanishing the moment one of them lost (or gained) focus. They'd eventually given up and stayed the night in Northwest Manor. Soos had texted Melody around midnight, and she'd immediately replied (which alarmed Ford, but Soos assured him she was used to those hours) and agreed, with some trepidation, to spend the night by herself in the shack so that the kids wouldn't be alone all night with Bill. She'd texted a half hour later to report that the bathroom was a disaster, but the kids had reassured her it was just some werewolf thing, so, not a big deal.

Ford had thought getting to spend a night without Bill under the same roof would be a relief. Instead, he found his sleep was even worse. He kept worrying about what Bill might get up to so far away and out of sight, where Ford couldn't do anything to stop him. Surely, by nighttime, Bill had to have noticed that the only humans he'd seen all day were the kids? Would he consider Melody any kind of threat, no veteran to combating Gravity Falls' weirdness?

It figured that the dream demon would find a way to disrupt Ford's sleep when he wasn't even there.

####

Ford had given up on sleep around two in the morning and gone wandering until he stumbled across a den with walls covered in bookcases, massive windows overlooking the forest below, and a pair of richly upholstered armchairs turned to gaze out the windows. He drifted between the chairs to one of the windows. It was the kind of personal library he'd dreamed of accepting esteemed guests in, back when he'd fantasized about one day being rich and famous. He suspected the Northwests had never read a book in this room.

Ford had been staring out at the still night and the dark pines for several minutes when he heard the creak of a door and soft footsteps behind him. He whirled around, raising a weapon. "Back, you spectral fiend!"

"Whoa! Easy, Sixer!" Stan held up a hand defensively. "It's just me!" He lowered his hand. "Why are you holding up a dinner plate?"

"Er—sorry." Ford sheepishly tucked the silver dish under his arm again. "I'm sure I saw a ghost earlier. I thought it prudent to arm myself."

Stan muttered, "This place sure is creepy enough for it."

"Mm. It's built on more than its fair share of bones." Ford returned to gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry today was a failure. When I'm staring right at an experiment on which the fate of the entire universe depends, it's hard not to think about it."

"Eh, I wasn't doing too hot either," Stan admitted, joining Ford at the window. "There's only so many times you can hear Soos whisper 'Think about the miniature particle accelerator' in your ears on a loop before you zone out and start thinking about fishing season."

Ford huffed. "Maybe we should have switched places."

"Yeah, probably. I retired from thinking about science after I got your dumb portal running, and once you get your head stuck on something you can't stop thinking about it."

Ford laughed wryly. "Unfortunately accurate."

There was a moment of silence; and then Stan said cautiously, "Speaking of you getting your head stuck on something..."

Ford didn't like that tone. "Hm?"

"I was, uh... doing some light reading..." He held up Ford's journal.

A jolt of anger and fear shot through Ford. "Give me—" He snatched the journal back.

It wasn't until it was in his hands that he registered the absurdity of his own action; for the past year, he'd given Stan free access to Journal 5. He'd used it to document their travels and discoveries as a reference for them both; he'd even asked Stan to contribute a couple of entries. Based on a prior precedent of seven months, Stan had every right to look at Journal 5. Revoking that access now was... Well, it didn't look good.

Stan didn't immediately say anything. Ford supposed his own actions said enough. He tucked the journal under his arm with the silver dish.

Stan cleared his throat. "I think we're a little past the 'superhero nemesis' thing."

"It's not a problem," Ford said tersely.

"Not a prob—? Ford, you're letting him consume your life."

"He's consumed all our lives. The kids haven't been able to invite anyone over, Melody all but runs to her car after work, you ended up in a showdown with fae nobility—"

"It was just the tooth fairy!"

"Do you know how important a fairy has to be to claim dominion over all teeth?"

"Forget about the fairy!" Stan waved off the whole fairy topic with one hand. "Look, I'm not the one who's dedicated half a journal to talking about him!"

"You don't keep a journal, Stanley—"

"That's not the point!"

"—I'm just saying, if you did keep a journal, I think he'd have come up on more than a few pages—"

"But like this?" Stan gestured toward Ford's journal. "This is turning into an obsession. And not one of your normal obsessions."

The back of Ford's neck heated up. He wanted to argue that he had to obsess over Bill if he hoped to find a way to kill him—but Stan already knew that Ford had passed off that project to Fiddleford weeks ago. "How can I be 'obsessed' with somebody I barely even see? I'm avoiding Bill like my life depends on it! I talk to him less than Mrs. Ramirez does!"

"And you're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private!" Stan gestured again, angrily, at Ford's journal. (Ford defensively tucked it further under his arm.) "You're acting like a stalker, Sixer. Not that I care about him, but, I'm starting to worry about your head."

"A st—?! I'm a scientist, he's a scientific curiosity! I'm documenting him! I document plenty of things!"

"Not like this, you don't."

"There's a lot to document!"

"Including spending a whole page trying to figure out—how to draw his—?!" Stan gestured furiously toward his boxers.

Ford pointed at him severely. "You were just as curious as I was to find out how a giant eyeball and a sentient triangle make that work, don't pretend you weren't."

Stan grimaced. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But writing a full entry about his posture?"

"He's not only an alien being in a human body but a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional body, how he moves and gestures could tell us about how an utterly unfamiliar species perceived space! Nearly all his gestures adhere to an invisible coronal plane, that betrays worlds of information about his original anatomy. Do you know that elbow thing he does when he walks—"

"Ford. You're using your great-niece to get drawings of his childhood bedroom."

Ford raised a finger. "That's—" Ford lowered his finger. Ford sat in a nearby armchair, put his chin in his hands, and stared into space. "What am I doing."

Stan patted his shoulder.

Ford slid his journal and the dish out from under his arm and settled them in his lap. He stared at the cover, then thumbed through the pages. It was obvious when they'd returned to Gravity Falls; the drawings of Atlanteans, were-rats, shorelines, and boats immediately gave way to page after page of staring slit-pupiled eyes.

"It's just... Bill is an ancient being, many times older than our universe, and the last surviving specimen of his own bizarre species. As both an anomaly and a source of esoteric knowledge, he's an invaluable subject of study. He's going to die soon, and he should die, but... between now and then, I don't want to pass up the last ever opportunity to study him."

Stan sank down into the chair opposite Ford. "You're listening to yourself, right?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just worried. "This is a guy who tried to kill us. He isn't a 'specimen' you can add to your collection of weird stuff, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know." That was exactly why it was so important—why it seemed so important—to capture Bill in words and pictures before it was too late. (It was funny, Ford thought, how Stan's very first conversation with Bill had been a murder, and yet he was the one who talked about Bill like he was just some guy; while Ford had spent so many years obsessively trying to find out who Bill was that he'd almost forgotten he was a person instead of a terrible idea.)

"When execution day comes and you think you haven't dug up enough of his history, what'll you do? Give him a stay of execution until he's dictated his memoirs to you?"

"No," Ford said immediately. "No, of course not. I'm just taking advantage of the opportunity to learn what I can, while I can. It's no different from your 'shopping trip' at the mall—"

"Hey!" Stan pointed a finger at Ford. "Watch it! That was strictly business! It's not like I'm attached to the guy—"

"I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant—as long as we're stuck with Bill, make him useful, and—and to heck with him after that. Right?" Like Stan had said about the scratch cards: why throw away free money just because of the source? "He'd do the same to us."

Stan hesitated. "And you're sure that when the time comes, you'll be ready to pull the trigger?"

"I know I will. It won't be the first time. I'm just glad that this time I'll be able to aim at his own head."

"Hm." Stan didn't look convinced.

Ford sighed. "But, if I think I'll waver—I'll hand you the gun."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I promise."

But he knew he didn't need to.

####

Soos drove the tired gang home just past dawn, early enough for him to open the Mystery Shack on schedule.

"Soon as we get home, I'm going back to sleep," Stan muttered crankily. Ford—eyes shut, leaning against the window—nodded in agreement. Stan yawned, "And there'd better not be any nasty surprises at the shack."

####

Bill sat sleeping in his attic window seat, knees to his chest, leaning against the window, ear pressed to the glass.

Outside, Stan wailed, "My car!"

Bill's eyes snapped open. He smiled.

He ran to the kids' room, knocked on the door—"Hey, the bigger Pines are back!"—and bolted for the stairs.

####

Soos got the door open at the exact same time Bill stumbled off the stairs and collided with the living room doorframe. Bill grabbed the doorframe just long enough to steady himself, and then bounded over to the door, shoved Soos and Ford aside, and leaned out onto the porch. "HIYA, STAN!"

Stan whipped around to face Bill. "YOU!" He gestured furiously at the wizard graffiti on his car. "WHAT did you DO to my CAR!"

"Do you like it?"

Stan let out an inarticulate scream of rage.

"Oh, you love it!"

"You massacred it! I've had this car forty-five years! I've done things in this car I can't say! And it's never, never been so—so—violated!"

Grinning ear to ear, Bill said, "What do you think of the girl wizard?"

"The what?!" Stan circled the car. He screamed again.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does she have a beard!"

"Go on," Bill said gleefully, "tell me what you think! I want the full review!"

"This," Stan said, "is the most ugly, hideous, terrible—"

Bill glanced back at a sound on the stairs. "Oh, hey Mabel! Get over here!" He gestured proudly as Mabel joined him in the doorway. "And here's the artistic mastermind herself!"

Stan choked on his words. "—b... beautiful, stunning, museum-worthy work of art I've ever seen."

Mabel beamed. "It's not finished yet, we ran out of some colors! I was going to add a dragon on the hood!"

Stan's face went white. "No no, it's... perfect the way it is. Don't—don't change a thing."

"Really? You're sure? I don't mind!"

"Really." Looking slightly nauseous, Stan said, "I love it just like this, pumpkin."

Mabel squealed and ran outside to give him a big hug.

Bill was fighting back silent laughter so hard he almost fell down.

####

"...And I still haven't found any sign of the Nightwigglers," Dipper said, sighing dejectedly and dropping his journal on the counter next to the cash register. "So, I dunno, maybe I should give up on this one and move on."

Wendy was sitting back with her feet kicked up on the counter, but she straightened a bit to look at Dipper's journal. She skimmed the news article he'd paperclipped to one page. "Oh, I heard about this," she said. "The cops talked to me about the first burglary. I was in the thrift shop that day."

"Oh, yeah?" Dipper pointed at the picture next to the article. "Did you see anything like this?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "No—but I think one of my brothers did."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, he was talking about it a couple nights ago. He said it was like an armless white thing wearing pants that went up to its face. We all thought he got spooked by a deer butt or something and made up the whole story. Then dad said we should drop it and told us we should stay in at night."

"That's when they come out! At night!" Dipper laughed excitedly. "Do you think your dad knows something?"

"Pfff, not if he can help it." Wendy pulled her feet off the counter and checked the clock. "I could show you the start of the trail my brother was on. It's like ten minutes by bike and the next big tour bus isn't getting here for half an hour, wanna sneak out?"

"Are you serious?! Of course!"

"Just promise you won't tell Gus if we find something. We've been making fun of him for days and I don't want to  admit he was right." Wendy laughed. "Let me grab somebody to cover."

"I'll get my bike!" Dipper was already headed out the door. "I've been looking for a lead for days! I dug through half the dumpsters in town searching for their nests..." The door swung shut behind him.

Wendy ducked into the living room. "Hey Goldie."

"Yello?" He was sitting cross legged on the couch watching TV.

"I've gotta do something with Dipper, do you mind covering for a little bit? Just twenty, thirty minutes."

His gaze flickered to the TV, then back to Wendy's face. "Sure! Anything for you, cool girl."

Wendy had a brief, eerie sense of déjà vu. She shook it off. "I'm not interrupting anything good, am I?" She nodded at the TV.

"Naaah, it's one of those terrible specials about pyramid conspiracies." He shook a cider can, "I'm taking a sip every time they mention Fishmasons or 'ancient dinosaur-worshiping civilization.'"

"Dude. You'll be wasted before the first commercial break."

"Really, you're saving me from myself." He set the can on the TV and followed Wendy into the gift shop. (As he did, Bill checked to see if he had anything on under his hoodie. No? The Pines didn't want him to be seen in public in his hoodie; they thought it would make him "too obvious." He rolled up the sleeves to hide some of the brick pattern and surreptitiously tucked the hood and the bow tie drawstrings into the collar.)

As she headed out the door, Wendy repeated, "Just twenty minutes! Thirty tops. I'll get back before the next tour bus, promise."

"No problem!" He waved her off.

"I owe you one!"

Bill made a note of that.

He looked around the gift shop—any readily-obvious mischief he could get up to? He grabbed an 8-ball cane and took it to the counter. And then he took the stool behind the register, propped his chin in his hand, gazed toward the living room, and resumed watching TV through the wall and backwards. He didn't miss hearing the conspiracy talk—he was sure it was actively making him stupider—but credit where credit was due; they made those CGI pyramid models really hot.

A cutaway of one pyramid showed its internal tunnels and chambers. Bill bit his lower lip. Oh yeah. That's what he came here for.

Several minutes went by. The door opened and a lone tourist crept in, a middle-aged woman with a sun-damaged tan. Bill straightened up and switched his eye patch over to hide his bleeding eye. "Heya! Next tour's in..." He checked the clock, how long until the next bus? "About fifteen minutes."

The woman nodded and quietly started circling the gift shop.

Bill glanced toward the living room, decided he'd better not start damaging his other eye too, mentally cursed the tourist, and pulled out one of Wendy's magazines to read. "Let me know if you need anything."

The tourist spent several minutes making a slow circuit of the room, and then crept up to the cash register. Bill looked up with a smile, didn't see any souvenirs in her hands, and asked, "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Bill's eye flew wide open, his heart leaped into his throat, and his breath hitched. His gaze roved over her exposed skin until he spied a tattoo on her right arm: four triangles stacked atop each other, starting with an equilateral and each getting shorter and more obtuse as they descended, until they'd reduced completely and a single horizontal line underlined all four triangles. This wasn't quite the happiest he'd ever been to see the symbol of a devastatingly self-destructive high-control cult, but it was close. "Oh! Oh, this is—" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eye shut. "I know this. I rhymed 'red' with 'pyramid.' Why do I give everyone a different code. 'But rises gold over the pyramid'—something like that, right?" Bill gave the woman a pleading look. "I'm close enough that you can tell I know what you're talking about!"

A look of relief washed over her face. "You know him." Voice low, she asked, "Is it safe to talk?"

Knew him? He was him. But he couldn't claim that without proving it—what would convince her?—telling her something that only he knew?—great, but what? Her face was vaguely familiar—he thought he might've given her a visionary dream once—but he had so many little worshipers and they were so unimportant, most of them blurred together.

So all he could do was say, "It's not safe. Everyone here is an enemy."

She nodded sharply. "Where can we meet?"

Bill paused. "We can't. I'm... trapped."

Her brows creased with worry. "They're keeping you prisoner?"

"Afraid so."

"I could get the police—"

"Everyone," Bill repeated, "is an enemy."

She paused, processing that. Bill's gaze flickered to the clock. Wendy said twenty minutes, thirty tops. She'd been gone twenty-two minutes. "Someone's coming any minute."

"Right." The cultist grabbed Wendy's magazine, tore a corner off a page, and grabbed a pen.

"How did you find me?" Bill asked. Of all the tourist traps in all the tiny towns in all the world, how had she come in hereand walked right up to him? 

"We were told a devotee was here," she said. "Someone sent the address and phone number to the Bahamian art studio."

Bill's mind spun. How? Who the heck would know to do that? The only person who knew he was here who'd come anywhere close to any of Bill's other worshipers was...

Ford? No. Did he?

The cultist shoved the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Bill grabbed her arm. "Stay out of Gravity Falls," he commanded. "But stay close. Don't go back to Death Valley." Between the sun damage and the tattoo, she had to be one of his Death Valley girls. She looked like their usual prey: disaffected middle class white woman, probably had a dead end job and a mediocre husband and a useless degree from a liberal arts college. Maybe being able to guess where she came from would impress her.

It did. She stopped and turned back and looked at him in amazement—and then looked at him, staring hard at his eye. "You're... hosting him, aren't you?" Her voice fell to a whisper. "No. Are you...?"

"You got me." He smiled wryly—behold him, electric god bound in flesh, how low he's fallen, but at least he still has his good humor, doesn't he? "I always said you had great intuition." (It was a safe bet. He usually told the ladies that they had great intuition. Most of them ate that up, and the ones that didn't were often a little too savvy to sucker.)

It worked. She inhaled sharply. "You are," she breathed. "I knew you'd be a woman. Oh, Mary's a fool." She said this like she'd just won some years-old argument Bill had missed.

Mary, as in Mary-whom-Bill-had-put-in-charge-of-the-Death-Valley-compound Mary? Ha. She was getting on in years; maybe Bill could start a schism, that sounded fun. He opened his mouth to say something about Mary having great leadership but waning clarity of vision—

—when the cultist leaned across the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Okay. All right. She was one of those cultists. Got it. Got it got it got it. Wow. Definitely a "mediocre husband" convert, those were easy to seduce away with a little warmth and affection—nothing obvious, but get them infatuated with the idea of an unattainable incorporeal ideal lover and they'd chase him to the ends of the earth. Maybe a lesbian in denial that Bill had decided to push further into denial, if her assumption about Bill's gender was anything to go by. He tried to remember what he'd told this one.

He leaned into the kiss.

He'd done this before—in dreams, in puppets—he didn't prefer humans, but he could handle them well enough and earthlings had such pretty eyes. And this body he was stuck in made such insistent demands; a surge of human hormones washed over his brain so powerfully it made him dizzy. She broke the kiss to murmur, "Cipher, my lord—" and he took the opportunity to kiss her eyelid and lie, "I knew if anyone could find me, it would be you." He wished he remembered her name. She tugged his face back down to her lips. She was so eager. Cipher, my lord. Oh, it felt good to be revered again—

The door opened. "Um?"

If Bill had had one ounce of his power, he would have killed Wendy on the spot.

Instead, he seized his cultist's hands, ripped them off his hoodie, and shoved her away. "Whoa, lady! What do you think this is, a kissing booth?!" He laughed angrily. "We don't offer that kind of service here! Either get out, or—or buy a souvenir already!" He pointed at Wendy. "From her. Not from me."

Shocked, the cultist turned toward where Bill was pointing; and then turned back, understanding in her eyes.

Wendy raised her hands defensively, grimacing. "Yeah, no, I'm not serving you either. Just... get outta here."

The cultist met Bill's gaze for just a moment, then walked quickly out the door without a word.

Bill shouted after her, "And do not come back!" and quietly mourned as, for the second time in as many weeks, he had to watch helplessly as he sent away his only hope of getting any action/rescue.

"I am so, so sorry," Wendy said. "I leave for like ten minutes and you get one of the nightmare customers."

How Bill loved nightmares. "Twenty-five minutes, but who's counting."

"Psh, shut up." Wendy reclaimed her post behind the counter. "I think she's been here before, she looks kinda familiar. You okay?"

Bill hoped nobody else in town would recognize her. "I think I'll live after some mouthwash. Terrible breath." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, remember when you said you owe me one? You really owe me."

####

All his cultist had written for him was a phone number. Bill slid his stolen journal from its window hiding spot and copied the number down in two-tone dots and dashes. Plaintext transcriptions were usually tricky, given the vast difference between the language Bill wrote in and the languages humans used—but numbers, at least, were easy. Everyone had numbers.

And then he stared at the scrap of paper, reading the numbers over and over, until he was sure he'd memorized them, just in case he ever lost the journal.

And then he ate the paper.

And then he stacked the two cushions of his makeshift bed on top of each other, planted his face in them, and screamed.

Cipher, my lord. It had felt so, so, so good to be revered again.

His organs twisted with touch-hunger and loneliness.

####

Out in the Bahamas, along the southwest edge of the Bermuda Triangle, were two nut job hermits from Miami. Bill had convinced them that the only way they could purge their sins and purify their souls was by sculpting and selling golden avatars of God into which they could pour their guilt, and they had to keep doing it until they no longer felt guilty (and they would never not feel guilty; they needed so much therapy that Bill had ensured they'd never get). And then he'd convinced them that God's true face was an Eye of Providence in a top hat and bow tie.

Over the years he'd lost a little control over those two—in their desperation to be free of sin, they'd also started sculpting avatars to as many gods as they could find and selling them en masse to afford more art supplies—but hey, as long as his face was still mixed in with the rest, fine. Honestly, he was surprised those nuts weren't dead yet.

Somebody in this house had sent his location to them. And in a moment of what Bill imagined was stunning mental clarity, they had passed on that information to the single least dysfunctional pocket of Bill's top cult in the continental United States. Maybe when Bill was back at full power, he'd drop by the hermits' dreams to tell them they'd finally achieved absolution and could rest. Their decades of out-of-control scrupulosity would probably prevent them from believing him, but hey, he could say he'd tried. He washed his hands of all responsibility over them and their mental illnesses that he'd knowingly deliberately exacerbated for his own benefit. Not his problem.

But the question he came back to, over and over, was who had talked to them.

Bill needed to reach his Death Valley cultist. He needed a phone. Every phone in this house was well-guarded. No one would let him touch one... except, perhaps, whoever had sent the SOS on his behalf.

The only person who made sense was Stanford. Bill didn't think he'd ever told Ford about the nutty sculptors; but in the eighties he had given him the mailing addresses of some niche art dealers who would sell tapestries and statues of an obscure one-eyed god to collectors who could appreciate what they were looking at. Maybe Ford had gotten back in contact with them? Maybe he'd told them where Bill was, and they'd passed the information to the Bahamas?

Maybe Ford's feelings weren't quite so cold toward Bill as he'd been pretending.

Bill liked that idea a lot.

Maybe Bill's birthday gift had swung Ford back around to the side of reason—reminded him just how good he'd had it under a muse and mentor willing to teach him anything his nerdy little heart desired. Or maybe he'd always wanted to come back, and had just needed Bill to say it first.

He probably only pretended he hated Bill because they were surrounded by enemies—everyone in the house thought Ford was looking for a way to destroy Bill, what would happen if they knew the truth?

But the truth was there. Bill could almost seize it in his hands. All those moments where they almost talked like they were friends again, before Ford had to stop himself and leave. That one beautiful little word: jealous. And of course, there was the whole thing with the glass pyramid and the "Mysteries" that Ford had passed on—

—to Mabel.

There was another possibility.

As much as Bill would love if it was Ford, Mabel was the only person in the house who acted like she actually wanted Bill alive. Whatever "Mysteries" Ford was teaching her had something to do with Bill, the pyramid made that obvious. Maybe his lessons included the contact information of everyone else Ford knew who knew Bill? Maybe she'd taken it upon herself to call for help?

It was thin. And it was still dependent upon Ford harboring a secret loyalty to Bill that he was passing on to his great-niece. But that was where things stood: Ford was the only person in the house who definitely knew how to reach Bill's followers, but Mabel was the only person in the house who definitely might want to.

And he had to make completely sure of which one of them it was before he asked for a favor.

####

Ford had missed dinner again.

Fiddleford had sent Ford home with a pile of math. All the calculations he'd done to get the miniature particle accelerator to produce Dontium. By his reckoning, that there jar should've filled with Dontium faster than greased lightning; he just plumb can't understand why it trickled in like cold molasses. (His words.) He'd asked Ford to check his work, see if he'd missed something.

Ford was more than happy to help. It was a much-needed intellectual challenge that didn't involve Bill's underhanded birthday gift. Something that would let him feel like he was making progress. And it was comfortingly familiar. He and Fiddleford had spent weeks checking and re-checking each other's math in the lead up to the portal test, before they knew what a horror they were building.

As soon as Ford had gotten home, he'd put Fiddleford's papers in his underground study before going back to bed. Bill had already admitted he could glimpse the future, although Ford wasn't sure how far; and Ford was growing convinced that Bill's ability to perceive "higher dimensions" let him see through walls like they weren't there. He'd begun keeping Journal 5 and other sensitive materials down in his study at all times, hoping that the distance and layers of dirt and rock would keep Bill from peering in.

And when he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon—an embarrassingly late hour to get up, but he had been awake most of the night—he'd grabbed a quick breakfast/lunch, brewed a pot of coffee to take with him, and gone below to get to work.

He'd only worked seven or eight hours with a couple of reluctant breaks in the middle before his head began pounding too hard for him to ignore. He'd been neglecting his exercise regimen the past few weeks, and his back and neck were letting him know. In his thirties, he'd been able to work fourteen hours days and still want to keep going—and that was even before he'd handed his body over to Bill so he could keep working around the clock. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He dragged himself upstairs after sunset, when the last ambient light from the sky still faintly glowed through the windows. He could make something quick and simple for dinner, go to bed early, and get up early to continue working. He pushed through the door to the dark living room—

"Hello!"

"Gah!" Ford jumped. "You. What are you doing here?"

Bill was leaning next to the door, a dim silhouette with his elbow on the wall and cheek in his hand. Even in the dark, Ford was sure he could see Bill's wicked grin at his reaction. "I happen to live here."

Ford let out an irritated huff. "Whatever you're up to, I don't have time to deal with it. Find someone else to bother." He pushed past Bill and headed toward the kitchen.

It would have been too much to expect Bill not to follow him, wouldn't it? "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Would it kill you to act like you're happy to see me?"

"Probably."

Bill's laugh made Ford's shoulders raise up around his ears. Maybe that was the source of his neck pain.

Bill shadowed him into the kitchen and leaned on the table, watching while Ford rummaged through the fridge. "But seriously, Sixer—who are you trying to impress by giving me the cold shoulder? I'm the only one here. You could afford to treat me like a person for two minutes." When Ford slammed the fridge door, Bill smacked it with the tip of an 8-ball cane. "Hey, have my food privileges been revoked? Give me a turn."

How long had Bill had a weapon? Ford snatched the cane from him, but opened the fridge and left it. "I don't consider you a person. I consider you an incalculably destructive force of pure, brutal chaos." He cracked three eggs in a skillet and opened a cabinet for one of the stove knobs they kept stored where Bill couldn't reach them.

"Flattering!" Bill started pulling out his usual nauseating array of condiments: today was sauerkraut, maraschino cherries, mustard, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. (Why did he eat like that? Did his species usually subsist on a mostly liquid diet? Was it the flavors—?) "Hey, make me mac 'n' cheese, wouldja?"

"No."

"Fine. Leave the burner on when you're done, I'll make it myself."

"You're not allowed to use the stove."

"Then how about I sit here drinking mustard while you enjoy a hot meal." Bill waved three eggs at Ford. "At least make me eggs too. Zero extra effort on your part. I'll even crack them for you if you want."

Ford gave Bill a dark look; but he supposed, as one of the people who had agreed that Bill wasn't allowed to cook, he was in no position to complain about Bill begging him to cook on his behalf. He snatched the eggs out of Bill's hand. "How do you want them."

"I haven't eaten enough chicken eggs to have a preference. Whatever you'll complain least about doing."

Poorly scrambled eggs it was. Ford shut the fridge and returned to the stove.

Bill sat on the table and crossed his legs in lotus position while he waited. "But really, what do you get out of pretending you can't stand me! We both know it's an act."

Ford gave him a tired, sour look. "Even for you, you sound delusional."

"I know you don't really hate me."

"I could write an entire dissertation and earn another Ph.D. on the topic of how much I hate you."

Ford hated how excited Bill looked by that. "Would you?"

"No! Why would I waste that much time thinking about you?"

"It seems to me like you're already doing that."

The hair on the back of Ford's neck prickled. Surely Bill just meant Ford's research into how to kill him; but his mind flashed to the miniature grimoire he'd spent all his time poring over—the blueprints of Bill's childhood home—the face he'd absent-mindedly drawn in his journal in the middle of the night and quickly scribbled out. Could Bill still see through that face? Had Ford remembered to blind Bill's eye on the blueprints? What about the eyes drawn in his human faces? Did Bill know about Ford's other studies? What did it matter—nothing Ford was doing was wrong. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill's smile slowly widened. "Sure you don't. You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. You might as well lean into it."

You're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private. "I am not..." Wasn't he? You're acting like a stalker, Sixer.

"Oh, Fordsy, come on." Bill uncrossed his legs, slid off the table, and was across the room faster than Ford had expected. Ford instinctively took a step back and bumped into the oven; Bill reached past him to lean a hand against the edge of the stove, inches from touching him. "You're not hiding it half as well as you think you are. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He smirked up at Ford, exposed eye wide and eager, utterly fascinated with him. "And bringing Mabel in on it? I'll have to admit, that surprised me. Can't say I disapprove, though."

Ford couldn't tell if the heat on the back of his neck was from Bill's accusations or the stove. "I beg your pardon?" What was he talking about—their conversation in Portland? The blueprints of Bill's home? (Using his great-niece to spy on Bill, lord, what was Ford doing?)

"Quit messing around! The Mysteries, Stanford. You think I don't know I'm the star of that show?" He poked the center of Ford's chest, "There's no way you joined a cult, you're not enough of a team player! What'd you do? Invent your own cult of one? Mixed a little of what I taught you, a little of whatever you learned out in the multiverse? I know you were asking around about me." Bill chuckled. "You want to keep your little rituals private, fine—I think it's cute, really—just tell me one thing I've been dying to know: how much have you told the kid?"

Ford stared at Bill.

Then he laughed in his face. "You really bought that?"

Bill's smile immediately vanished. "What?"

Ford shoved Bill's hands away. "There are no 'Mysteries.' It was a joke."

Bill stepped back, staring at Ford, brows furrowed. "A...? No," he said. "She's got that glass pyramid—"

"She wanted it because it was pretty," Ford said. "I gave her one since I was throwing them all out."

"That's the stupidest story I've ever heard. Then why would she have brought up the Mysteries!"

"Because," Ford said, "I told her, if you asked about the pyramid, she should make up something to confuse you."

Bill's mouth was open, but no words came out. His face had rapidly turned red. Several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession, from shock to confusion to humiliation to a rage so deep it almost looked like disgust. For a moment, from how Bill's fingers were curling like claws, Ford was sure Bill was about to attack him.

But then he clenched his jaw, backed off, leaned on the table, jammed his fists down against the tabletop, and glared at the floor.

Ford turned back to the stove, grinning to himself. Some of the eggs had burned slightly. Those were Bill's now. "What's the matter? Did you forget that humans can lie?"

Bill didn't reply.

"I'm surprised you didn't expect it. I seem to remember we got you with an impressive whopper last year—"

"Shut up."

"Now you don't want to talk?"

"Now you do?"

Good point; he didn't. If he'd finally rendered Bill speechless, he should enjoy it while he could.

He'd have to thank Mabel later for inventing the Mysteries. Sometimes that girl could be genius.

Ford turned off the burner, put the stove knob away, and dumped the eggs onto two plates. He didn't even bother to keep track of which plate had the burned eggs.

He shot a quick, exasperated look at Bill—he'd sat on top of the table again—and dropped a plate next to him. "Here." He grabbed a bag of bread and looked around for the toaster.

Behind him, voice trembling but low and dangerous, Bill said, "Don't look at me like that."

Ford glanced back warily. "Like what?"

Bill violently shoved off the table. There was an awful squeal of sliding furniture. Before Ford could react, Bill was in his face, grabbing him by his turtleneck, dragging him in, forcing him to look up at Bill.

Ford's peripheral vision was filled with gold. They were so close their noses nearly touched.

"Like you don't remember who I am!" Bill stared down with wide-eyed seething rage. "Your muse!" His voice cracked, "Your god!"

Ford stared up at Bill, speechless.

Then he looked down.

Bill was standing on a chair to make himself taller than Ford.

Ford ripped Bill's hands off his sweater. "You were never, ever my god."

Bill stumbled off the chair, catching himself hard on the edge of the table to keep from falling completely. "That's not true!" He heaved himself back onto his feet with a wince. "You worshiped me—"

"I admired you!" Ford jabbed a finger at Bill's chest. "I respected you! I—I even idolized you, but I never worshiped you!"

Bill jabbed a finger back, "You're splitting hairs! You practically turned your study into a temple to me—tapestries, rugs, statues—"

"Because you said it would help me reach you!"

"And it did! That's what shrines are for, genius!"

"It wasn't a shrine! Not to me."

"You're kidding me! All the money you dropped on that gold-plated statue and you expect me to believe that wasn't an act of worship—"

"Do not. Remind me. How much. That stupid statue cost."

"If you didn't build a shrine for worship then what in the world did you build it for!"

"Friendship!" Ford took a shaky breath in. "I thought... I honestly thought you—you—were my best friend." The air in the room trembled with heat. They were standing too close to each other. Ford refused to be the one to back up.

"I was," Bill said. "I still could be if you'd stop being a moron."

Ford laughed in disbelief. "Which is it, were you my god or my friend?!"

"They're not mutually exclusive—!"

"You can't keep your story straight for THIRTY SECONDS!"

"Don't you call me a LIAR, after EVERYTHING I taught you—!"

"In all the years I've known you I don't think you've told me the truth ONCE—!"

Stan flipped on the lights.

They froze and stared at him. They had their hands around each other's throats. Bill had a foot planted on Ford's stomach like he was trying to get a foothold to climb him. They were both covered in egg.

Stan said, "Could you do this in the morning?"

Ford said, "Sure."

Bill said, "He started it."

"I st—?! You started all of this thirty years ago—"

"Guys," Stan said tiredly.

With some effort, Ford unpeeled his hands from Bill's neck.

To his surprise, Bill voluntarily let go as well. Ford snatched up what was left of his plate of eggs, took the loaf of bread—he had lighters, he could toast it downstairs—and left the kitchen, turning the light off as he went.

Stan was waiting out in the entryway. "Heading to bed?"

"No." Ford shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Going to be up late." He was too angry to sleep. He could eat, take a painkiller for his headache, and keep working.

"More research?"

"No. Calculations."

Stan's shoulders slumped; but all he said was, "Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Ford glanced back once into the kitchen. Bill wasn't moving. He sat slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees. He'd pulled on his hood. Its eye stared at Ford.

Ford wasn't about to pity Bill over a performative display of angst. He'd fallen for that already.

He returned to his study and mathematics.

####

Bill stared at his plate of eggs. He mechanically pushed them around on the plate until they formed a perfect equilateral triangle. He scooped out an empty white eye in the middle.

He stood, snatched up the plate, and smashed it on the floor.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he couldn't use a stove if it didn't have knobs, as if he was a child! The humans made it easy for themselves to think of him as a child when they treated him like one, "baby-proof the doors" and "no sharp objects" and "don't talk to strangers." He could show them.

He grabbed the stem where one of the knobs had been removed, and twisted. He heard the hiss of gas under the burner. Everyone was asleep. He could fill the house with gas. It would only take a little push to make a spark and set the entire shack ablaze. In the dark room, he could see the first glimpse of future flames flickering yellow-orange in the periphery of his foresight. No one would survive. Who's your god now, smart guy? He'd rise like a phoenix from his own corpse and he'd tear this town apart.

Where was Mabel?

Was she home tonight?

Bill turned off the gas.

He pushed up his sleeve and pressed the fleshy part of his forearm onto the still-hot burner. The pain burned away his jumbled anger so he could think clearly.

Who cared how the nutty sculptors had gotten Bill's address? He was making good progress on lucid dreaming; maybe he'd astral projected across the country to call for help and forgotten it when he woke up. He'd probably saved himself without even remembering it. It didn't matter. The important thing was that they'd received the message; and now, Bill had friends on the outside. Friends who were on his side.

If he could ever contact them again.

Bill would find a way. He didn't need Ford's help. "Never worshiped you." Ha.

He needed fresh air. Even if it wasn't safe to escape yet, he needed to breathe. He carried himself backward through doorway into the gift shop, pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof—

The trap door was shut. He stared up in despair.

He shot a glare toward the vending machine, and angrily crossed back into the living room.

The air was so stuffy inside the shack. "Never worshiped you." Liar. If it wasn't worship then what was it?

Bill took himself upstairs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He lay on his makeshift bed curled up around himself, arms wrapped tight across his stomach, his burn pressed hard against a layer of knit yarn, thighs pulled up against his arms. It was a wholly alien position. It felt unnatural and bizarre. This body had curled like this of its own volition. It seemed like the only thing that briefly smothered the ache of emptiness and the hormonal inferno screaming loneliness through every vein. The loneliness wasn't his. He wasn't lonely. This body was. 

Cipher, my lord.

He hated this body.

He ached to be revered again.

####

It was two in the morning. Ford sat at his desk, pages and pages of math scattered before him, glasses off, hand rubbing his eyes.

He didn't want to be checking a mountain of math like a human calculator. He wanted to be studying strange magic and researching new anomalies. He wanted to be digging through Bill's grimoire.

He wanted to be awed again.

####

(I've been waiting to write/draw Bill screaming his grief over not being worshiped since literally April. I hope y'all enjoyed! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'd love to hear what y'all think!!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(*immediately edits post because i forgot the brick pattern on Bill's hoodie*)

[celestialprincesse]

If you’re not taking requests then just ignore me! But could you maybe write something for Soap and Ghost both wanting the same girl and she opts to not choose 🥰 I’m dying to read your smutty take on this

I'm like chowing down on your brain right now this is so scrumdiddyumyum 🎀

nsfw ⭐️ mdni

Johnny wanted you first. The, moment you hopped down from the helo and into his life, he wanted you. Everything about the way your eyes glittered in the early spring sunlight to the way your errant baby hairs practically begged for him to sweep them back behind your ears, everything about you. You'd been called in as a temporary spotter for a few missions, but he earnestly, foolishly hoped you'd stick around. Just for a little while.

He'd also foolishly hoped that he'd be the only one to want you. In the beginning, he thought he was.

But of course, fucking Simon had to ruin everything. Of course. He has a tendency to not realise what an Adonis he is, with his towering six foot frame and muscles for days, no, weeks. Simon, and his innate ability to have every woman in the same room simpering.

He'd noticed the switch in a debrief. Normally cold, callous Simon guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back, pulling out your chair for you with such cool, casual confidence. Normally such an action would mean nothing. Nothing would change between them or the team. They'd never liked the same types or gone for the same women. You, unfortunately, were a perfect blend of the things they both absolutely adored. Just chirpy enough to keep up with Johnny's boisterous personality, mellow enough to relax with Simon. You were just bratty enough to give Johnny the fight he fight he always craved, submissive enough to know when Simon wanted you to stay in line. You were dangerously perfect.

You also had a tendency to come in early in the mornings. Like your teammates. More specifically, Johnny and Simon, that is.

Simon always came in early after the gym, to not only get to the teabags first, but also settle into his morning work routine before the others arrived.

Johnny would in as early as possible to try and get the first appointment with the physio whenever she dropped in.

For you, it had actually been a one off. You'd left your charger in the common room yesterday, and wanted to make sure your laptop wasn't dead for briefing minutes.

The quiet arguing begins the common room door had been unexpected to say the least.

Johnny's delicious brogue grew thicker as your ear pressed to the door, eyebrows furrowing as you attempted to gain an understanding of their conversation.

" - cannae understand why you won't jus' leave her alone."

"She seems perfectly fine with my attention." Simon drawled back, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't have your knees weak with the thought alone.

In your not-yet-eight-AM delirium, you'd barely even registered that the door wasn't all the way closed. Until you'd barrelled into it. With your full body weight. The string of colourful expletives which passed through your lips as you went crashing into the threadbare rug had been enough to snap Johnny and Simon from their boyish row.

"Speak of the devil." The amusement dripping from Simon's voice had you cringing.

"Laptop? I -" You'd barely managed to stammer before Johnny had you back up on your feet, a concerned look on his face as he went to pick up your (thankfully) unscathed laptop.

"Didnae realise you were one to eavesdrop, hen." Johnny cooed into your ear, a wonderfully warm hand gripping your chin to tilt your head this way and that, making sure you'd not been hurt by your fall.

"Might as well tell her whilst she's here, hm?" Coaxed Simon as you were guided to the squishy old couch in the middle of the room.

"Tell me?"

"Ask you, really." Simon again, with an indifferent shrug.

"We're - we both like ye a lot, hen." Johnny wouldn't dare crowd your space, no matter how strong the urge to reach for your hand, give it an encouraging squeeze.

"I like you too?" You'd vaguely heard yourself mumble, although the sound seemed so disjointed - foggy as you sunk into the depths of your feelings for both men. Equally.

"I like you both, too." Both men nodded as you reiterated what they'd suspected.

"No problem with that." Johnny encouraged, seeing your slightly flustered look, skittish and edgy, having been thrown into such a situation unwillingly, and this early in the morning. "It's twenty-twenty-four. Definitely no the weirdest shite I've seen happening."

"Like - sharing?" You stammered awkwardly, gaze flickering between Simon's understanding one, and Johnny's eager blues.

"S'pose we could give it a try." Simons gruff voice filled the room, tamping down the anxiety bubbling away in your tummy.

"Would you -?" You'd pointed a finger between the two of them, wordlessly indicating the direction of your question, without having to actually speak it.

"For now? No." Simon seemed to have, surprisingly, already thought the entire thing through. Always two steps ahead.

"But we don't mind sharing, so long as yer comfortable with that, hen."

And now, not even a month later, you're sat in the backseat of Simon's car, lips locked with Johnny's in a fervent kiss, your hand stroking eagerly around his shaft, whilst Simon's fingers curl up against the velvety walls of your pussy, his nose bumping the base of your jaw as he nips and sucks at your neck.

You've found that Simon barely needs to be touched to cum, perfectly contented to touch you and taste you until he finishes still straining at his jeans, whilst Johnny is far more hands-on, needs your help, to know you're there. That it's you and no one else.

The two of them are actually getting on surprisingly well in the confines of your relationship, too. The jealousy still rears its ugly head occasionally, but the two men are perfectly happy to push that aside and work together. Especially if it means hearing your pretty moans stifled by Johnny's lips as you cum on Simon's fingers.

I took like four melatonin before writing this, so sorry if it's nonsensical in parts!! It's also like not actually that smutty but!! Oh well!!

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #john soap mactavish #John soap mactavish x reader #John soap mactavish x f!reader #soapghost #poly 141 #ghost x reader x soap #ghost smut #soap smut #angies asks!

[luveline]

hiii!! i saw that you wanted some roan & eddie & reader requests sooo,, becuase barbie is trending so muchh i was wondering if you could write reader watching roan play with her barbies and instantly taken back to her childhood and getting very emotional ??

i mean its whats happening to me being reminded how much ive grown and how much effect those dolls had on me soo yeah 😭

tysm ♡ eddie and roan

A long, creaking squeal sounds from Roan when you come home. Eddie plugs his ears, knowing exactly what it is you have in the huge plastic bag at your waist —Roan's special treats, as previously discussed, for being such a lovely girl lately. 

It might be a silly thing to treat her for, but she deserves toys before any amazing behaviour, and you have the extra money to buy them. Why shouldn't she get them? You and Eddie chatted some while you were at work that morning, trying to choose what toys to get. 

"I haven't bought her toys by myself since we first met, what if I pick something crappy?" you'd worried. 

Eddie gave it a little bit of thought, hand twined in the curling wire of the telephone, slouched as he usually does against the back wall of the shop. "Hey, she hasn't had any new dolls since Christmas. They'd go over nicely. Or she always likes a new dress. I'm sure you'll find something when you're there. You can get me something fun at the same time if you want." 

You'd laughed at his joke and, if the light in your eyes now is anything to go off of, managed to find some presents you're happy with.

"Naddy's Toy Emporium!?" Roan shouts, rocketing off of the couch where she'd been standing waiting for you. 

You've a nightly routine, hugging her when you come home like your life depends on it, but clearly Roan has decided the hug can wait. For once, Eddie's finished dinner before you're return, so he has a good seat on the couch to watch everything unfold. 

You let her grab the bag's sides but lift it a touch when she tries to take it. "Hey, they're for you, I promise, but let's come inside and put them on the table!" 

Roan squeals and knocks into Eddie's knees. He sits up and grabs her gently by the waist, hoisting her onto his lap. You sit on the couch cushion trampled flat by Roan's feet, pulling the play table where she likes to eat her snacks closer. 

"Are you doing the speech?" you ask Eddie, putting down the bag. 

He grins. "Ro," he begins, turning skewiff, her back to the couch to allow you both a great view of her face, "you've been a really good girl, lately. Do you know that? You've been eating all your dinner, no tantrums before school, and now you're even starting to help clean up around the house. So me and Y/N just want you to know how proud we are and how awesome we think you are." 

"And we think all this awesome deserves some presents because we love you," you say. "Do you want the smallest or the biggest one first?" 

There's lots of nice presents. You've stayed within the confines of the agreed budget, which is a feat for you (as you love to spoil her). There's five new barbies, one of which comes with a car, and the other a puppy dog. They have clothes, accessories, and an abundance of plastic he needs to cut away with scissors. His hand is welted red by the time he's through. 

You also bought her a glittery lip gloss to replace the one she lost a few weeks ago. The proof of it sparkles on your cheek and Eddie's, twin thank yous. 

You go quiet as Roan retreats to her satin princess tent, driving the pink corvette back and forth as she makes the barbies talk to one another. 

"You okay?" he asks. You'd been wearing this huge smile for the last twenty minutes and now it's gone, he hates it. "I've been thinking maybe you deserve something nice, too." 

You smile weakly. Okay, so you're not wanting anything. 

"Dinner should be ready soon." 

"Thanks, Eddie." 

He gives up. He's about as subtle as a feather boa and you love him that way, drifting down toward your arm, his face smashing into your shoulder. "What's wrong?" 

You put your head atop his. "Well, I'm just thinking." 

"I may not look like it, but I think too, occasionally. Share with me." 

You push his arm until he sits up and sinks down into his side instead. Eddie supposes you're allowed, even if usually he'd call it sexist or selfish. "I had a lot of fun picking those out today, and I kept thinking about the look on her face…"

Eddie hums to show he's listening. Kisses the top of your head 'cos he can. "Yeah?" 

"I just remembered being her age. Do you remember wanting something really badly? There was something so nice about getting to grab a kart and– and to just stand there debating which ones to get." 

Eddie toys with your pinky finger. "That's not everything, is it?" 

Your smile presses against his arm, a deep emotion in your voice that's hard to pin. "Watching her makes me remember. Being a kid, playing make believe. I'll never be that young ever again, and there's no way to go back. But I," —you take in a steadying breath— "don't mind. I love seeing her so happy." 

He intertwines your fingers between his, shorter and a little bit softer than his. He soaks in your presence for a moment, the smell of you, your tiny sounds, the secret you've shared with him. You're a mixture of sad and happy. He's not sure which one overpowers which, only that they're hitting you hard. 

"There's lots of cool shit that comes with being a parent. You know the best one?" he asks you, raising his eyebrows at you with a fondness lining his lips. 

"No?" 

"You can play games without anyone judging you. I know it's not the same as being a kid again, but it's close." 

"Yeah?" you ask, sitting up. "You'll come play too, right?" 

Eddie casts his gaze to his daughter where she chit chats on the floor. "Hey, Roanie? Can we come play with you?" 

Roan is almost as pleased as when she first laid eyes on her treasure trove of dolls. 

#eddie and roan #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Bob Seger

Ship: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Is there a handbook for what to do when your crush walks into your store to buy a gift for his girlfriend? There should be!

Word Count: 5,432 words

Warnings: Stancy, Steve being deeply in love and then getting his heart broken, brief mention of Steve's asshole dad, pining reader, hurt/comfort, Tommy & Carol, language, innuendo

Note: Inspired in part by Steve's rendition of Old Time Rock & Roll.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Nancy hadn't been herself, not since Barb disappeared, and her mood had only been getting worse every day. Steve could feel her retreating into herself, hiding from the world and from herself and from him. He could feel Tommy and Carol getting progressively more frustrated with her (and with him for putting up with it) with every passing day.

And it's not like Steve blamed Nancy. Her best friend had gone missing while Nancy hung out with people Barb wasn't the biggest fan of. And, to rub salt in an open wound, Nancy had been having sex with Steve while Barb disappeared.

Steve felt a little guilty, to say the least. He'd had the thought of If I hadn't wanted to sleep with Nancy so bad, she would have gone home with Barb and they'd both be safe. But after a while, he wasn't so sure about that. The longer he thought about it, the more he became convinced that if Nancy had gone with Barb, they both would have gone missing.

Whether it was through his own guilt or because he wanted to make Nancy feel better, he wasn't quite sure, Steve found himself driving to the record store just off Main Street after school got out. He'd blocked out the noise of Tommy and Carol bickering, Tommy in the passenger seat and Carol leaning forward from the back seat, too busy trying to remember which bands had played from the radio the night he was studying at Nancy's house, and whether or not Nancy had actually liked them. He didn't want to screw up his little surprise by getting her music she wouldn't listen to—or a vinyl she already owned. Maybe he should have discreetly snooped through her pile of records before he'd made up his mind to do this...

Tommy sharply elbowed Steve in the ribs. Before Steve could snap at him, he said, "You're overthinking this, man. She's either gonna pretend to love it and not actually care, or she's just gonna not care."

Behind them, Carol giggled. It sounded far more sinister than it should have.

Steve glared at him for a second before he made the turn into the store's parking lot. "You're no help, you realize that?" He parked the car and turned to the two of them. "You're gonna stay here and wait, got it? And don't do anything stupid, I'll make you clean the back seat this time."

Carol grinned. "What if it's the passenger seat?"

"Or the driver's," Tommy added, leaning back to kiss Carol, before Steve could snap that the passenger's seat was Nancy's seat. Steve felt his throat constrict.

"Do not get it on in my fucking car," he warned, "or I'm never driving you anywhere ever again."

He got out, slamming the door behind him, and sent a warning glare back over his shoulder. Tommy flipped him off through the windshield. Beside Steve, an elderly woman gasped in offense and Steve winced.

"Sorry about him," he muttered, but the woman was already scurrying off into her own vehicle. Steve sighed and pushed open the front door to the record shop.

A little bell above the door chimed once as he swung the door open, and then again as it closed behind him. Steve had only been in the store a handful of times, but he loved it more and more with every visit. The walls were plastered in old vinyls, displayed so that the name of each band was readable. No vinyl was the same color, some of them blue, some red, some multicolor, but all of them were different. A small gold plaque designated the oldest vinyl the store had on the walls, which was a reddish Vocalion from 1922 and was positioned directly above the door.

Rows and rows of alphabetized vinyls spread throughout the store, which was bigger than it looked from the storefront. In the lefthand corner nearest the door, a cashier's desk was set up, though there was no employee behind it. A plastic sign read I'm in the back! I'll be back soon!

Steve headed for the aisles of vinyls, then recognized what was playing over the speakers—Bob Seger's Night Moves.

Humming as he flipped through the stacks, Steve didn't notice the door to the back open, or you walk out of it and back to your desk.

"Mmm, sweet summertime, summertime," Steve sang, keeping his voice low, still embarrassed by his voice, an instinct his father made sure he would never shake.

But you heard it, even with the volume of the radio. You looked up from the desk, gaze scanning the rows. You spotted the back of Steve's head and recognized him immediately. That hair was unmistakable.

Heat burned in your belly. Suddenly, you really wished your coworker hadn't gone home just ten minutes earlier, complaining of nausea. If she'd just stuck around a few more minutes...you wouldn't have to face your long-time crush who was absolutely not available, happily dating Nancy Wheeler and unlikely to leave her any time soon.

You resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands. Sure, you'd liked him since middle school, long before he'd become part of the popular crowd and back when his hair was still a mess that hid his eyes from the world, and yes, you had two classes with him, but it's not like he'd know who you were, right? You'd keep relative anonymity and he would remain none the wiser of your long-standing admiration of him.

But then the song changed to The Fire Down Below and Steve was shimmying where he stood, singing the line "Here comes hot Nancy, she's steppin' right on time" with the hugest grin on his face.

You sighed. The school, your best friends, the entire senior year was right—Steve Harrington was down bad for Nancy Wheeler.

The tiniest bit of hope that he might one day notice you was dashed every time you heard that loving croon of his voice every time he sang Nancy's name.

This is why we don't get our hopes up, you told yourself, echoing a sentiment your best friend had drilled into you ever since Steve became the ladies' man that made him so popular in high school. Not that it erased the previous middle school years of drooling over Steve, back before anyone else had really considered him attractive.

You watched as Steve meticulously went through every record in the store, clearly searching for something specific. You normally would have gotten up and approached a customer taking this long, but it was Steve. You knew the instant you got up from your stool, your legs would give out underneath you. And if that didn't happen, you'd walk into a shelf on your way over to him. And if that didn't happen either, you'd start stuttering the moment you tried to talk to him. And if that didn't happen, you'd turn bright red and combust on the spot when he either asked for your help or turned you away.

Too stuck in your head, you didn't even realize the record had stopped playing until you heard Steve's singing stop. A pang went through you at the sound of silence—Steve's voice was almost more soothing than the music itself.

You turned around and dug through your pile of vinyls the store let you play until you found another Bob Seger—the album he'd released last year. Steve had been singing Bob Seger, and you desperately wanted him to keep singing.

You cleaned off the record before placing the needle down. A few bars into Even Now, you turned back around and squeaked, jumping in surprise.

Steve was standing at your desk, a pleasant but awkward smile on his face.

"Uh...hi," he said. "Sorry if I scared you."

You blinked at him and cleared your throat, hoping your voice didn't come out squeaky. "It's...it's fine. Can I help you with something?"

"Uh, please, I'm looking for—" He snapped his fingers. "You're in my chemistry class, aren't you?" You nodded, meekly adding that you were also in English together, and he beamed. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere!"

"Yeah, uh... Hi, Steve," you said. "You said you were looking for...?"

Steve shook himself out. "Oh, yeah, um... I'm trying to find a record for Nancy, my girlfriend, because I want to cheer her up after...everything. I'm sure you've heard about it."

The tiredness in his voice surprised you. But you nodded without bringing it up. "I have. How's she holding up?"

Steve sighed. "Not...fantastically. That's why I'm doing this, I want to get her something to take her mind off things."

You raised your brows. "So you decided on a record?"

Steve shrugged, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. "I thought it would be something we could dance to, and that that might make her feel better."

Your heart squeezed. How are you so sweet? "Alright, makes sense. What does she like to listen to usually?"

Steve shut his eyes as if thinking for a moment, then said, "She likes ABBA and Michael Jackson, she has a Fleetwood Mac tape but only ever listens to Rhiannon, but she sings under her breath every time Journey comes on the radio, doesn't matter what song it is. She's got Madonna, Bowie, Blondie, and The Beatles already as tapes and vinyls, so I don't want to get her those."

You blinked at him. "You really do pay attention to everything, don't you?"

Steve smiled shyly. "I...I guess so, when it comes to Nancy."

You left the back of the desk, hoping you weren't visibly shaking too much. "Let's go find you a Journey vinyl, okay? They just released a new album a few months ago, I'm pretty sure we've got it on vinyl..."

Steve followed you to the J section and the two of you started flipping through, both of you softly singing along to Love's The Last To Know as you did.

Halfway through the song and completely through the Js section, you interrupted the song with a gasp.

"I know where it is! Wait here," you told him, and hurried into the back room. You dug through the most recently delivered box of records until you saw the familiar blue album cover of Frontiers, letting out a victory cry as you grabbed it.

Steve was leaning on the shelf, still singing "We lost our way and our love's the last to know" so mournfully you wondered what heartbreak he'd been through before.

"I got it!" you said, grinning and holding the record aloft.

Steve beamed. "Thanks! I really appreciate it. I know I was kind of...out of my depth for a bit there."

You shrugged. "Eh, that's nothing. I've had people come in here demanding records we don't carry from bands that only just released music." You rolled your eyes. "'No, sir, we don't carry Metallica, and even if we did, the album came out last week, so we wouldn't have it yet anyway!'"

Steve snorted with laughter, handing you cash to pay for the vinyl. "Let me guess, it was the Munson kid."

"The Munson kid," you confirmed.

"Thanks again," Steve said, though he didn't seem inclined to head out the door.

"Any time," you said, instantly regretting the words because if you saw Steve at your workplace more than this, you were going to have a heart attack, but you paired the words with a kind smile anyway.

"See you in class tomorrow," he said, stepping out the door and waving goodbye. You watched him go, putting the record in the back seat, snapping at Tommy and Carol in his car, and pulling out of the parking lot.

You let go a tense, nervous breath. The pain in your chest eased. Well, at least Steve knew of you now. And even if his dedication to Nancy was unfailing, at least you might get to talk to him now, even if it only worsened the ache in your heart.

~❊~

Steve skipped third block.

The entire school seemed to be talking about why—or at least, his entire gym class, who had told a story about Billy Hargrove getting in his face the entire basketball game, and then Nancy dragging him out of the class to "talk" about something. At first, everyone had assumed they were banging in the locker rooms, until somebody reminded them Nancy hadn't been in first block, and she never skipped, and that Steve usually drove her to school—but he hadn't missed first block. Then when he'd come back, upset and angry, from his talk with Nancy, people started to put a story together.

You weren't sure you wanted to believe the story, or the many versions of the story, that were floating around you chemistry class. It didn't line up with what you knew of Steve, or what you knew of his relationship with Nancy, most of which you heard straight from him.

But then again...

You shook yourself out of your head, your gaze straying back toward Steve's empty seat. You sighed, pulling your notebook toward you and copying down the notes on the board as neat as you could—undoubtedly you'd need to give them to Steve when he decided to come back to class.

But when your best friend came into the class, handing your teacher a doctor's note, her wide eyes already told you Steve wasn't coming back today.

She sat down beside you, hissing your name. You looked at her. "What? What's wrong?"

"Is there a reason I just saw Steve Harrington crying in his car?" she whispered to you.

Your eyes went huge. Whatever had happened between him and Nancy, it wasn't good. "Keep your voice down and don't tell anyone else about that," you said.

She flipped her notebook to a blank page and started writing. "You better fill me in on everything I missed today," she said.

"Obviously, but only once I know exactly what happened," you said. "Which means only once Steve tells me what happened. However long that takes."

~❊~

It became painfully clear that Steve didn't want to talk—to anyone. He snapped at anyone who tried to bring it up with him, and his mood was waspish. The situation was made worse by the rumors spread by Tommy and Carol—that Nancy had only been with Steve for his money and the sex; that she left because Steve wasn't good enough for her; that she was cheating on him with Jonathan.

You knew that the jibes about Jonathan hit Steve a little too close to home. The same rumor had circulated last year when Will and Barb went missing, but this time, you were almost positive they were true.

Nancy was entirely unbothered by the whole thing. Seeing her prance around with Jonathan, not caring that doing so was hurting Steve more than anything, made your blood boil.

On your way to the record store for another one of your slow closing shifts, a week after Steve skipped chem class, you saw the two of them walking together along the sidewalk. You rolled your eyes at them. You had once thought Nancy to be the luckiest girl in the world: smart, pretty, and dating the hottest man Hawkins had to offer. Now you were certain she was the most careless, throwing it all away for a mediocre man.

Steve's car was in the store's parking lot when you arrived. You parked next to him, looking over to find him in the driver's seat, staring into his lap.

You got out and knocked on his window. "Steve? You okay?" He looked up, sporting red-rimmed eyes. You could hear Bob Seger's Comin' Home playing quietly on his radio. "Oh, Steve..."

Steve got out of his car. Voice quiet and rough, he asked, "Can I hang out for a while?"

"Yeah," you said. "Whatever you need."

His lip trembled. "A...a hug?" His voice as meek and barely there. But you heard it and the request made your heart break. You enveloped him in a tight hug, letting him soften into your hold. You remained that way until Steve decided he was done, not caring how many of your classmates walked by, staring in wonder at Steve clinging to you, new gossip already burning on their tongues.

~❊~

A good day meant boppier music at the record store as soon as you started your shift and shoved your coworker from the mid-afternoon shift out the door. So you swapped out all the mellow music in the stack of records beside your record player with music with a good beat that you could dance to while you restocked and reshelved.

Not even half an hour into your shift, the Naked Eyes record spun into Always Something There To Remind Me. You turned up the volume as high as you could without destroying the speakers and being chewed out by your managers, singing along and dancing by yourself while you worked.

"Well, how can I forget you, girl? When there is always something there to remind me!" You finished stacking your records in the aisle and turned back for a new pile. "Always something there to remind me. I was born to love her, and I'll never be free, you'll always be a part of— Steve!" You careened into his chest, grateful you weren't holding anything, because it all would have dropped to the floor. Steve's arms looped around you, stopping you from falling. "Don't sneak up on me, you scared me!"

"The doorbell rung!"

"Well, I didn't hear it!" You finally looked up at him, heart beating wildly out of your chest at the feeling of his chest against yours, his arms around your waist. You realized he looked downright miserable. "What happened?"

He sighed. "Remember how I said I was gonna try and patch things up with Nance?"

"Yeah..."

Steve's lower lip started to tremble. "It...it didn't go well."

Your heart dropped to your feet. "Oh, Steve, I'm...I'm so sorry."

He sniffled. "It's, uh, it's over. She...she doesn't love me, has never loved me, I'm still bullshit, and she's been sleeping with Jonathan. So..." He heaved a heavy sigh. "It's over. Completely, totally, officially over."

"Steve," you whispered. "I'm so sorry, honey. Is there anything I can do?"

He smiled, lips trembling and eyes watering. "Change the song?" The words came out with a little hiccup and a laugh.

You realized what the song was about. "Oh! Yeah, sure, right—sorry. It's such an upbeat song in the actual music, I didn't even think about the words!" You untangled yourself from his arms to change the record. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Nothing romantic, please," he said, sitting down on your stool. "And, after you're done..."

You looked at him, sensing his hesitation. "Yeah?"

"Can I have another hug?"

You smiled at him, looping your arms around his back where he sat. He fell into you, burying his head in your shirt. "Of course, Steve."

You held onto Steve as tightly as he held onto you, praying he wouldn't notice the fast beat of your heart while he wallowed in his grief. It was a strange feeling, for Steve to be hiding from the world, form Nancy, from his broken heart in your arms, all while you harbored a horribly deep crush on him and a secret, guilty delight that it was over with Nancy.

"I just..." Steve huffed, clearly trying his best not to sob into your shirt. "I don't know where I went wrong. I don't know why I wasn't good enough."

Without really meaning to, you put your hand in Steve's hair. "Does there need to be a reason? Some people just aren't meant for each other, Steve."

Steve looked up at you with his red rimmed eyes, tears on his lash line. He hesitated a moment and then said, "If I tell you something...promise me you won't just...laugh at me."

Your heart broke for him. How many times had he told Tommy or Carol or, what the hell, even Nancy something, only to be laughed at, for him to ask that of you? "Of course I won't laugh at you, Steve." You squeezed his shoulder. "Why would I laugh at you?"

He didn't answer your question. "I know it sounds...ridiculous, but...I just—" He sighed. "I thought Nancy was the one. I've never been happier with a girl before, and she was honest, she was smart, she was determined, she had goals, she was nothing like the girls I was with before, and she made me feel alive! I thought for sure that I was... That I was maybe gonna spend the rest of my life with her."

You bit your lip. "There was no maybe about it, was there, Steve?"

He sighed, letting his head fall back into you. You muffled your grunt as he hid his face in your stomach, his arms sliding up your back and hold you closer to him. "No," he mumbled into the fabric of your shirt.

You smoothed your hand through his perfect hair and kissed the top of his head. You froze, hearing his tiny intake of breath. "Oh, I'm...I'm sorry, that was kind of...automatic, I guess?"

Steve peeked up at you and tugged you closer to his body until your feet hit the legs of your stool he was perched on. "It's okay. Um... Can you...keep doing that? With my hair?" Pink tinged his skin. "If you don't mind."

"I don't mind," you whispered, rubbing your fingers across his scalp. He sighed, pushing into your touch. Heat bloomed across your body.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I know this is...weird. But, um, Nancy never... Never really touched me or— Or held me or anything, so..."

"You don't have to explain yourself," you whispered. "Not to me, not to anyone. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, slowly relaxing in your arms.

"I've got you, Steve," you assured him. "I've got you."

~❊~

Before he'd even pulled into the parking lot, Steve was mentally apologizing to you. You'd told him time and time again when he visited you while you were working that you enjoyed your slow closing shifts. It meant there was no one to bother you while you were in the middle of a restock, making you forget where you were; it meant there was no one to complain about the music you played, so you could listen to whatever you wanted; it meant your final hour was spent just closing up shop instead of shooing customers out the door—except for Steve, who had become a regular and always stayed until you left, sometimes to give you a ride home and other times just to have a friend around.

But today, he wasn't coming alone. His car was full to bursting with young children: Dustin, Max, Lucas, Mike, and Will, all of whom he'd been tasked with picking up from their after school activities for the day. He had tried to get them to go home quickly, but his attempts to rush them out of his car had led them to discover that he was seeing a girl, which they all took the wrong way, of course.

Sort of.

Now that Steve was prowling the world alone again, he'd realized his initial estimation of you—pretty, smiley, shy with new people but confident with your friends—was right, but it was a muted reality compared to how you really were. It was like he'd been looking at you with sunglasses covering his eyes this whole time. Now that those glasses were gone, the record shop girl had become more than just his best friend.

And he was really hoping the kids were not about to point that out.

As per usual, you were playing Bob Seger when Steve pushed the door open. He'd yet to figure out if you played Bob Seger so much when he came to visit because you loved Bob Seger, or if you had (correctly) pinned Steve as a fan.

(Not that Steve had ever told anyone he was a fan; he let them think the only reason he even knew about his music was because of Carol's obsession with Risky Business.)

You weren't at your desk like Steve had expected; you were carrying a huge stack of records in your arms, shelving them as you walked along the rows, singing along to Sunspot Baby without a care in the world.

"Sunspot baby," you sang. "She sure had a real good time."

"I looked in Miami, I looked in Negril," Steve joined in. You turned with a grin, heading back to your desk. "The closest I came was a month old bill."

You noticed the kids as you put down your stack. "You brought company today, I see."

Steve gave you a look while the kids were still behind him. You stifled a giggle. "Uh, yeah, these are the kids. Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Max Mayfield, Will Byers, and Mike Wheeler."

Dustin walked straight up to your desk. "So you're the girl Steve talks about all the time?"

"All the time, huh?" you said, smiling in a way that suggested you were sure Dustin was exaggerating.

"Every time we see him," Mike groaned. You stared at the younger Wheeler in surprise.

"Oh, really? Is that so, Steve?" you teased.

He rolled his eyes, unable to stop his blush. "Sorry to interrupt your quiet shift. They wanted to stop in and grab some records."

"No we didn't—we just wanted to meet you," Lucas said. Steve's calm expression became painfully forced.

The young redhead snorted. "Speak for yourself." She looked up at you expectantly. "Do you have any David Bowie?"

You grinned. "I like you, you have good taste. Back side of the first row."

Max grinned and dragged Lucas with her.

You looked back at Steve. "Do you have enough room in your car for one more?"

"Need a ride when you leave?"

You nodded.

"Yeah, I've got room. I'll just make the kids rearrange."

You laughed. "You don't have to do that," you insisted.

Steve leaned across the counter. "Don't worry about it—I want to. I'd feel terrible if I left you to get home on your own."

You smiled at him, noticing Dustin nudging Mike and Will and pointing in your direction out of the corner of your eye.

~❊~

Somehow, the kids' presence lightened up the rest of your shift. Time passed quickly with them there, adventuring through the store and asking you question after question about the vinyls lining the walls.

You waved off Steve as he tried to get the kids to leave you alone. "They're fine, Steve. It's okay. You wanna help me get everything packed up? I've gotta lock up soon."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Steve took the vinyl off the record player and slipped it back into its case. He glanced over his shoulder and called to the kids, "Hey, guys! We're gonna head out soon."

You ran through your closing tasks as quickly as you could, anxious to head home for the night.

"Alright, everybody out. Got everything?" you asked, ushering the kids to the door and taking out the key. You set the alarm system for the building and locked the door behind you.

Steve put a hand on your back. Warmth bloomed through you from where he touched you. "You're all ready to go?"

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

The kids opened the doors of Steve's car, jumping in quickly. Dustin made his way to the passenger's seat. Steve stopped him, gently shoving him toward the back seat with everyone else.

"Hey—move it, Henderson, she's got the passenger's seat."

You stared at Steve. "No, no, it's okay, he can—"

Steve shook his head, holding open the door for you. "Come on, it's fine, just..." He gestured into the car. The kids whispered and giggled at him. He sent them a glare and Dustin's annoyed face shifted into a gleeful smirk.

You got in the front seat, unaware of the glances being exchanged in the back or the glare Steve was giving them.

"Seat belts!" Steve said as he got into the driver's seat. You giggled at him as the kids groaned. You caught the way his face lit up when he looked at you, and butterflies tickled your insides.

Once the kids had listened and all were buckled, Steve pulled out of the parking lot and started his way through Hawkins, dropping them off one-by-one: Will first, on the outskirts of town, his mother waiting at the door; Max, who was relieved the Camaro wasn't in the driveway; Dustin next, his new cat sitting on the front step; Lucas, who was immediately met with his snarky young sister; Mike last, Nancy already at the door—saying goodbye to Jonathan.

You glanced at Steve. "You alright?"

Steve looked at you, releasing a deep sigh. "I'm okay," he said. "I...I'm doing better now."

"Good," you said. "You deserve it."

Steve gave you a curious look before he said, "Let's get you home, right?"

"Right."

And if Steve drove slower the whole way back to yours compared to driving the kids home, you weren't going to say anything.

When he got back to your house, Steve pulled into the driveway and sighed. "Well. Home sweet home," he said.

You looked at Steve with a smile. "Thanks for the ride home." You picked up the bag you had put on the ground. You got out, then stopped yourself before you could close the door. You crouched to look at him in the car. "Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?" Was it just your imagination, or did he sound nervous?

You took a deep breath. Now or never.

"I talk about you all the time, too."

For a moment, Steve processed your words. Then his eyes went wide. Hope bloomed on his slack-jawed face. "You..." He bit his lip, holding back a smile. "You mean that you..."

"Yes, Steve," you said, voice quiet. "Always have. Just ask my friends—they'll give away my secrets just as quickly as Dustin gave away yours." You drummed your fingers against the roof of his car. "Do with that what you will. It's up to you if...you want to even acknowledge it or not." You closed his door and started for your front door.

A door squeaked and then slammed shut moments later; running steps approached you.

"Wait!"

You turned as Steve's hand fell on your shoulder, pulling you close to him. He yanked your body close to his, his arms sliding around you, his hands gripping your shoulder blades. For a split second, you reveled in his hug, noticing the difference in it, relishing in the love in his arms instead of the misery.

Those few seconds became nothing as Steve pulled back. You gave a sound of protest, quickly squashed by Steve's lips.

Your heart had stopped beating, but was simultaneously pounding. You moved on instinct, looping your arms around his shoulders, yanking him down to you. Never once did your lips part from his as the two of you grappled to hold each other in the best way possible.

Thunder boomed overhead. You gasped, pulling apart.

"Was it supposed to storm?" you asked.

"I didn't think so," Steve said.

You kissed him again. Steve smiled into the kiss.

"You should get home before it pours," you whispered against his lips. But neither of you made any move to let go of each other.

Steve adjusted so that his head was against yours, his mouth at your temple. "See you tomorrow in class, then?"

You hummed. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I don't wanna leave."

You looked up at the sky, watching the already-grey skies grow darker as storm clouds rolled in. "We're going to get soaked if we stay out here, Steve."

Steve squeezed you tightly. "Tomorrow, then." He kissed your forehead again. "I'll see you tomorrow...sweetheart."

You beamed at the nickname while Steve blushed while he gave you the moniker.

"And to think," you whispered. "You'd known me all this time, but this? This happened all because you stopped in my store one day."

Steve hugged you tight to his chest. "I wish I'd noticed you before, sweetheart, really I do."

You kissed him. "Well, you've noticed me now." Light rain started, dusting Steve's hair until it sparkled. "Now go, before that pretty hair of yours gets ruined."

He grinned, brushing his hand through it. "I knew you liked my hair."

"Always have." You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Always will."

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Steve Harrington

part 2? lmk!

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the S.H. taglist!} @ohatropa@nix-rose@live-the-fangirl-life

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve the hair harrington #king steve #season 1 steve #stranger things season 1 #nancy wheeler #stranger things au #stancy #stancy breakup #stancy angst #steve harrington x nancy wheeler #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve x y/n #joe keery #tommy and carol #carol stranger things #tommy h stranger things #record store #80s music #record store romance #poll fic #poll results #season 1 #season 2 #friends to lovers #mutual pining