#‘okay why was that actually kinda cool though’

[thingscanalwaysgetworse]

“Sir, you will find that the word ‘fear’ is not in my vocabulary!”

“Perhaps. But it’s in your eyes.”

This is way too badass of a line to be from princess diaries 2 lol

[autumnrory]

woooo my niece took 5 of my 13 lego sets, one of which was one of the three larger ones, so that's one huge box out of the way and i'm just glad she wanted them because like they ARE twenty years old and they look fine ofc but sometimes kids aren't gonna want stuff that isn't new and shiny ya know, but she did seem to want everything which would've been fine with me but i knew there was no way they would take all that with them, and at least i still have stuff of my own to sell, plus should get at least a cut of my brother's stuff for doing the inventory and putting together that stuff that wasn't already done

[skeletalheartattack]

ignoring realistic necessities like food, care, space, and medical attention, what video game enemy would you want to have as a pet ?

if i had to choose. it'd be one of these three.

[vamptastic]

i think my constant seething rage is honestly very reasonable. i literally live in florida.

[keeps-ache]

my sibling just tripped and i said 'god bless you ?????' like they sneezed or something ??

[afniel]

AH I REMEMBERED WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY EARLIER but it's kind of stupid, lmao.

So my partner is getting into brewing beer and I got them a Tilt, which is a Bluetooth hydrometer. It measures specific gravity and temperature, which are things you want to know so that you don't kill your yeast or whatever. Except the sensor's Bluetooth range is super short, and it basically runs via a phone app, and the temperature we're logging currently is the crawlspace, accessible via the staircase closet. So they were like, wait, what do we do about this, because I can't leave my phone in the closet, that's my alarm clock.

In a kind of ridiculous turn of life imitating art, I was like, hold up, I got just the thing right at my desk. Bam. Old phone. We just needed to scrounge up a charger because the battery is so dead that after charging just enough to power on it claimed it was at 53% (to be fair to it, there is a very real chance that it's correct, and it just holds no charge at this point so the capacity is just THAT low) and now it lives in the closet logging sensor data.

And I was like, you know...didn't I just solve a major story detail with a much larger version of this...yeah, no, this is all vaguely familiar somehow, power supply issues and all. Kind of cool that the concept works though. Kind of weird that it came up at all?

We are not gonna talk about the fact that I still have at least two more ancient-ass phones in a drawer where that came from because look, man, sometimes you just need a camera/mic/mini computer with Bluetooth and wifi that fits in a pocket, and people just get rid of these things, but not me. I actually could build a shitty security system out of them if I was reaaaally inclined. I mean. I'm not. But it's technically possible.

For real though, If I pick up any stupid maker projects I still high-key am thinking about slapping Bluetooth into a necomimi headset and running that through an Arduino and learning to code just enough to let me skip songs/change the volume on Spotify with my brain, because it's entirely doable, and I mean yeah I could do that on my phone remotely too, but that's not funny, now, is it. I'm just not sure it's $350+ of parts funny. Kind of a big investment just to prove the point that haha look I am the extremely ADHD type of lazy where I would rather solve a problem via the most convoluted and complicated Rube-Goldberg type ass machine way possible rather than just perform a single simple action.

YEAH I'VE BEEN THIS SCATTERED ALL DAY AND I REALLY SHOULD GO TO BED SHOULDN'T I. I started playing Satisfactory. Mistakes were made. I'm going to dream about conveyor belts again and I did it to myself...

[ahalliance]

i don’t get how people can complain about the writing “doing Martha dirty” when that same writing gives her an ending that addresses her treatement over the course of the season, allows her to finally put her to foot down, to establish her self-worth as an individual and to air out her grievances, and gives her the most respectful and satisfying exit from the TARDIS we’d yet seen in the show . like it’s one thing to dislike the direction the writing team took with her arc and to criticise it (perfectly fine) and another to somehow miss it entirely lmao . the ‘martha feels out of place, second best, and like a rebound’ is an intentional piece of writing that gets resolved by the end of the season . like that wasn’t smth they threw in for shits and giggles, it had in-story repercussions

[ghostkidet]

Something positive for this blog: I finished writing my prologue yay me !!

[exopelagic]

I’m almost done complaining abt supervisors I swear

[tizeline]

This is it, FINALLY we're gonna see the actual beginning of the story! Episode one! Yay!! So Donnie and April are just hanging out when they find this weird fox-dog-cat-creature or whatever, but before they have time to figure out exactly what it is, they're interrupted by three Normal Human Teenage Boys! Uh Oh!

... okay so the Normal Human Teenage Boys were actually Giant Turtle Teenage Boys. Cool.

So from Donnie's and April's perspective, as far as they know Donnie and Splinter are one of a kind, they've never encountered any other mutants or yōkai before. Both of them have of course always been curious about Don's origins but have never found any lead on where he came from nor how he was created. All of this is to say, suddenly encountering three other mutant turtles like Donnie himself out of nowhere is literally the craziest thing ever for them!

From the Drax Bros' perspective though... they have no idea why this random yōkai dude is acting like he's never interacted with any other yōkai in his life?? Like sure, some yōkai who live on the surface can be a bit out of the loop when it comes to the rest of yōkai-society. Not knowing what a cloaking brooch is is certainly weird, but whatever, maybe he just kinda lives under a rock or something. But then he reacts Like That to seeing their true forms?? What's this guy's deal?? (Give them a second, they're gonna connect the dots real soon lol)

Next part ->

Reference for the Human Drax Brothers! And yes I have made it A Thing that Leo is a huge Shadow fanboy and I will STICK TO IT!

Also in that TMNT x Power Rangers crossover comic, when the turtles were disguised as humans they all had backpacks to represent their shells, I thought that fun a fun concept so they all have backpacks here too lol.

Oh and another thing, when I was showing sneak peeks of the comic to some peeps on discord, it was pointed out to me that that one panel looked like an Omori encounter so I made this low-res edit in like 2 minutes, enjoy

[dcxdpdabbles]

Oh my god, you laid out freelance inventor perfectly for the justice league to mistake Danny for Batman, especially with John Jones already making his thoughts known that Bruce wayne would be the perfect himbo for Batman lol. Does the entire league pull together to make a beach day seem intentional and end up making so many mistaken assumptions along the way? Either way, I adore what you have going. I'm kinda curious if you had any thoughts on Damians' first reaction to meeting Danny? If not, that's okay. I just love the thought of Danny bonding with Damian in a feral way or through sparing like ghosts tend to in this fandom

The first time Danny meets Damian Wayne is when he comes to the Manor for a surprise visit. He usually would have called ahead or messaged Alfred, but it was a last-minute decision to stop by Gotham on his way to Metropolis.

Initially, Danny was going to a technology expo hosted by Lexcorp, but it was delayed due to a giant fight. A robot had flung Superman through the convention hall, causing severe damage.

Since he now had a weekend free while Lexcorp searched for a new venue, he figured he would spend it with his favorite one percent. Imagine his surprise when he noticed the first thing he noticed was that Bruce had a biological son, one he had told to stay hidden.

He had told his displaced son not to venture out of the manner because he didn't want the public to know about him. Danny hadn't felt this angry in a long, long time.

The glare he sent Bruce had the man flinching, causing Damian, fresh to the Manor and not used to seeing his Father as anything but commanding, to raise an impressed eyebrow. "Kids. Bed. Now. I want to talk to your Father."

"No." Bruce cowered. "Please stay, kids."

"Sorry Bruce, I actually have to touch up some photos for this month's photo op," Tim was quick to say, jumping from his seat.

"I also really need to get started on some paperwork for the gymnastic gym." Dick laughed nervously, dropping out of the handstand he was in. Danny never understood how the young man could randomly spring into flips and handstands.

Damian did not inch from his chair, though. He meets Danny's gaze with a cool upturn of his nose and crossed arms.

"You have no control over me or my actions, Harlot," Damian hissed, but a pale Dick and Tim pushed him out. Jason had been out on some far-off island trip with his friends- Roy, Kori, Artemis, and that delightful Bizzarro who spoke like it was an opposite day every day.

He was the only person to whom he would not talk to Damian. Everyone else would look Danny in the eye and justify why they would assume that a child should be treated as a secret was the correct thing to do.

"Well?" Danny asks when all Bruce does is sit there, hands on his lap and sweating. He narrows his eyes, crosses his arms, and watches the sweat drip down Bruce's head. "Explain yourself."

"Danny, I swear I wasn't aware of Damian. His mother told me she had a miscarriage. If I had known, I would have told you-" Bruce started but was cut off by Danny marching across the room and practically snaring into his face.

"That's not why you're in trouble, Bruce. Why are you treating a nine-year-old boy like a dirty secret?!"

"um..well, that's...you need to understand he's a bit unstable-"

"Choose your next words very carefully, Bruce." Danny cuts him off, recrossing his arms. Bruce swallows before he seems to gather unknown courage and straightens out his back.

"Danny, I don't think Damian needs to be a secret forever, but he needs to adjust before he can go out. He had a hard life with his birth mother and tends to lash out in violent outbursts. Just last week, he pushed Tim off the stairway!"

That's alarming. In fact, it isn't very good to think Tim would not be safe in the same household as Damian. They talk more about it, especially the part where Damian makes clear he wishes to replace Tim and would do nothing to remove him.

Damian is a threat to Tim's well-being. He mentions this to Bruce, who waves it way like a damn fool.

"Tim can handle it."

"Just because he can doesn't mean he should," Danny growls, throwing his arms into the air. "I can't talk to you right now. I can't even look at you."

"Danny, please-"

"Nope. I will tell Tim to stay with me, and I will make plans to take Damian out and about. If you treat someone like a criminal, they will act like one. I'm going to help that young boy settle here, but I will not do it at the expense of another. Don't call or message me." Danny growls, strutting out of the room only to practically run into Damian.

The boy raises his chin as if daring Danny to tell him off for eavesdropping. For one second, Danny is reminded of Jazz, back when she had been so insistent that she was an adult.

His eyes soften, and he knows Damian can see based on his surprise blink. "H kid have you had the chance to go into Gotham yet?"

"Why would I waste my time with the peasants? I am an elite warrior, destined to rule over them."

Huh. He reminds Danny a lot of Jazz now, with her anti-social tendencies- not that she refused to be around people, more like she refused to make friendships with people her age because she thought herself too mature for them- and a little of the battle-hungry ghosts in the Zone.

He can handle that.

"You are to be a general, right? Why are you acting like a common foot soldier?" He asks, watching the boy's entire demeanor freeze over. "A good ruler is not just combat strength. They can take command and can easily step among their fighters. How can you do that if you do not understand the common folk's way of thinking?"

Damian opened and closed his mouth before narrowing his eyes. "You mock me."

Danny shakes his head, falling to his knees so Damian won't need to strain his neck. He keeps the baby talk out of his voice but only barely. He gets the sense that like his sister, Damian would prefer to be treated like a mini adult. "Never. I'm genuinely interested in your thoughts, but you must know that all knowledge is power. Know thy enemy..."

"...as one knows thyself," Damian finishes his quote, looking vaguely intruded. He considers the offer before nodding. "I shall accompany you on your outing and gain valued observations of the average American child."

"Only after you apologize for attacking Tim and tell him to his face how you will not be doing that again," Danny warns, raising a finger at Damian's clouded face. "A good leader does not want insubordination. Attacking Tim did not prove anything but how unreliable you are and how much you fear Tim."

"I do not fear Drake!"

"Then why does his presence so threaten you? Bruce told me how out of all his kids, you seemed so sure you could take him in a fight but not a battle of wits."

Damian's eyes grow cold before he lashes out a hand. Danny catches it quickly, much to the boy's shock. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Not bad, but not what a regular American child would behave. You would have been singled out as a spy the second you stepped in the street."

"....I shall work on my reaction and emotional regulation." Damian yanks his arm free, striding away but not before glancing back at Danny. "You are strange."

Danny smiles. "Thanks, kiddo."

The boy vanishes from sight, and Danny sighs. He must now find Tim and help him pack to stay with him. He also needs to yell at everyone in the Manor, including Alfred. Honestly, that man enables Bruce far too much.

[lovebugism]

could I request maybe shy!reader trying to play dnd with eddie but she's suuuuuuper nervous and confused and internally panicking about him not liking her anymore if she can't get into it?? Or if you wanna change it up please do!! love you!!

love you! hope you like it! — you get insecure about not liking d&d when a girl joins hellfire (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort ish, established relationship, 1.4k)

The Hellfire room is void of the boyish bodies that usually fill it. The abandoned classroom, turned freak sanctuary, is now littered with pieces the rogues, clerics, and bards left behind — in half-empty soda cans and crumbled-up bags of potato chips.

While Eddie packs up his binder, filled to the brim with miscellaneous papers, you wander around the long table with a trashcan in hand. The wild-haired boy squints when you chuck Dustin’s crushed Pepsi in the bin. “You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie huffs through his nose, feeling too exhausted now to argue. He slides his binder into his bag and watches you rake Gareth’s chip crumbs into the trashcan. The urge to stop you becomes unignorable then. 

“Okay, well, you know what? I mind—” the boy retorts, striding the very short distance to you and snatching the bin from your grip. He smiles a crooked grin and continues in a fantastical accent. “—‘Cause the Dungeon Master’s queen shouldn’t have to clean up after a bunch of lowborns, alright?”

You roll your eyes with a subdued giggle. “Someone’s gotta do it, Eds,” you insist as you reach for the plastic container he took. You exhale sharply when he hides it further behind him, pulling it further out of your way. “I wanna be of some use around here!”

Eddie’s face twists. “Don’t say that.”

You cower beneath his stare. “Well… It’s not like I actually play or anything. I just kinda… sit around… And watch you guys do everything…”

“Well, why would you play?” he laughs. “You don’t even like D&D.”

Something in the way he says it makes you ache. You’ve always felt distantly horrible about it — failing to take interest in something he holds so close to his heart. Hearing him reiterate that fact twists the knife lodged in your chest.

“That doesn’t bother you?” you wonder, impossibly shy. “That I don’t play?”

Eddie shrugs and sits the bin down again. “Why would that bother me?” he scoffs.

“I don’t know… ‘Cause you like it. And it’s your favorite thing to do in the whole world.”

“Well… Maybe not my favorite thing,” he croons with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your nose scrunches in disdain. His laughter fills the empty room as his ringed hands spread warm along your sides. “I just feel bad,” you confess, gaze averted to the scuffed tile beneath your feet. “You know, that I can’t get into or whatever.”

Eddie meets your subtle pout with an unbothered grin. “There’s nothing to feel bad about. People like different things, babe. That’s life,” he assures you, squeezing softly at your sides. “I mean, it’s no different than me hating The Smiths, right? I still let you play their cassettes in the van, and you still sit in on all my campaigns— and that, sweetheart, is the meaning of true love…”

Unswayed, you jerk softly back when he leans down to kiss you. You frown up at him with your arms crossed between your bodies. “But Rory loves D&D. And she’s super pretty…”

Aurora Edwards was the newest edition to the Hellfire gang. She goes by Rory for short, though, ‘cause she’s cool like that and everything. Her dyed blonde hair is as wild as Eddie’s, cut into a makeshift mullet that sits sort of shaggy on her head — intentionally messy in a way only she can pull off. 

She likes cool music and cool clothes and cool hobbies — because everything she does seems to have some sort of subverted flair to it. She’s smart and she’s nerdy and she’s beautiful. None of which seem fair. You’ve been stirring with feelings of inadequacy since you met her. 

And Eddie doesn’t seem to get any of it. His brows furrow at your words, like none of them have any sort of meaning to him.

“She’s way more your type than I am,” you blurt.

A laugh sputters from his plush mouth. “You think my love for you is contingent on some stupid game?” he chuckles.

The way he says it makes you shrink. You feel sort of stupid about it now. “I don’t know…”

“Well, then, I have done a very shit job of being your boyfriend.”

Your chest stings. “No, you haven’t, Eddie—”

“Mm,” he hums, half playful, as he tilts his pretty head to his shoulder. “I have, though. ‘Cause if you think some other girl liking Dungeons and Dragons is gonna make me love you any less, then I have done something horribly, horribly wrong.”

You bite back a smile at his words, pursing your lips to the side of your mouth until the beam becomes impossible to ignore.

“‘Cause you’re kinda stuck with me, turns out,” the boy continues. “Unfortunately for you.”

“Unfortunately?” you echo with a scoff.

“Yeah. ‘Cause if some other schmuck comes around who likes listening to The Smiths and sitting in the sunshine, he’s gonna have to go through me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in place of a laugh. “I don’t want another guy, Eds…” you confess, going shy all over again.

His nose scrunches as he plays coy. “Even if he doesn’t smoke?” he wonders in a sheepish murmur.

“Even if he doesn’t smoke.”

“Good,” he beams, pulling you into him by your belt loops. His breath fans over your jaw in a minty-nicotine concoction as he ducks his face closer to yours. “‘Cause I don’t want anyone else, either, alright? Even if they are almost as good as me at D&D… Actually, it’s kinda a turn-off, now that I’m thinking about it…”

“Is it?”

“Yeah… ‘Cause, like, I love teaching you about it and everything.”

“Even when I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Especially when you have no idea what I’m talking about,” he laughs, smiling so hard his cheeks speckle pink. “‘Cause you know how much I like it, so… You let me talk all the shit I want.”

“’S just because you’re so pretty when you talk about things you like,” you confess.

His face twists. “Am I?”

“Well, you’re pretty all the time, but…”

“You flatter me,” he huffs and pulls you closer. He smirks and goes quieter when he says, “And flattery goes a long way with me.”

“Does it?” you hum with a sunshine-coated giggle.

Eddie doesn’t answer you with words. He just presses his lips to your mouth and hopes you get the gist. His tongue swipes against yours, soft and sudden, as he guides you towards the table. You run into a rogue chair before he can get you on top of it. It screeches against the linoleum tile. 

With his face in your hands, you giggle against his mouth. His denim-clad knee slips between your thighs.

The door squeaks softly open then. Rory enters, swift and unthinking. You and Eddie pull apart — one looking much more horrified than the other — as the blonde girl stands frozen in the doorway. Drowning in her sweatshirt and baggy jeans, she points a lanky finger towards the table.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, voice gritty and deep. “I just left my girlfriend’s jacket here, and she doesn’t know I stole it, so… She’d definitely kill me if I forgot it.”

“That’s okay. Come in,” Eddie shrugs with a tightlipped smile, nodding his head in a silent invitation. When Rory plucks the coat from the back of her chair, he says, “Tell Jess I said hi, yeah?”

The girl scoffs as she heads back towards the door again, leaving just as quickly as she came. “She still hates you, you know that, right?” she laughs. ‘Cause Jess was a cheerleader — pretty and sometimes kind, but dreadfully conservative. Her uptight nature often clashed with Eddie’s much more chaotic one. 

“Well, tell her to get in line,” Eddie chuckles.

Before Rory leaves the room, she glances at the two of you over her shoulder. She winks with an eye smudged with black liner. “Have fun, you two,” she croons in a pretty voice before shutting the door behind her.

You stand, still and silent in place, wringing your anxious hands into a knot. Feeling like a total idiot, you refuse to meet Eddie’s gaze. You know he’s got a smug look on his face. You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “See? Not my type at all.”

[hoshifighting]

Okay, bear with me cause this might be a strange one, but, how do you think seventeen would react if their s/o wanted to like ‘play’ with their dick.. but like not in the way of ‘here’s a handjob’ but sorta ‘so what happens if I rub your balls like this ?’ Like they just want to poke and prod and maybe lick it

More from like a ‘I don’t have a dick and I wanna know what happens’ kind of perspective. I guess? Sexual scientist s/o vs seventeen lol

sexual scientist s/o x seventeen

warnings: smut, cock/balls play(?)

seungcheol’d try to act all strong and everything, like it’s no big deal, but the second your fingers graze his balls? yeah, he’s groaning like a whoooore. “b-baby, what are you doing?” he’d ask, voice shaking, but honestly, he’s not telling you to stop—he’s curious to see what you’ll do next.

jeonghan smug idiot omg hes a menace stoooooop. he’s laughing at first, all “you really wanna know what happens?” then you start rubbing, and his eyes go wide, mouth falling open as his cock twitches. “oh fuck, okay, maybe— maybe you’re—oh!”

joshua would be a blushing mess. he’s trying to act polite about it, like, “uh, baby, what are you—ohh…,” but the second your hand gets anywhere near his tip (or perineum cof cof), he’s gasping, hips jerking up into your touch. “oh, wow, okay, that feels… good? actually, too good, if you keep going—” he’d definitely let you experiment more, though, no questions asked.

junhui’s all for it. he’s watching you, a little too excited. when you start touching him, he’s moaning loud, throwing his head back. “fuck, you really don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

hoshi would be confused but... why not? “uh, is this like… a game or something?” he’d ask, until you start rubbing, and then he’s losing it. his breath hitches, and he’s trying not to make a sound, but it’s not working. “holy shit—okay, NO DONT SQUEEZE IT.”

wonwoo’d be a little shy about it at first, wondering what you’re up to, but he’s not stopping you. “what are you trying to figure out?” he’d ask, half-laughing, until you hit the right spot, and then he’s gasping, eyes fluttering shut. “shit… yeah, keep doing that.”

woozi’d act like he’s too cool for it, smirking down at you, saying something like, “you’ trying to conduct an experiment? there's nothing special about it” but the second your fingers slide down, his breath catches, and he’s shifting his hips, trying to play it cool. “ah, ah, fuck, okay, yeah, I get it now.”

minghao’s laughing softly at first, kinda enjoying watching you be all curious about his body or male body. “you wanna know what happens if you touch there?” he’d tease, but then you do it, and he’s biting his lip, trying so hard not to moan. “oh… okay, okay is enough.”

mingyu, poor baby would be so confused at first, blinking down at you like, “baby, is not even a pretty thing like, balls? really?.” the second you touch him, his body reacts on instinct, hips bucking up into your hand, and he’s gasping, eyes wide. “oh my god, you better be quick…”

seokmin would be giggling at first, thinking you’re messing with him. “are you serious right now?” he’d ask, when you start rubbing, his laugh dies, and he’s groaning, voice all shaky. “babe… do that again.”

seungkwan’s so embarrassed, blushing bright red, trying to make a joke out of it. “oh, you’re really gonna…?” and when u touch him, he fucking whimpers eyes fluttering shut as he grabs at the sheets. “yeah yeah, you can do it again…”

vernon = blank stare. he’s so confused at first, like, “why would do something like that? oh, a research?” but once your hand moves lower, he’s gone. his voice catches in his throat, and he’s gripping your wrist. “wait—what the fuck, that feels… so good.”

chan “you’re really gonna try that?” he’s all talk until you actually do it, and then his mouth falls open, a shaky moan slipping out. “oh shit, that’s—its sensitive! what the fuck did you do? b-but don't stop…” he’s 100% into letting you experiment all you want.

[schoenpepper]

It's Okay to Play Favorites (Vice Housewardens)

Intro: You accidentally get sucked into the world of Twisted Wonderland, your favorite game, like, ever. And uh, you may or may not have teleported with a plushie of your favorite character…

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, self aware au but not god, your card collection is just you being freaky and taking pictures of them, google translated French be warned, ortho’s is platonic and if u take it any other way i ban u, lilia’s is also platonic but if u see romance crumbs i won't stop u, ik ruggie and ortho aren't vice housewardens but get this idgaf

A/N: Bro college got me fucked (second day in i know i'm a fucking whiner i hate it all). Not a request, just some random stuff I wrote during my 3 hour round-trip commute jfc. If my Jade favoritism is acting up, no it ain't.

Masterlist

Trey Clover is a man often overlooked, whether in the fandom or the world of Twisted Wonderland.

So when you get transported in during orientation, you, the player, were holding a plush form of him?

He blanks out.

Sorry Riddle, your vice housewarden kinda crashed maybe you can reboot him or something.

Trey’s never thought of himself as anything special, but he must be if he’s your favorite character, right?

You befriend him with a giddy smile, he can almost see the hearts in your eyes as you fan[redacted] so hard you actually hug him in your excitement.

The player? Hugged? Him?????

“Crazy bro that’s like super nuts so jealous of you.” - Cater Diamond

Hm, he gets a bit bashful when you take so many pictures of him.

Do you really like him that much?

He…likes you too.

“Cringe.” - Cater Diamond

I’m just a normal person, you know? At least, the closest someone can get to normal in this place. You still want me? Are you sure?

…Okay.

If you’re sure.

Unfortunately, to date a dad is to put up with dad jokes.

Do you mind though?

Makes you the most delicious pastries and confectionery known to mankind. You’ll probably get 5 lbs fatter and a sugar addiction.

But your teeth will be beautiful because he teaches you how to brush your teeth properly.

(Ten kinds of toothbrushes…)

Picnic dates.

Tea party dates.

Baking dates.

You might need to go on a diet to stay in shape because Trey doesn’t mind fat. He will probably love you more if you’re chubby.

But he loves you regardless.

Rest of the cast is like, vaguely jealous because why Trey?

But also he has a generally good rapport with other people so it’s cool.

Maybe.

Ruggie Bucchi wasn’t really paying too much attention at the ceremony but you definitely drew his focus.

Is that a plushie hyena beastman?

Does not register that it’s him until someone calls it out.

What? Why? How? When? Where?

He probably has major self esteem issues because, you know, the school’s filled to the brim with rich kids and people with status.

He has neither money nor power. So when he finds out he’s your favorite character? Boom.

He lets out his cute (im not biased) laugh but it’s because he doesn’t know how else to react.

You want to be his friend? Why not?

(Laughs again because he’s exploding on the inside)

You hug him???? Crazy. You owe him a donut for that, bro.

Thinks the picture thing is a bit weird but who is he to argue with the player?

You’re weird, y’know? There’s like princes and moguls and stuff in NRC, why me?

You like me? You find me charming?

That’s not something I’d really use for myself but hey…knock yourself out. Shishishi.

Floof.

You get to scratch his ears and kiss ‘em and watch ‘em twitch while he tries to get away from you.

Insane bro wish I was you.

Cuddly and surprisingly clingy, loves loves loves being pampered.

Are you indoctrinated by my subby Ruggie vibes yet???

His love language is sharing food.

(Have you ever tried passing candy through a kiss? No? Wanna try?)

His grandma will love you <3

The other characters will be giving him major stink eye. The scrappy hyena? Really?

Yes really.

“Whatever, good for you.” - Leona probably.

Jade Leech is amused.

Rather childish, is it not? Well, he’s flattered that you think so highly of him and even have this stuffed toy in his image.

Unfortunately, he does hold enough respect for you as the player to not immediately use your infatuation with him for nefarious purposes.

Not to say he doesn’t tease you though.

You are the flustered one here.

He’s your favorite? Oya, how interesting. He’s never seen himself the way that you do, but who is he to argue with the player?

Please, what do you like so much about him? Do tell.

(His systems crash when you hug him but you’ll never know)

You seem to enjoy taking his pictures. If you let him [redacted] you can take as many as you want.

If you don’t take him up on his offer I will!!!

My, I never expected to be your ‘favorite character’, was it? Well, I don’t mind.

What do I think of you?

Fufu, wouldn’t you like to know?

Loving a sadist means you’re probably a masochist.

You like it when he ‘unintentionally’ makes you do something stupid? Toys with you? Teases you with his annoyingly adorable super cutie pie grin?

Bro you have weird taste I could like, never~

If you didn’t like mushrooms before you do now.

You wish he’d look at you the way he looks at his terrariums.

You know that silly, happy, dopey little look he gets? The lab coat groovy one? Yeah.

Hiking dates if you’re physically able to. If not, he makes like the fanciest dinner dates ever.

He does love you, promise.

The other characters are highkey judging you.

Jamil Viper is inside his hoodie and is very unlikely to ever come out.

You’re kinda embarrassing but what is he supposed to do?

You’re the player. You have a plushie Jamil. Tiny and cute.

Jamil doesn’t see himself as cute. Wouldn’t it be better if you had a different one? Someone sunnier, someone warmer, someone like…Kalim?

Jamil’s your favorite character?

Yeah he’s not leaving his hoodie.

When you’re so happy and excited that you hug him, his soul leaves his body through his lips.

Rip Jamil Viper.

I don’t think Jamil’s very used to the camera, considering he’s technically Kalim’s servant and servants stay in the background.

But since you adore him the way that you do, well, he won’t stop you.

You’re strange. Is this a prank?

No, I don’t mean to doubt you. It’s just that…

No, nevermind. Since you want me, I’ll—love? You love me? Fine, I can work with that too.

His favorite kind of date is one where you two sleep and cuddle together.

He needs a break.

It’s not too often that he can carve time out of babysitting, so any time spent with him you’ll cherish like gold.

You can help him with chores if you manage to persist through multiple rejections.

He’d really prefer not to make the player do chores with him, but when you smile so wide like that, he can’t refuse anymore on the grounds of you not enjoying it.

Kalim can lend you guys the carpet though, you wanna fly?

While the cast doesn’t generally approve of the snake, you’re very loud about your infatuation.

They can’t stop you.

Rook Hunt is a lover of beauty, and you, the player, are the most beauté of all! (full points :D)

Qu'est-ce que c'est? A soft and fluffy copy of himself? How wonderous! Marvelous! The adorable cotton-filled blah blah blah (insert soliloquy here)

While there’s a tiny thought in his mind that perhaps the poison apple or the queen would be more befitting of a nui plush, he still takes your fascination with him in stride.

(It’s not often that he’s in this role.)

To be your favorite, it is an honor!

He shall dedicate a poem to your inner and outer beauty!

Accidentally tosses you to the ground when you try to hug him.

Desolé, instinct. Try again?

He’s not used to being the one in the spotlight, but please, take as many pictures as you need!

Love? Love is the most beautiful indeed. Comme toi, tellement adorable. Lovely.

You’re asking if I have someone I love?

Je suis un lâche de ne pas exprimer mon amour pour toi. 

Either you get what he’s saying or you remember it so you can translate later.

Anyway, have you ever wanted to hunt for sport as a date?

No?

How about getting hunted for sport?

Still no? Shame.

Rook settles for little camping trips in the woods, just you and him and the forest (and his bow and quiver of arrows and his hunting knife and his dagger and—).

He makes very good roasted meat.

You’ll enjoy it as long as you remember not to ask where it’s from.

Uh, ignore how every other cast member is judging you. Love is love, right?

Ortho Shroud is very happy! Very excited! Yay!

You’re a legendary figure, and you’re treating him so nicely! 

Is that a toy made to look like him? You like Ortho? He’s your favorite character?

Yay!

Robo baby is very happy.

Since you like Ortho, do you like Idia too?

Can you be Idia’s friend?

Can you be a new older sibling? Please?

(Say yes or I will [redacted])

Hugs? Hugs!

Forehead kisses?

Yes!

You seem to enjoy taking many pictures of Ortho. Why is this? You like him that much?

If so, maybe you two should take pictures together instead of always taking pictures of him alone. He’d love to take lots of pictures with you!

Can Idia come?

I am your favorite character? Like in a video game? This world is also a video game?

That’s great!

What kind of character am I?

Lilia Vanrouge thinks you’re funny. But also totally correct.

He must be sinful because even you, dear player, find him absolutely adorable!

Hehehe…

Is that a tiny Lilia? Good taste! It’s almost as adorable as the real one.

When you hug him in your excitement, he just laughs and pats your back.

Grandpa vibes.

A picture? Why not?

A selfie, as you kids say. (bro you’re not even detached from modern technology???)

Really likes taking pictures with you.

Since you like him a lot and he’s your favorite character, be a dear and forgo your sleep schedule to game with him.

I’m your favorite, right? Surely that means you’d love to taste my cooking?

No? Why, I’m saddened by your rejection…

There we go. It’s not so bad, is it? I made it with effort, onions, garlic…are you alright? Oh dear.

[viceroywrites]

deja vu - part three

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader/ford x fem!reader

tag list: @awitchersbard / @theilluminatidragonqueen / @jazzypop-op/ @maryclanders/ @chaimshelii/@starship606/ @swimmingrascalbatdragon / @stanfordsbaby / @gxstiess / @skrunkle11 / @valinbean / @funkyenby / @therealgoofygoober69 / @theblueraven / @adrian920155 / @im-kinda-bored / @miarabanana / @uwauiss / @leo4242564 / @doggosnoodles12 / @soupieoopieisloopie / @zhungxi / @bandaids-n-porcelain / @marvelous-maniac / @opossumclown / @m4x-3dw / @nothingbutcloud / @reivelmin / @grimometry / @walmartjim / @adelezzxd / @reiofsuns2001 / @bunni-teeth81 / @marshnest / @satorisgirl / @symphology / @pen900 / @sometimesminsan / @creat0r-cat / @lackingoriginalthoughts / @fries11 / @sunniskyies

choose your own ending / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part two | part four

The three of you sat in the impressive living room, Ford and you sitting on the couch while Fiddleford lounges in the loveseat, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“You were able to sell those patents to the government and that’s how you got this place!” You say in glee, your lips spread into an excited smile, “I told you your inventions were going to get you places, Fiddleford!”

“Aw shucks, you flatter me too much. Glad this noggin of mine finally got put to good use!” Fiddleford said bashfully, knocking on his skull, “So Stanford told me you got a job in the National Parks! Find any gold while surveying?”

“No gold yet but I’ve found a few gemstones that I ended up pocketing instead of just documenting them.” You admitted with a sly smile.

The two of you laughed and chatted like time had never passed. Meanwhile, Ford watched with a wistful smile, wishing to hear you be just as comfortable with him as you once were. Though in the back of his head, he recognized that once your memories return, you may never want to speak to him again.

“Ford, what did you end up doing after all these years? I’m sure something exciting with 12 PhDs.” You ask with a curious tilt to your head. You tried to loop him back into the conversation, feeling guilty that you and Fiddleford had spent most of this time catching up with one another with Ford sitting there observing quietly.

“Oh… well..” Ford stammered, caught off guard by the question. He glanced over at Fiddleford who gave him a sympathetic look before giving a nod of encouragement, “I decided to study anomalies with my grant money. Gravity Falls is actually chalk full of them, hence why I ended up here. Fiddleford actually came out here from Palo Alto to help me with my research.”

“Really? I’m surprised we didn’t meet when I had visited him years ago but you must have been busy with your research, right?” You question, not knowing the weight of the situation that you had left years ago. Ford and Fiddleford exchanged tense glances which caused you to sit up right, “Is.. everything okay?”

-

The previous evening, Ford had decided to give Fiddleford a call preemptively before bringing you over to get some answers of his own. 

After the second ring, Ford heard a “Yello?” from his old friend and sighed, trying to keep his composure. He was ready to start a tirade of questions but he attempted to remain cool, not wanting to alienate his friend that he just got back.

He didn’t want to go in blind with the assumption that Fiddleford’s memory erasing gun was the cause of your memory loss, when there could be a laundry list of potential conditions you may have that could have caused this amnesia.

“Sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, Fiddleford. I have some news that can’t wait until the morning.” Ford says, leaning against the wall while twirling the cord of the phone in between his fingers.

“Sure, what is it, pal? I’ve been working on a new patent so I need a break anyways,” Fiddleford says on the other end, removing his green glasses and moving to the rocking chair in the corner of the room.

“Well, do you remember Y/N? Our friend from Backupsmore and my… ex-lover.” Ford hesitates during the last part. 

Ford hears a hitch in his friend’s voice along with shuffling on the other end before hearing a response, “Yes, I remember her.”

Ford inhales sharply before letting out a deep sigh, “Well, she’s in Gravity Falls. My brother stumbled upon her after her car broke down in the woods and brought her back to the Mystery Shack.”

“W-Well, isn’t that exciting. We should catch up, shouldn’t we?” Fiddleford says with an anxious edge to his voice.

“Fiddleford…” Ford’s voice is stiff as his worst fears feel like they are already confirmed, “Why does she not remember me?”

Apologies spill from Fiddleford, the anxiety in his voice mounting, “I-I’m so sorry, Stanford. At the time, I thought it was the only way we were going to get through everything we saw, everything we experienced.”

Ford swallowed the lump in his throat, not knowing whether to comfort his friend or to lash out on him for doing such a thing. Hearing those words was like swallowing a bitter pill. He remained silent, letting Fiddleford ramble on to get more details.

“She came to me in tears… she just kept saying over and over that she wanted the pain to go away.” Fiddleford explained, beginning to pace around the space. 

“So you just took her memories, just like that? Specifically her memories of me? Because she remembers you just fine!” Ford’s frustration finally comes out. His right hand balled into a fist, his left clutching the phone tightly. 

Fiddleford winces at the harshness in Ford’s voice, memories of their last fight flashing back but he knows he has to face it rather than running away like he did all those years. He takes a deep breath before sighing, “Stanford, she asked me to erase her memories.”

Ford feels his heart drop and his stomach in knots, almost dropping the phone. 

Is this what heartbreak felt like?

Why would you want to forget him?

Was what he did all those years ago so horrible that you wanted to erase his very existence from your mind?

Ford struggled to find the words but was able to muster out, “It’s… not your fault, Fiddleford. It’s mine. I put you both through hell during my quest for knowledge.” 

Fiddleford paused before responding back shakily, “You don’t need to keep apologizing, friend. Bring her over tomorrow, hopefully we can jog her memory.”

Ford let out a sigh, “Alright, also if you have literally anything from our time from college, please retrieve it to show it to her. That’s what helped bring back Stanley’s memories - any physical reminder of the memories.”

They both said their good nights before hanging up the phone. Ford slides against the wall in defeat, reaching up to run a hand over his face underneath his glasses before pausing as he feels the wetness against his eyes. 

He hadn’t even registered the tears that began to prick the inner corners of his eyes.

-

Fiddleford gets up from his seat, excusing himself abruptly to retrieve something in the other room. Your question remains unanswered and hangs in the air as Ford refuses to meet your gaze, seemingly invested in the stray thread on his sweater.

“Something must have happened when I was out here all those years ago…” You mutter, staring down at your feet, “It affected us, didn’t it? Whatever we were…” You trail off. You had put some of the pieces together that your relationship with Ford prior must have carried a heavy history.

Ford continues to play with the thread, the silence slowly eating away at him before he finally responds, “It did. Not only you and I but my friendship with Fiddleford as well.” He wrapped the thread around his index finger, “It might come as a surprise, but Fiddleford and I just rekindled our friendship this past summer.”

Before you can reply, Fiddleford comes back into the room, holding a cardboard box in his bandaged hands. He unceremoniously dumps it onto the table before flopping back down onto his chair. His light-hearted demeanor had shifted to one of anxiety. 

“Listen, Y/N… I have to admit something to you that you might not like… ah jeez..” Fiddleford stumbles over his words, craving an escape from this situation. 

“Whatever it is, as long as it gets me closer to understanding what’s going on, I promise I won’t be upset at you.” You try to reassure your friend, looking over to Ford to help back you up. Ford’s gaze softened, nodding in understanding, “It’s going to be alright, Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford feels comfort in his close friends’ reassurance, taking a deep breath before rambling out an explanation that’s barely coherent, wanting to get it off his chest immediately, “I created an invention that wipes people’s specific memories called the Memory Gun! I even used it on myself and my mind was gone for decades. Basically I erased your memories all those years ago and that’s why you don’t remember Stanford! There I said it!”

Ford winces at his friend’s delivery, realizing maybe he should have taken the lead to reveal this information to you in a more tactful way. 

Your eyes darted between Ford and Fiddleford, letting out a nervous chuckle, “Real funny guys… did you two plan this prank over the phone last night?” The story presented to you seems preposterous, out of a science fiction novel.

However, when Ford and Fiddleford stare back at you with solemn gazes, you realize that this story is the truth. 

It explained the gaps of time during your time in college that you could not recall.

It explained the dreams you had every night of a person that you could never see the face of.

Your memories of Stanford had been somehow wiped from your brain.

You sit there, processing this information in silence. Fiddleford almost seems like he’s bracing for impact, ready for you to lash out at him for doing such a thing. Ford sits rigid beside you before getting up suddenly. Both you and Fiddleford look up in confusion as he reaches into the box that Fiddleford placed on the table.

His fingers pluck out what seems to be a photo and walks over to you. His warm, calloused hand brushes against yours, placing it into your hands. Staring down at it, you see younger versions of yourself, Ford and Fiddleford.

Ford was decked out in a doctoral graduation cap and gown that swallowed up his frame, a wide grin spread across his cheeks. He had his arm around Fiddleford’s shoulder, who wore a green button up shirt, brown slacks and a pair of cowboy boots. In his hands he held a sign that said ‘10 Doctorates Down, 2 More to Go’. You were wearing a flowy dress and were on Ford’s left side, his six fingers holding you by the waist.

“This was taken on one of my many graduation days, you and Fiddleford attended every single one and were cheering me on in the crowd.” Ford explains, beckoning Fiddleford to come over and look at the photo. Fiddleford hesitantly gets up from his chair, sitting next to you.

“Listen, I know you may have a lot of questions about how this even happened. I promise that in time, Fiddleford and I will tell you everything that led up to the erasure of your memories. But you need the rest of your memories for any of this to make sense.” Ford says, staring into your eyes and resting a hand on your shoulder. 

His mantra after Bill wreaked havoc in his life had been Trust No One.

Yet he asks you to do the one thing that he could not do back then, “Can you please trust us?”

A mixture of emotions - confusion, hurt, anger - ran through you and you weren’t sure which one to listen to. As you looked back down at the photo, your thumb ran over where Ford was, covering up his face. Without him there, the image looked… empty.

You look up at Ford, “I’m trusting you and Fiddleford… I want to get my memories back.” You pause before continuing your statement, “How I feel about the both of you after I get them back, we’ll have to wait and see.” 

Ford nods in understanding, knowing that you rightfully had your guard up. Fiddleford breathes a sigh of relief, still feeling the need to apologize, “I’m really sorry for putting you in this predicament, Y/N… I hope you’ll forgive me.” You stare at your old friend, knowing from experience that this man had a heart of gold. As confused as you were, you try to believe that Fiddleford had to have done it for some good reason.

You quickly envelop Fiddleford into a tight hug, squeezing him tightly. He squeaks in surprise and you mutter, “Whatever the reason you erased my memories is…I know you have a good heart. I’ll forgive you, Fiddleford.” You feel his flimsy arms return the embrace, and you two sit there for a bit before pulling apart.

“Alrighty then, let’s get those memories back!” Fiddleford says, getting up and rummaging through the box to retrieve a textbook that spelled out ‘Quantum Mechanics.’ 

You all collectively shuddered at the sight of it, groaning in unison, “Ugh, quantum mechanics” before bursting out into laughter at your shared reaction.

“Dear god, that class was terrible! Not because of the content but our professor!” Ford groaned, “I swear he spent more time teaching us about his conspiracy theories than actually covering the equations needed for our assignments.”

“Stanford, I think you might be the only one who actually enjoyed the content of it, me and Y/N were ready to pull our hair out every single class.” Fiddleford chuckled before passing the textbook over to you.

You look down at it, brushing off the dust. A wave of nostalgia hits you as you flip through the pages, remembering the sensation of your cheek being pressed against those pages before jolting up, trying to wipe off the stray drool that had accumulated on the corner of your lip. You had fallen asleep in class again, a gentle hand shaking you awake.

You pause before staring up at the both of them, “Oh my god, I think I remember something.”

“You would wake me up whenever I’d fall asleep in lecture, Ford.” You say, the memory coming back to you with more clarity, “I always nodded off in that class since it was 8 AM and I usually stayed up the night before studying for exams.”

Ford and Fiddleford both look at each other before grinning widely. “It’s starting to work!” Fiddleford says excitedly, ready to fish out another object out of the box.

“Jeez, how much stuff do you have in here?” You chuckle, getting up from your seat to crowd around the box. Your eyes scan through the assortment of objects - old textbooks from physics and mathematics courses, decor from Backupsmore and a few older photos strewn about.

“I didn’t realize you kept all these things from college, Fiddleford.” Ford says, following behind you. “I didn’t either, guess I lost track of where everything was after my mind got scrambled. Tate found most of this stuff in a box that I apparently had stashed underneath my cot when I was living at the shack.” Fiddleford chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

The three of you spent the next hours sifting through the contents of the box and with each item plucked from the box, a memory from college returned as you pieced together the fragmented slivers in your mind. Some memories did not come as quickly, causing you some frustration but you put them to the side, cataloging it for later.

Soon the sunlight that leaked through the windows began to turn into a warm orange, signaling the sunset approaching. Ford had tried to hide an embarrassing photo from you and Fiddleford which resulted in you trying to wrestle it out of his hand playfully. You ended up snagging it from his six-fingered hold after he got flustered when you started getting closer to him, practically on his lap, to try and retrieve it.

The last photo was a polaroid of Ford with his face buried into your neck, a few beer bottles littered around him. Fiddleford was clearly holding the camera, his thumb sticking out in the foreground in a thumbs up. ‘Happy 21st, S.’ was scrawled out at the bottom, slightly faded over time.

“You were a light-weight, weren’t you?” You say cheekily to which Ford crosses his arms in protest, “It was my first time drinking, what did you expect?”

Fiddleford watched contently before seeing the sunset start to creep in, “Aw shucks, the sun’s about to set. Ya’ll should head out before it gets too dark. I know this one isn’t the best at driving in the dark.” He said, jerking a thumb over at Ford.

“I didn’t realize this was a gang-up on Stanford Pines session.” Ford huffed, getting up from his seat on the floor. You follow suit, grabbing the stack of photos that had piled up and placing them in the box before asking Fiddleford, “Mind if I take the box with me, Fiddleford? I’m hoping the more I look at them, more memories will pop up.”

Fiddleford nods eagerly, “Absolutely, Stanford can give you my number if you have any questions for me. I’m sure you’ll have a ton… after you get all your memories back.” He trails off, knowing the journey ahead to recovering your memories may come with some mixed emotions.

You give Fiddleford another tight parting hug, squeezing him almost like you may not see him again. You follow Ford out, placing the box carefully into the back seat of the red convertible before driving back down the hill.

You spent most of the drive taking in the sight of the golden hues over the lush forest. Occasionally, Ford uses his peripheral vision to take a glance at you, seeing how the gemstone around your neck glows against the sunlight. 

You catch him glancing once and he quickly shifts his focus back on the road, his chest puffing and his posture stiff. Your lips curl in amusement at how he tries but fails to be subtle. It’s quite charming - you were starting to see how you fell for him in the first place. “So… our relationship clearly wasn’t platonic, was it?” You ask suddenly.

Ford almost swerves off the side of the road at your question, quickly straightening his wheel as your hand reaches for the grab handle. “I didn’t realize you had put that together already..” Ford stammered before apologizing for his driving.

“Even if none of my memories had come back today, it’s pretty easy to pick up from the photos, especially the last one.” You chuckled softly before pausing. You mull over what to say next before finally speaking up, “I’m guessing we… didn’t end on the best terms, did we?”

Ford’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, his expression tense. He looked defeated - weighed down by the weight of the negative effects that his desperate chase for knowledge had on his loved ones. 

Stanley, Fiddleford, you. 

Ford lets out a heavy sigh, “No, we didn’t… and it is my fault. I was on this never-ending journey trying to prove my worth but in the process, I pushed away those who saw my worth just the way I was.” He looks out into the horizon, seeing the sun begin to disappear between the Floating Cliffs. “If you will allow me, I really hope I get the chance to undo my mistakes and mend our relationship… just like Fiddleford and I have.” His eyes meet yours and your expression looks conflicted… almost like you can still feel the remnants of pain that he had caused all those years ago.

“Listen, Ford… I would like to start on the path of healing what happened in the past but I just got back memories from college. I am sure there’s a few more years of history up ahead… one step at a time, okay?” You explain, wanting to level his expectations. Ford nods in understanding, giving you a sad smile, “Understood, apologies for getting ahead of myself.”

As you made your way back down the winding hills, you both sat in silence the rest of the way back to the Mystery Shack. Pulling in front of the cabin, Ford shifts the car into park and clears his throat, catching your attention, “You aren’t planning on leaving tomorrow, correct? Stanley had mentioned that you had a whole trip up to Seattle ahead of you.” 

You stare deadpan over at him, “Ford, I literally was just told today that a good chunk of my memories are gone. Do you really think I’m worried about my trip?” You say with an eyebrow raised. Ford blinks at your response before rubbing the back of your neck, “That’s very true, I just want to make sure I wasn’t holding you hostage in figuring this out.”

You shrug casually, “Unfortunately, I can’t just pick up and leave knowing I don’t have a good chunk of my memories.” You smile, despite everything, you were grateful for this unexpected detour. You got to reconnect with an old friend, still got to enjoy some beautiful scenery and the free lodging didn’t hurt. “Besides, Gravity Falls seems like it has its own charms I can appreciate. I’m curious about the anomalies you came out here to study - everything seems pretty normal other than those floating cliffs we passed on the way down.”

A spark lights up in Ford’s eyes the moment you mentioned anomalies, seeing him grin in absolute glee. “Well, there’s a whole bunch out there, the Floating Cliffs is truly only scratching the surface of what oddities this place has to offer. I would love to take you anomaly hunting some time. Obviously nothing too intense, I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” He realized what he had just said and began to stammer, backtracking his offer, “B-But only if you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You giggle at his awkward charm, “I would like that. Maybe tomorrow?”

Before Ford can reply, both of you are startled by the sudden rapping of knuckles on the glass of the driver’s side window. You quickly whip your heads to see Mabel grinning, her braces on full display as she stares at the two of you through the glass. Ford rolls down the window, “Mabel, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Mabel says before whipping out her phone to reveal a slightly blurry photo of you and Ford smiling at one another from an awkward angle, “to take this photo!” Ford blinks, his eyes adjusting to look at the photo before staring at it perplexed, “I still don’t quite understand how this small contraption holds a camera in it.” 

You laugh at Ford’s statement, leaning over his shoulder to take a look at the photo, “What, you don’t know how a cell phone works? Are you sure I'm the one who had their memories wiped?” Ford’s cheeks feel warm as he can feel the heat and weight of your body pressed against his back, “Great photo, Mabel. How was the roller rink?” You quickly change the subject, starting to pick up on Mabel’s matchmaking  tactics.

“It was great! My friends, Grenda and Candy, and I had a slurpee chugging contest to see who could get brain freeze the fastest!” Mabel explained excitedly. “I’d love to hear more about it, how about we head inside?” You say before pulling away from Ford to exit the car and follow Mabel back into the Mystery Shack.

Ford sat there in disbelief, his brain short circuiting over how your body felt against him as well as the prospect of going on a pseudo-date with you, before resting his head directly on the steering wheel, the horn echoing through the forest. You look back in alarm and glance over at Mabel, “Uh, is your Grunkle okay?” 

Mabel looks back and shrugs, as if it’s a common occurrence, “Probably, Dipper does that too against the wall when he’s overthinking something.”

You sat on the floor of the living room, listening to Mabel excitedly tell you about her adventures with her friends with Ford joining shortly after his malfunction in the car.

Dipper came downstairs, having spent most of the day reading over a strategy guide for Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons that he wanted to go over with Ford, which led Mabel to recount her day again to the new audience member. 

“So, Y/N, was the trip to see Old Man McGucket a success? Did you get some of your memories back?” Dipper asks. You blink before realizing he’s referring to Fiddleford, nodding in response. “Yeah, thankfully, he had some stuff from your Grunkle Ford and I’s time at Backupsmore that helped jog some memories. Not 100% there but we’re getting there.” You share, “We actually brought some of it home to help continue to jog my memories.”

“Wait, are there photos? I wanna see young Grunkle Ford and Old Man McGucket! Grunkle Ford lore!” Mabel asks excitedly. You turn to Ford who seems reluctant to share with the kids, “Well, up to you if you wanna show them.” Ford hesitates for a second but the moment he sees Mabel flash the dangerous puppy dog eyes that Stanley warned him about, he’s easily persuaded, “Alright, I’ll go get the box.”

You spend the rest of the evening showing the twins memories from the past with Ford filling in some of the gaps you couldn’t quite remember still. Dipper and Mabel laugh at the sight of Fiddleford with a horseshoe mustache with Ford insisting that it was in fashion at the time. You smile at the sight of the family bonding before realizing a member was missing.

“Hey Dipper, is your Grunkle Stan not back yet? It’s getting a bit late.” You ask suddenly. Dipper takes a moment before snapping his fingers, “He mentioned something about not waiting up for him. He didn’t say where he was going, just said he was gonna be out late.” You look over to Ford who simply shrugs, “My brother is one of the toughest people I know, throws a mean left hook. He’ll be fine.” Based on everyone’s nonchalant reactions, you decide to trust that this was a normal occurrence.

The night ends with Mabel gushing over the polaroid that she found of you both, leading Ford to chase her around the Shack trying to retrieve it from her. Dipper and you doubled in laughter, watching the antics unfold.

Ford ended up stuffing it in his pocket, wanting to have at least one piece of your shared history to hold onto himself.

-

He wasn’t in bed… again.

You wake up yet again to the left side of the bed empty, the sheets feeling cold to the touch. The moon barely seeps light through the triangle shaped window, allowing your eyes to adjust quickly to the sight. Your eyes glance out the window. The forest is dusted white, snow coating the treetops and causing the glass to frost.

You begin what felt like a nightly routine at this time, sliding out of the bed. Your eyes are still heavy with sleep, rubbing them roughly. You slide on your slippers and make your way to the basement.

At this point, you don’t even need a light to guide the way, navigating through the dark cabin with ease. The wind howls harshly outside, its echo traveling through the quiet house. 

You finally arrive, shuddering at the sudden temperature drop from the upstairs to the basement. You push open the metal door. The lab is quite messy, sticky notes with equations plastered all over and triangle-shaped figures littered around it. You see the familiar figure, frenetically writing in the red journal in front of him as the metal door creeks to signal your presence.

“Ford?” You call out, walking towards him, “Are you alright?” You ask, something felt off with the way he was acting as you walked in. Even when he would reach a breakthrough in his research, he would jot notes down with a quick yet methodical manner. Just glancing over his shoulder, the writing looked messy & chaotic compared to his neat cursive.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to halt his actions. His hand reached up, placing it atop yours. 

However, rather than stroking the back of your hand like he normally would, he gripped it tightly, causing you to wince in response.

“Ow, Ford, what the hell?” You mutter, trying to shake your hand loose.

The grip only tightened as Ford’s head turned, bright yellow eyes staring back at you.

“Well, well, well, nice to finally meet you, Y/N.” 

You jolt awake, a thin sheen of cold sweat coating your body. Your heart practically jumps out of your throat as you look around frantically. For what, you’re not sure but your body goes into fight or flight, tossing the blankets off. The air around you feels thick and the room feels like it's closing in on you.

Your feet move automatically, rushing quickly out of the room and ascending up to where the attic floor is. You make your way down the hallway, slipping past Dipper and Mabel’s room to a hatch in the ceiling. You tug on the rope that dangles from the handle, opening it to reveal a set of stairs. You make your way up them before pushing a door that brings you to the rooftop ledge.

A gust of fresh air hits your face and you finally feel like you can breathe as you take a seat on the ledge. Placing a hand over your chest, you attempt to slow down your breath, inhaling through your nostrils and exhaling through your mouth. After finally grounding yourself, you stare up at the night sky, trying to make sense of what you just dreamt.

That was clearly a memory but why was Ford acting that way?

Why did it terrify you to the core, a knot in your stomach as you remember the yellow hue in his eyes?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of car tires running over the lawn. You look down to see your car with its bright headlights illuminating the bottom of the Mystery Shack before shutting off. Stan steps out of the car, wearing all black attire and a set of black gloves, whistling nonchalantly as he makes his way to the trunk to pull out the car battery.

He hasn’t noticed your presence yet so you decide to call out, “Late night, huh?”

“Hot belgian waffles!” Stan semi-curses, almost dropping the car battery on his foot as he whips his head around before staring up to see you sitting on the rooftop in your pajamas. “How the hell did you get up there? Why are you even up there, it’s like 2 AM?”

“Did you really just say hot belgian waffles?” You can’t help but say with a tired grin, Stan’s antics taking your mind off your anxiety attack. “Had a bad dream, needed some fresh air… somehow I remembered how to get up here, my memory’s starting to come back somehow.”

“I try not to swear in front of the kids, come up with whatever euphemism rolls off the tongue.” Stan says with a shrug, “Guess today was a success, mind if I join ya? I can never fall asleep right away, got too much adrenaline in my system.”

“Sounds like you had a wild night, you sure you just got my car battery?” You chuckle before nodding at Stan’s question, “Go ahead, I could use the company.”

Stan makes his way back into the Mystery Shack, putting the battery near his toolbox to work on tomorrow before trekking up the stairs. He winces, his back aching as he makes his way up the stairs, cradling his lower back, “Jeez, I should really install one of those stair lifts at this point.”

“I don’t think you’re quite that old to justify having one of those.” You grin, scooting over for Stan to have a seat next to you, both of your legs dangling off the ledge. “If I did, Mabel would probably just put Waddles on it and have him ride up and down the stairs the whole day.” Stan chuckled.

“So any new embarrassing stories about my brother I should know about?” Stan asked out of curiosity. Despite them spending the whole past year catching up, there were still parts of Ford’s life that were still a mystery to Stan. Almost 40 years of their lives and they had just scratched the surface. 

“Well, I learned he drank about 3 beers on his 21st birthday and was pretty much on the verge of passing out.” You shared, tapping your chin, “He also got into an argument with a professor when they asked him to write his papers in print instead of cursive.” Stan chortles, “Yeah, that sounds like Ford alright. I got to see how much of a lightweight he is this past year. I had to carry him back to the boat after we had a couple of drinks at a bar near the dock.”

You laugh, hearing that time had not changed much in that aspect. “I’m sure there’s more. College is a lot more clearer but everything after that is still a blur.” You trail off, still having mixed emotions about it.

Stan shifts slightly before speaking up, “Hey, uh…I’m guessing you found out that you got your memories erased, right?” You nod, eyebrow raised in confusion at how Stan knows this. 

“Well, from one person who had their memories erased to another, don’t be too hard on yourself when you can’t remember. I swear there’s still stuff that the kids will tell me that takes me a minute to recall. Sometimes I don’t even remember and just try to play it off so they don’t worry.” Stan offers in a sympathetic tone.

“Jeez, Fiddleford used the Memory Gun on you too? How many people has he used it on?” You say in surprise, even more confused than you were earlier about the whole situation.

Stan sees your state of disbelief and chuckles, “I had the same look on my face when my brother roped me into all this. Ford’s actually the one who used it on me… it’s a long story but the point being is that, you’re gonna find out a lot of things that are gonna confuse the hell out of you. You’re also going to remember… a lot of painful memories.” 

“My brother and I seem close now but we weren’t talking for years… and I had to relive and relearn all of that when getting my memories back. It sucked, it felt like I was being punched in the gut every time.” Stan sighs before smiling sadly, “I’m sure you’re gonna feel the same way… I don’t know what exactly happened between you and my brother but I know Ford’s gonna try whatever it takes to make things right by you.”

“Thanks, Stan. I appreciate it, makes me feel less guilty for not remembering everything.” You say with an appreciative smile before shivering slightly at the sudden breeze that picks up. Stan notices this and shrugs off his leather jacket. Shaking your head in protest, you’re quickly silenced as Stan places it on your shoulders.

You bring the material close to your frame, feeling how warm it is from Stan’s body heat. “Thanks again, I’m really looking forward to getting my memories back..." You glance at your car, a reminder of your original plans for the summer. "Well, guess I gotta return all that camping gear I bought.” You chuckle, gesturing towards the camping gear mounted to the top of your car.

Stan looks at the gear and then back at you before offering, “Why not just go camping out here? There’s a campground like half an hour away we could set up at - I’m sure the kids would love to tag along too, they’ve been itching to do stuff while they’re here for the summer.” 

“Like all of us go? You think Ford would be up for that?” You ask, actually liking the idea of camping with the Pines family instead of going solo. 

“If he gets to spend time with you, yeah, he’ll go.” Stan scoffs.

You pause before grinning, “Guess we should start planning.”

[dadsbongos]

my wife is cool, understanding, and goes with the flow

5.7 k words / warnings - fem reader (+referred to as mother/wife), chilchuck's emotional turmoil (he's so in love and so incapable of verbalizing it)

summary - general strings of yours and chilchuck's marriage. good to bad to making up.

~~~

“You know,” you whisper, “If you ignore how nightmarish they were to raise, then they’re kinda perfect kids.”

Chilchuck snorts, letting you hang off his arm as you stand in the doorway to your living room.

Meijack and Flertom are strewn across the couch in opposite directions, Flertom’s feet dangling off an armrest and Meijack’s in her sister’s face. Thankfully, Flertom is not awake to notice the violation of personal space. Puckpatti is curled on the floor before the couch, long auburn hair flayed out and draped over her arms, which she uses as a makeshift pillow.

The front door is wide open, gentle pittering rain having lulled the girls to sleep. Puckpatti had been the one to suggest a ‘slumber party’ in the common space as it rained, even likening the cool air and atmospheric petrichor to camping to incite Meijack. As far as you know, however, none of the girls have been camping, so you’re mystified how that reasoning actually worked.

“Mei and Fler are so big now,” he muses, “Mei thinks she’s ready for the adult world now.”

“As if,” you lay your cheek on his shoulder, silently wishing he’d take the opportunity to kiss your temple. He does not, “We were barely ready when we had them. How’s a nine-year-old prepared for that?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

Meijack, as if sensing her parents’ lighthearted jabs, rolls over with a grumble and hum, flinging a foot into Flertom’s nose. The younger twin’s face wrinkles in protest, head jerking in the opposite direction -- you and Chilchuck freeze, anticipating a shrill cry, until Flertom relaxes again. The sigh of relief is short, though.

Abruptly, Chilchuck goes rigid, jolting you off him, “Why is Patti on the floor? Like a dog?”

“How am I supposed to know what goes on in that kid’s brain?”

Chilchuck shakes his head and steps over the young girl to shut your front door. Squeaky hinges pull a whine from Patti herself, drowsily rubbing her eyes and calling, “Papa, don’t shut it!”

“What? You want a troll to get in?” he asks sarcastically.

“No,” Puckpatti answers in earnest.

“That’s why Papa wants the door shut,” you kneel by your youngest daughter, brushing back her bangs just to watch her eyebrows scrunch cutely, “So no nasty trolls can get inside…” then you remember your husband’s complaint, “Patti, baby, do you wanna sleep in a chair? Or a bed? The ground doesn’t look very nice to rest on.”

“Yeah, Mama’s right. The ground’s gonna mess up your back,” Chilchuck joins you, ready to scoop up your daughter when she shakes her head.

“Wanna stay by Mei and Fler…” she pouts.

“Okay, but let me set out some more blankets, alright?” you kiss her on the forehead once, then twice when she beams and nods.

Chilchuck is already standing to retrieve spare blankets from your closet, he’s back before you can impede the hallway. He stops you from venturing further by propping a leg in front of you, “Don’t worry about it, I got everything.”

“She’ll need a real pillow, too, honey.”

“Yeah,” he taps at your ankles with his foot until you’re relenting, turning back towards the living room, “I said I got it.”

“Thank goodness for my big, strong man, huh?”

“I am the breadwinner,” he teases, granting you a kiss on the cheek before dropping to lay the blankets out as a makeshift mattress for Puckpatti.

“Self-imposed!” you rasp, stage-swatting at his back, “I could get a job, too!”

“Do you want to?” you want to smack the smug grin off his lips, specifically with your own. In a kiss. For a long while.

“...no.”

He laughs at your sudden shyness. Tempered down only to avoid waking your daughters, “There you go.”

“Boo,” you pull Chilchuck to a stand by the back of his shirt. You pull, and pull, and pull, and you don’t stop until he’s tumbling on top of you into your shared bed, with your door haphazardly kicked shut, “You’re mean to me.”

“I’m mean?!” he whisper-shouts, instantly more affectionate in how he wraps his arms around you and buries his face into your neck, “You choked me, yanking on my shirt like that.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” he abruptly goes limp, “I’m half dead.”

“Half dead isn’t a thing, Chil,” you giggle, trying halfheartedly to shove him off.

“It is, I’m half dead,” he insists, “There’s only one way to revive me.”

“Uh-huh… and that is?”

“A kiss,” Chilchuck lifts his head to look you in the eyes, suggestively bumping his eyebrows, “A sloppy one.”

“No!” you gasp, dramatically.

“Loud and wet,” he nods in even measures, clicking his tongue, “Only way, I guess. Really tough for you.”

“I don’t know about that,” you wiggle out an arm from beneath his body to poke his cheek, “You seem fine now. Very lively and talkative!”

“Means I’m dying faster. It’s the final burst of energy before I shit my pants and die.”

“Ew!” your shout is smothered beneath Chilchuck’s hand, his laughter rumbling your body, forehead digging into your collarbones.

Between choked chuckles Chilchuck manages out a meek, “sorry, sorry!” he gasps for breath and releases your mouth, “That was gross.”

“Yeah, now get off me. You’re nasty.”

“See? You’re mean to me, one mention of shit and I’m just an expendable stud.”

As soon as Chilchuck rolls off you and onto his back, you’re crowding onto him, pawing at his chest and kissing his cheek, “You are a stud.”

“Can I get a kiss for that, at least?”

“I just kissed you, greedy.”

His deadpan stare inspires a bizarre longing in your thumping chest, you stretch to grant his wish. Chilchuck’s hands cup your cheek, holding you close to prolong the kiss as long as you’ll allow. Such restless and selfish want is reserved for behind closed doors, which you wish you could understand, but you don’t.

You’re preoccupied with the dread of death. Half-foots are blessed to live past fifty. Sure, you and Chilchuck are merely scratching at twenty, but life is too short for him to be shy about these things.

“I wish you’d be more open and lovey.”

“Hm?” he hums against your lips, pulling away to stare at you strangely, “Why?”

“‘Why?’” you mock, “I’m your wife! That’s why.”

Instinctually, Chilchuck goes to wave off the answer as a joke and roll his eyes, but then something barks. Both of you pause, heads turning slowly towards the now gaping door to find a shaggy white puppy standing in the dim space. Swiftly, its tail wags, and it barks again before charging towards your bed.

Your screech at the dash rouses Chilchuck from his shock. Clumsily shuffling so he’s in front of you, taking the brunt of the dog’s pounce.

“Since when do we have a dog?!” Chilchuck looks over his shoulder at you, as if you’d know.

“As if I know!” you parrot your thoughts, breath slowing to a calm when the small dog cuddles your husband’s arms, “Kinda cute though, right?”

“He broke in!” Chilchuck accuses, lifting a shoulder to prevent you petting it -- his plan fails miserably and you’re easily scratching behind the dog’s ears, “He could have ticks! He could’ve bit the girls on his way back here!”

“No,” you whine, resting your chin on Chilchuck’s shoulder, “He has a friendly face, he’d never do that!”

“And you know that how…?”

“Aw, Chil, honey, have a heart! He was probably scared of the rain and snuck inside to get away from it!” you reach under the dog’s head to now scritch his chin, “Which is our fault for leaving the door open, isn’t it?” you’re already a lost cause to logic, repeating back to the puppy, “Isn’t it? Yes, it is! Yes, it is! He understands me! He’s so smart, Chil, we have to keep him.”

His silent glowering makes you wilt over his back.

You retreat from the dog to hug your husband from behind, “C’mon, have a heart!”

Irritation pulses through Chilchuck at the turn of tonight’s events. Everything before this dumb dog felt natural, smooth, and familiar. Until you said that.

One thing that makes his heart rate spike. Even though, at twenty, it means very little to him.

‘I wish you’d be more open and lovey.��

He knows this means more.

“Okay, okay,” he eases, snatching a chaste smooch from you before combing a hand down the dog’s soft fur, “I’ll work on it.”

You two never had a dog, though.

Puckpatti is allergic -- you never would’ve gotten a dog since it’d cause your daughter so much distress.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog, but it isn’t a mimic.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog because this isn’t real.

.

.

.

Chilchuck’s eyes drift open, a dusty ceiling stares down at him. Slowly, a crushing weight is relieved from his stomach.

Blonde and black hair mingle in his peripherals, then Laios is leaning over him obnoxiously, speaking to the other two while looking at the half-foot, “Does Chil sleep with his eyes open?”

“No,” Chilchuck takes initiative, shoving Laios away by the chin and sitting up with a yawn. His back cracks unpleasantly, and eye crust pokes into his fluttering lids. Rubbing the gross clots away, Chilchuck settles his elbows onto his knees before resting that way -- leaning into his hands even after his eyes have been cleared out.

For a moment, he silently mourns the fading images of his dream; already having forgotten the beginning. No matter how desperately he clings to the story, it escapes, leaking out his ears until all there is left to mourn is the fact he’s awake.

All he knows is that dream ended differently than it should have. Hopefully the ending this time was better than real life, not that it matters. He wouldn’t remember, nor would it change the fact that in reality you two are not together.

“Chilchuck? Are you okay?” Marcille sounds hesitant. Worried.

The last thing he needs is her fretting and prying into what his Nightmare could’ve been about, so instead he lamely says, “Tired.”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds entirely unconvinced. He’s surprised when she doesn’t push.

He’s further surprised when Laios does, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

…

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Chil’,” you croon, hands curling around the man’s waist as he silently uncorks a bottle of cheap wine. He makes sure not to jostle you off as he moves the dark glass to his lips, even cupping your overlapping hands with one of his own to steady you, “You should talk to me about these things!”

“It was fine, we went in -- got what we needed -- got out. I’m back and alive.”

‘Alive’ strikes you, it sticks in the back of your head as soon as he says it. Your arms tighten around his slim waist, the slots of his ribs dig into your forearms and it makes your chest tighten. Swirling thoughts colliding and dragging each other deeper and deeper into your darker concerns: Chilchuck starving himself to maintain an unhealthy weight, Chilchuck burning calories in a revival, Chilchuck having to drink himself under just to fall asleep.

“Would you tell me if you died?”

“Why would you want to know that?” he laughs, yet you’re frowning into his back.

You bite your lip until raw iron spills onto your tongue, gnawing it with the anxiety of how to soften this question. How marshmallowy can you make your tone to avoid lecturing while also not patronizing him? Eventually, you settle on just spitting it out,

“Would you even remember it?” he hums, confused, “You drink a lot, Chil’.”

He squeezes your hands, setting down his wine to turn in your hold, now cupping your cheeks -- flush with upset and ready to dampen with tears, “I don’t get blackout on jobs, you know?”

“But,” you don’t want to pester him, to drive him away from home even during his off time, “Chil’, honey, you’re… with your weight, alcohol could- well- !”

“I know,” he interrupts your stammering, drawing a thumb across the apples of your face tenderly. Though his posture is rigid, and his next statement confirms your suspicion that he just wants to stop talking about this, “I appreciate you looking out for me, but really, don’t think so much about it. Work’s not worth talking about at home. And my drinking is totally recreational, I want to enjoy myself and unwind, is that so bad?”

“No,” you heave with defeat, now planting your forehead against his shoulder. Clenching his shirt in a bunch, you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze hoping it’ll squash out any thoughts of continuing to nag his drinking. It’ll end the same way it always does.

Chilchuck is fine because work is fine and his drinking is fine and his diet is fine because Chilchuck is perfectly perpetually fine.

You’re just a worrywart wife. Your kids are grown, having flown the coop, and you’re going mad in loneliness. You should think less. You should learn to be fine like your husband.

…

“Woah, no way! They want to meet me?”

“Uh-huh,” Chilchuck’s eyes trail after you as you rush from one end of the room to the other, clicking jewelry clasps and snapping buttons into place as you go, “It’s nothing to dress up over,” when you seem to ignore him, he only gets louder, “We’re gonna be late, you know?”

Let me dress up! is what you want to snap at him, but you don’t. Instead, you let those comments join the many others from him that rattle around in the back of your mind like rocks.

“I want to make a good impression,” you finally utter, “It isn’t like you tell me anything about work, I’m excited to meet your friends! Besides, if you wanted me to be more prepared then you should’ve said something earlier.”

“I get it,” and in a bid to be polite, but just coming out tumbling into the rock pile is, “If you had work friends, I’d wanna meet them, too.”

The obvious dig is that you don’t get out. Now that the girls are older and independently caring for themselves, you could more easily find work… the problem lies in how you don’t really want to. You’d be too scared of Chilchuck returning home to an empty house, whenever it is that he does come home.

The hidden dig is that he’s fibbing, he would never want to meet your friends like you want to meet his.

Nevertheless, you tuck a white hyacinth cob into your hair and head for the spot Chilchuck claims his group frequents for after-work drinks. Before tonight, it never really occurred to you that Chilchuck might be grabbing drinks with other people. Not that such an idea alone is what bothers you, rather that he’s out so often and for so long potentially enjoying himself while you’re stuck at home sick over whether he’s alive.

Upon arrival, a pair of tallmen greet you both. Smiles light up their faces, cheeks balling with glee, when their eyes spot you. It should probably be embarrassing how quickly such an insignificant act can get you excited. You wave and they wave back.

“Gonna introduce the lovely lady?” the slightly taller one, black haired with stubble stretching down his neck, prompts.

“We should get to the table first,” Chilchuck reaches for the door, holding it open for you.

(if you were presenting Chilchuck to your friends then you’d repeat yourself introducing him ad infinitum with shining pride, but you add that thought to your rock collection)

“This is my wife,” Chilchuck pulls out your chair for you, waiting until you’re sat before adding your name and sitting beside you, “Hope she’s everything you all hoped for.”

You choose to ignore that. Preferring to strike conversation with his friends until,

“You know,” the blonde woman at the head of the table leans forward, you’ve been rudely trying to avoid looking at her. But how can you blame yourself when she stares at your husband with such a sultry, lidded gaze, “I think you were exaggerating how spacey she is, Chilchuck. Adorable thing’s been keyed into our conversation the whole time.”

Chilchuck grumbles into his rapidly emptying mug of ale, then locking eyes with the blonde woman, “You don’t live with her.”

“Hey!” you sound bratty and grating with the whine, but your spirit feels worse, “Is that what you tell them about me?”

“And clumsy,” the gnome directly across from you chirps.

“But!” the black-haired one from earlier interrupts, apparently sensing your drowning mood, “You’re a good mom! Great, even!”

“Oh,” the compliment does very little to satiate you, given what’s been said against you (you don’t stop to consider that Chilchuck mentions those things because he finds them charming). You look over to your husband, “I’m a good mom?”

Chilchuck is drunkenly chortling over something you hadn’t heard the blonde woman say.

But at least you’re a good mom.

Something plops against the hand buried in your lap. A scattered white hyacinth. Embarrassed suddenly by how much effort you put into your outfit, you sweep the flower off your leg and stare at the table -- praying to avoid more glimpses of the blonde at the head of the table.

Nobody seems to notice your veil of silence, not even Chilchuck to tease you proving his point about spacing out.

On the trek home, you trail behind Chilchuck to test if he’ll notice. At some point, you’re three full paces behind him, and you theorize that the weight of all your freshly added brain-rocks is slowing you down. Again, he holds the door to your shared home open, but does not ask the cause for your sour mood.

Assuming he’s even noticed, anyway.

Given the way he leaves the next morning for another job with little more than a kiss to your forehead, you assume he didn’t. Venomously, you wonder if he would notice the blonde in a bad mood.

That same morning, not knowing how long he’ll be away this time, you pack up and head for Flertom’s house with Puckpatti.

(a flickering hope tries to toss the rocks through your ears, assuring that Chilchuck will come for you as soon as he’s seen you missing)

…

Four years later, Chilchuck does finally come for you.

“Hey, Mama?” Flertom creeps around the corner to the kitchen, hands wrinkled in the skirt of her dress nervously, “You have a visitor…”

Looking up from your book, you roll the handle of your coffee mug in your palm, making the bottom scrape against your daughter’s tablecloth, “Who’d visit me?”

“Dad.”

That makes you hesitate before slipping your book closed around your thumb, “Your father’s here?”

“He’s at the door,” she nods, voice lowering as if he’d hear her across the house, “There’s an elf lady with him!”

“Oh, you’re- !” you purse your lips, sighing through your nose, and nod. Rising to a stand, you replace your thumb with a proper bookmark before skirting around Flertom and through the hall. Curses coagulate in your throat, and you suffer them silently, holding them until they melt back into your chest, not wanting to swear out your ex in front of his daughter.

With more force than perhaps necessary, you pull the door open and annoyedly flick your eyes from Chilchuck to the blonde elf woman behind him.

“What? Came to show off?”

Chilchuck flushes red, shaking his head and tilting a preciously wrapped bouquet towards you, “No! No, we’re not together.”

Elf Lady lets out a quiet gasp before refusing sharply, “Not together at all! He’s here for you!”

“I figure he’s here for me,” you’re much more bitter than you thought you’d be, although to be fair whenever you imagined Chilchuck coming to see you he was never with another woman, “If you’re not together, why are you here?”

She frowns at your tone, Chilchuck sticking an arm out in front of her, “She’s my coworker. And friend. She pushed me to come see you,” he steps forward, waving the flowers under your nose, “Can we talk?”

“About what, Chilchuck?”

His eyes widen at the use of his formal name, plastic wrap crinkling loudly as he squeezes the flowers. Then his gaze drops to his feet, “I didn’t realize we were so unfamiliar.”

“I haven’t heard from you in four years.”

“You haven’t heard from me?” he grins sideways, an agitated twitch in his left eye, “Do you hear yourself?”

You open your mouth to retort, only to then catch the sight of Chilchuck’s ‘friend’ lingering -- staring -- not even three feet back. Glaring at her, you begin to slide the door shut, “I think we’re done here. You show up at our daughter’s house, unannounced, with some pretty, blonde filly and expect us to chat like old friends? You’re just as insensitive as always, Chilchuck!”

As you go to slam the door, Chilchuck shoves his foot in the way, hissing at the resounding ache all through his instep and ankle. Breathless from the sudden pain, he worms the bouquet through the slim gap -- a few stray powder blue hyacinth petals fluttering to the floor at the pressure. Just above the plush flowers is the sorrowful sight of Chilchuck’s wet lashes and batting eyes.

“Come on,” he huffs, not even taking a huff of relief when you let the door open wider. Tensely, Chilchuck wraps his other hand around the bouquet as well, “It’s not like that, you know me better, don’t you? I just need to talk to you,” the wrap squeals again as he squeezes tighter, “I just want you to tell me where I went wrong.”

He’s playing to your big headedness, vying that he’s alone in the wrong. You know him better, most definitely, you know that as soon as you two sit down he’ll bring up the way in which you left. You deserve that much, don’t you? If you could change anything (given that what you can pick from is what was actually your fault), it would be the manner in how you left. You would’ve waited until he was home to tell him to his face.

(except that’s a lie, if you had waited then you would’ve let him sucker you with soft apologies and unfulfilling promises to change)

This is the most vulnerable you’ve seen him in years.

“She’s not coming into my home.”

Chilchuck nods, lips stretching fondly, “You’re so jealous.”

“She’s tall, and blonde! And pretty. And- !”

He cuts you off, tone just as soft as it was seconds ago, “And I’m not giving her flowers, am I?”

“Apology flowers,” you mutter, though sweeping the bouquet from his arms into yours. Skimming one of the soft petals under your thumb before gliding from one bob to the other and touching there, too. Turning toward the burning feeling of eyes on your back, you find Flertom’s blown out stare meeting yours.

Flertom holds both hands out silently, brows raised. Pushing in neither way, only offering to hold -- whether she holds you or the flowers is your decision. You choose the flowers. She giggles and waves you off, whispering to the flowers about what a lovely, empty vase she has just for them!

“We shouldn’t talk here,” you step out from Flertom’s home, “I don’t want to include our daughter in our troubles.”

“What a good mom,” he teases, waving off the elf as he steps down from Flertom’s porch, holding out a hand to assist you down as well. The remark has a new defiance bubbling beneath your skin.

“I can walk myself,” you bypass his offer.

“I know you can, but let me be nice.”

“You had lots of opportunities to be nice.”

A retort is trapped on the back of his tongue. Ultimately, he swallows it, and says nothing except to suggest a bar nearby, “That could be a good spot,” at your judgmental stare, he sputters, “For talking!”

“Right.”

Chilchuck has a favored tavern in Kahka Brud, the one where you told him you were pregnant with Puckpatti. He, very selflessly and pumped full of blind joy, bought a round for the patrons. It's not a particularly popular or nice place, there’s a lingering smell of mildew and the usual customers are lonely old men (basically: Chilchuck). And the door still creaks when he holds it open for you.

And the tables are just as wobbly when you sit there. Chilchuck tries in vain to mask the tipping by forcing it to one side by pressing his elbows down.

“So, what was she doing there?”

“She kept bugging me about my personal life, so,” he sighs, unsure how to explain himself without sounding out of his mind, “In short, I promised she could meet my family.”

“Pretty against your usual tough front.”

“Not tough,” he folds his arms now, hands on either bicep, still trying to keep the uneven table steady, “I just don’t think they have to know my business.”

“You realize how stupid you sound, right?”

“Oi,” a deep voice approaches from the other side of the bar, a man unfamiliar to both you and Chilchuck stands behind the counter, “We don’t serve kids here.”

Chilchuck groans, pointing at his ears without looking back at the man, then his eyes catch the way you’re prepared to hop down from your seat. He shakes his head, “Don’t move for this dumbass. If he can’t tell a tall-man kid from adult half-foots, he’s a fucking idiot.”

“I guess, but what if he just kicks you out for being a dick?” you glance at the bartender warily, trying to sense if he’s gearing up to throw you and Chilchuck out by force.

“I’m not worried about him,” Chilchuck leans forward, almost as if he can assert control over the situation by a meager height difference, “I’m here to talk to you.”

You’re unsure how to respond to that. It’s something you’ve always wanted to hear from him, but now that you have it feels unsatisfying. After four years of your sudden disappearance from his life, he’s finally given chase.

“Do you have any idea why I left?”

“Roughly,” he admits, voice quiet, eyes redirected to the table in shame, “I wasn’t there for you, right?”

“That’s a bit simplified. When you were on crawls, it felt like you being away for work felt the same as when you were home.”

“I wasn’t there for you,” he restates, nodding slowly, “So, that was it?”

His lack of tension hurts you more than you’re willing to admit. Enough that you temporarily forget that you wanted to make him feel the distance between you both.

“Chil…”

You revert to his first name.

“It’s okay, you can say it. That was it. You had enough.”

It goes unacknowledged, and that hurts all over again. It hurts so bad, you start to get angry that he even maintains such an effect on your heart.

“I didn’t want- it wasn’t- I’m…” you groan loudly, eyes clenching shut to avoid him, “That’s the problem, Chil,” his silence prods you on, “You think of me leaving as… as a ‘that’s it’ moment. Do you know how hard that was on me?”

“Leaving was hard on you? I came home to nothing that day! I thought you were just upset, maybe a little depressed, I didn’t think you were planning to leave me! I never thought you’d leave.”

“I told you. I told you why I was upset.”

“When?”

“I told you all the time!” before he can open his stupid mouth, you’re yelling again, “And if you knew I was so sad, then why didn’t you ask?! Did it never occur to you that I might need support? That I wanted my husband to talk to me about how I felt? That he should talk to me about how he feels?”

“I’m no good with emotional shit, you know that. When I’m upset I just feel uncomfortable spilling that onto others, I didn’t want to intrude.”

“We were married! Spouses are supposed to intrude!”

His shoulders droop, face falling like you said something genuinely devastating (but that can’t be, right? why would he be so upset about something he gave such little thought to?), “Were?”

“I was gone for four years before you came to see me, Chil,” you lay your head in your hands, “Four years before you looked for me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” he whispers, “I asked Fler about you.”

“She never told me that.”

“I told her not to.”

Redundantly, you say, “I didn’t know that.”

“I thought you hated me,” Chilchuck draws a slow breath, it fills his whole chest before he lets it all out, “And for the first couple of months after Fler told me you were safe, I hated you, too. I was so mad that you didn’t even leave a note. I couldn’t eat or sleep, I was just… confused, and angry. I couldn’t work,” he swallows hesitation, “And the worst part was… I couldn’t talk about it because nobody knew you. Re-explaining it to people would just piss me off all over again.”

“Your old coworkers met me. And we grew up with Dandan.”

“I didn’t want to talk to Dandan,” he huffs petulantly, “I wanted to talk to my wife.”

So many feelings are bottled between you both; shaken up to a fizzy, bubbling mess about to explode from one of you. You fear it may be you. You almost crave for it to be him, though. You hate him. You miss him. You love him.

And you’re lying through your teeth, still, because you don’t hate him at all.

“Being with you, I felt so lonely.”

“I never took it seriously when you said I should open up more. I thought that because we were married that was enough and you’d be content to just be there,” he purses his lips, “I was wrong. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you reach across the table and pull one of his hands off his arm, lacing his fingers with yours, “I should’ve left a note. I’m sorry. You must’ve been worried sick.”

“I thought some bastards took you. Ran up and down the coast accusing everyone I could see of kidnapping,” he chuckles, although the ragged beat in his voice clues to you that the incident was not as lighthearted as he’s making it seem, “But when I found out the truth, I just thought you didn’t want to be found.”

“Because you wouldn’t want to be found, right?”

“Right.”

“But- !”

“You’re not me,” he squeezes your hand tight, you can feel the full warm softness of his palm without those gloves he pulls on for work, “You’re way different. You run away to prove points,” a bratty hey! follows, “You know yourself really well, and you’re good at being open. I’ve never been like that. I never knew how, it makes me uncomfortable. But you’re my,” he swallows, “You were my wife, I should’ve been comfortable being emotional with you. You shouldn’t have been in a position where me being home was the same as me being gone for days on end.”

“Thanks, Chil,” you smooth a thumb from his knuckle and along his index finger. You glance back up to his face. A sick nostalgia, or perhaps revived affections, rage up from your gut and overdriving your heartbeat. He’s more handsome than you remember.

He shrugs, studying your conjoined hands. As if it’s the last time he’ll see them like this.

It might be.

“What now?” you ask.

“Dunno,” he replies.

Is it pathetic if you ask to get back together? (YES)

“Want to meet my new coworkers?” he blurts, a vicious red overtaking his face.

This is a step. Where exactly, you’re completely in the dark, but it certainly is a step somewhere new.

“You’re seriously not with that elf, right?”

“Of course, not! What kind of person tries reuniting with their wife while bringing a new girlfriend along?”

“You really want that answer?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he snides, getting down from his chair and holding out a hand to help you down. This time, you take it, and leave his palm in yours as you both exit the bar, “By the way, my old boss is a king now.”

“What?” you gasp, spare hand flying down to smooth out your outfit, “Tell me we’re not going yet! I can look nicer than this!”

“You look pretty like this,” his eyes scrawl over your frame, “Not that it matters, right?”

“Why not?” you frown, “I should at least try to look my best in front of a king.”

“He’s just some guy,” he double-backs suddenly, shaking his head sternly, “I don’t even think he’s attracted to people, I think he’s into monsters. You shouldn’t waste your time.”

Oh!

You smile at your husband widely, “You’re jealous!”

“Not even a little. Why would I be?”

“Exactly,” you pull him into your side by your hand in his, “Why would you be?”

Is it pathetic for him to beg to renew your vows?

Yes.

Does he still plan to?

Yes.

…

“You have a wife?”

“Is that so surprising?” Chilchuck can’t help but preen at the shock, carding a hand through his hair like some pompous dork trying to act too cool for the attention, “Yeah, I’m a taken man.”

Clara, a blonde tallman he usually laughs at rather than with, pesters for more information, “What’s she like?”

Her curiosity makes his skin itch, so he shrugs and tries throwing out answers as fast as they come, “Kind of a space case, and clumsy. But it’s cute…” he scoffs when his party coos and ‘aww’s like he’s some kid talking about a crush rather than a grown man his wife, “She’s really caring, too, it made her a good mom,” Chilchuck clears his throat, if only to smother the sight of his broad grin with his hand, “She’s great.”

“We should meet her,” his black-haired cleric suggests suddenly, “She probably wants to know what group has her husband away from home so often. Hopefully she doesn’t hate us, huh?”

“No,” Chilchuck lowers his hand, still feeling a gentle giddy lap over him like sunlight at the thought of you, “She’s pretty understanding.”

~~~

+ and btw and fyi: i think it’d be cool if the dream was actually terrible and only appeared pleasant cuz laios saved chil, like how marcille remembered having a nice dream after being saves. like if the real dream was coming home from a long job to discover his family horribly murdered <3