#(see chapter 57)

[wastrelwoods]

marcilles HARD SWING from being motivated by one flawed framework of beliefs (these two tallmen are too baby shaped to make decisions for themselves and i, the wise elf, must take responsibility for them) to a totally different one (i should overturn death itself). elf hubris to wizard hubris pipeline. whiplash. best character of all time

[elliada]

Haunted House Meme: Kaiju No.8 Edition.

(Warnings: heavy spoilers and bad humour)

[possamble]

do you ever think about how Laios's first impression of Marcille's so different from how Marcille probably was the year the party was together? She was so angry about being separated from Falin and acting like a disapproving schoolmaster but then Marcille spent the next year clinging to Falin probably. Duality of elf.

i do!! like, chapter 57 opens with this

before showing what Marcille was like back then... it's not too too hard to imagine her being very placidly friendly and polite to the party to win them over, while being kinda harsh on Laios. Even her affection for Falin is something that would be a part of that entire demeanour, as she's seen being stern with Falin if need be between the doting.

I wonder how long it took her to start actually open up. I'm assuming it was just her gradually putting her guard down over the course of actually having fun throughout the year... coming out of her shell now that she gets to spend time with Falin at the same time as studying her main area of interest.

[tonguetiedraven]

"I vowed to rely on myself, and I should do the best I can.

I'm the hero of this fight!"

[acourtofquestions]

Welcome to me being an irresponsible insomniac (& making future me hate past me for this😂 because I need to read at least one chapter a day with these cliffhangers😅 & I have no introvert time these days I NEED THIS NOT SLEEP😂) and thanks to my normal annotation sources still down you get a spam post! (I really don’t expect anyone to read these but it’s kinda fun for future fangirl me to have history of “what I thought” in my first read or “when I read it” etc.)

SO, EoS (spoiler warning for anything below the “more bar of safety” ;-) Chapter 55: updates to come as I read!

— The fact Lorcan’s biggest fear is how much it would hurt Elide to see her Queen destroyed says A LOT

— Okay so Fenrys and Gavriel were able to resist the order from a distance (good to know)

— interesting that she’s calm, not firey, not icy rage

— eight against five hundred (I MEAN COME ON)

— When Fenrys first said “divide it up” I totally thought he was braiding his hair😂

— the way Rowan knew she’d suggest the key before she did, and the way he (unfortunately) meant it he would die before letting her do that to herself… but also what does he think happens with the lock (that he’ll allow?) … I just don’t trust anything to do with these mystery items

— “You don’t give me orders.”— gasps oh no she didn’t oh yes she did

— At first I thought Aedion was riling her up to stir the fire and give her more power or something, and now I conquer with Arlin’s “assessment (or should I say sass meant)” he’s just being an ass & I don’t get it. Sure she “had a choice” but also “yeah, she didn’t” (and also it wouldn’t have been the right move anyways) and my gods can she do anything right by all of you? — like Aedion I love you, I know you love Aelin, and you have a right to be angry (she should tell you more, yes, you do know wars, but ALSO) do you not see what she knows? What she carries? What she’s stuck in and going through too? THIS IS NOT THE TIME (ur dad was right Aedion😂) and WHY IS EVERYONE SO HARD ON HER? — I feel like fandoms & series pick this one thing or one character & tear them apart so much more & I don’t understand it with her right now (reminds me of Nesta or Chaol or any of the many) and just Brannon’s dam warning.

— okay a little better teamwork, we’ll take it

— the ding dang lockboxed key🤦‍♀️

— Her taking a moment to hold Lysandra’s hand🥹 (hey this time they are braiding there hair😂… but wait why would she if she’s a shape shifter???) ps Aedion this was Lysandra’s idea so don’t go blaming Aelin AGAIN — another genius gal pal plan for the win!

— guess Rowan took the “my lady” request to heart😂 also this is making me lean towards the Scottish accent theory

— “don’t miss this time” “asshole” — couldn’t have said it better myself

— you know it’s bad when Manon Blackbeak isn’t the Apex predator😅😅

— thank you manorian but also HEY! listen to Aelin NO KILLING DORIANS PLEASE (at least Chaol would be proud😅😂 SHE TRIED)

— well there’s a load of lines in her prep for war monologue

— “the list of horrible/wonderful things Aelin says to Rowan”😂😂😂

— “horrible miserable Lorcan” she said with appreciation?🤣 (honestly though their… dare I say friendship? Idk) has been cracking me up

— “Remember who you are. Every step of the way down, and every step of the way back. Remember who you are. And that you're mine.” — gonna go cry again — HE TURNED THE MARKS INTO TATTOO SCARS — “That he was hers, just as she was his.” — he waited on the sandbank like a puppy🥺

— That Court moment of finally realizing she is their queen and they all belong to each-other like one big happy about to fight 500 demons in the middle of Shrek’s swamp family (reminds me of Feyre & Cassian fight when she gets back from Spring Court; a scene I actually love with their friendship/family/Court/ you matter message!)

— that explains the distraction and magic issue… I really do think it has no end for better or worse…😬

— “For the deeper she went into her power, the more her body, her mind, squeezed under the pressure of it. That was the burnout--when that pressure won, when the magic was drained too fast or too greedily, when it was spent and still the bearer tried to claw deeper than it should.” — a good way to explain the magic burnout

— “The true might of Aelin Fire-Bringer. Not an ember less.” — she claimin titles, LETS GOOOOO

— “So Aelin abandoned every trapping of civilization, of conscience and rules and humanity, and plummeted into her fire. She flew for that flaming abyss, only distantly aware of the humidity lying thick on her skin, of the pressure building in her head. She'd shoot straight down--and push off the bottom, bringing all that power with her to the surface. The drag would be enormous. And it would be the test, the true test, of control and strength. Easy--so easy to spear into the heart of fire and ash. The hard part was bringing it up; that was when the cracking would occur. Deeper and deeper, Aelin shot into her power. Through distant, mortal eyes, she noted the ilken sweeping closer. A mercy--if they had once been human, perhaps obliterating them would be a mercy.” — well that all sounds dangerous on many levels

— The Queen of Flame and Shadow, the Heir of Fire, Aelin of the Wildfire, Fireheart... — the way Fireheart is the last one the one identity she holds closest😭 also all these names just THIS scene

— “She burned through each title, even as she became them, became what those foreign ambassadors had hissed when they reported on a child-queen's growing, unstable power in Terrasen. A promise that had been whispered into the blackness.” — THIS is what I’ve been talking about RECLAIM IT

— THE INFERNO WENT ON AND ON

— so many ash references… how interesting

[rainbow-arrow]

they're getting so close

[dbphantom]

Holy shit... Only twenty days until The Unknown Goofy Announcement on July 22nd

I'm going to be SO normal about this. Promise.

[svnnw]

WHEN YOU SMILE — mark smau

after barely passing your recent exam you're now desperately looking for someone to tutor you so your friends wouldn't worry about you and your grades.

or in which you find yourself making a deal with mark lee, a top students who seeks for your help. mutual benefit right?

fake boyfriend!mark x fem!reader

GENRE — fluff, angst, slowburn, comedy, humor, fake dating, non-idol au, college au

WARNINGS — a little bit of cursing, reader is kind of mean to mark, mark is REALLY nice, reader gets teased a lot, features other idols : xiaojun (nct); jaemin (nct); giselle (aespa); natty (kiof); haechan (nct); chenle (nct); ningning (aespa); minji (nwjns)

STATUS — ongoing

PLAYLIST — wildflower – billie eilish [02:14] ; sure thing – miguel [02:16] ; iris – the goo goo dolls [00:11] ; nobody gets me – sza [00:38] ; 200 – mark [01:04] ; godspeed – frank ocean [00:33] ; infrunami – steve lacy [00:32] ; intro (end of the world) – ariana grande [01:08] ; margaret – lana del rey [03:57] ; we can't be friends – ariana grande [02:27]

TAGLIST — open

A/N — soo excited for this smau especially because i've been wanting to post a mark smau for soo long!!

profile 1 || profile 2

1 ) how can you fail the easiest class

2 ) does this mean we're friends

3 ) just you wait

4 ) haechan's birthday party

5 ) officially fake dating

6 ) she's my friend

7 ) y/n is missing??

8 ) crazy fangirls

9 ) showing off while you're sleeping is crazy

10 ) does she hate me?

11 ) ILL FIGHT FOR YOU

12 ) i need advice

13 ) i guess i can forgive you..

14 ) mellowed out like crazy

15 ) YOU HAVE A SON???

16 ) bro tweets like a poet

17 ) why do i have to study even if i passed

18 ) this is a set up i just know it

19 ) 7 minutes in heaven

20 ) i bet his name starts with m and end with ark

21 ) i'd do anything to see her smile again

22 ) my angel

23 ) mark is down bad

24 ) it's not that important huh?

25 ) are you at a photoshoot

26 ) mark you're just jealous admit it

27 ) you're lowkey speaking facts..

28 ) this is what i call mandela effect

29 ) is that your secret man cave

30 ) my pretty angel

31 ) so was i ugly yesterday?

32 ) you're so easy to gaslight xiaojun..

33 ) what did i tell you?

34 ) since we're already here..

35 ) and that kids is how we kissed.

36 ) matching shirts with my new best friend

37 ) you've always been cute

38 ) crazy how you broke haechans record

39 ) so i'm that important to you?

40 ) you're a very socially awkward guy

41 ) just go and check twitter

42 ) i'm gonna rip my hair out

43 ) ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY??

44 ) WELL YOU THINK WRONG ❌

45 ) when you smile

bonus chapters :

who does he think he is?

dude yk i didnt mean it like that..

© svnnw

[cxffecoupx]

sundays

choi seungcheol x reader pure fluff, very domestic allowing their partner to sleep in because they were overworked anyway and need the rest with scoups wc: 995 warnings: mentions of food author's notes: first request from the prompt list. thank you so much anon! most of the feelings i wrote this with comes from all the stress last week, so this was pretty healing for me to write. also i tried a different style in this, not sure i liked it at first, but do lemme know what you guys think. also, i love domestic, boyfriend seungcheol, if it wasnt already obvious.

saturday; 8:26 p.m.

the soft vibrations startle you in the quiet hum of the library. people look towards you, some annoyed, some with no particular expression on their faces. dead inside.

somewhat like you.

you mutter apologies as you rush out with your phone. seungcheol's name lights up the screen. you pick up the call.

"hey baby."

"hey, cheollie."

"have you eaten yet?"

"no; i still have a little to finish the chapter. so maybe after that..."

"baby..." you swear you could see the pout on his face when you hear his voice. "how many times have i asked you not to starve yourself?"

"cheol, i'm not starving, i promise to eat after this chapter."

"you want me to order something for you?"

"no no, i'm good. i'll grab something from the cafe. i gotta go, i'll call you when i reach room, okay?"

after a hum, you end the call and go back to your table.

-----

saturday; 11:52 p.m.

you were writing notes - two three textbooks open on the desk, along with your laptop, and notebook on your lap, your pen tucked above your lips as you ponder something. the weighted blanket covers the chair and your figure, and although sleep is fluttering in your eyes, the thought of having to physically get up and out of this cozy comfortable cocoon makes you wanna sleep in the chair itself.

your phone buzzes with a text, making you groan because you'd have to pull yourself out of the position you're currently in. you do it anyways, and see that seungcheol had sent you a text.

big baby🍒: you up for a walk? me: i have to study me: :( big baby🍒: who are you kidding? big baby🍒: we both know youre falling asleep rn me: >:( me: but you make a good point me: when are you leaving? i'll get ready big baby🍒: already in front of your door

you get ready quickly and open the door to find seungcheol waiting out, cheeks red and lips shivering. you smile as you pull his face to yours to kiss his lips, mumbling a weak excuse that it's to warm them up. he wraps his scarf round your neck and interlinks your hands as you head for the walk.

when you return an hour later, it's with much reluctance that seungcheol says he should leave. but then he pouts every half minute after muttering his decision.

"do you wanna stay over tonight?" you offer, knowing fully well he would never reject. he doesnt even hear the whole question before he's kicking off his shoes and entering your room. you head over to your wardrobe to take out some of his clothes he'd left behind at various points of your relationship and bring it to him. when he's done freshening up, he comes out to see you settling back into your cocoon, head deep in the books. he decides to keep company as he lays on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

-----

sunday; 2:57 p.m.

seungcheol had fallen asleep some multiple times in between keeping you silent company, but when he wakes up now, he's full awake and shocked to see you still sitting at your desk, now with some snack packets littering around. he decides to walk over and call you to bed, but that's when he notices that your eyes are half-closed and your head hanging in a way that makes him wince. drool almost makes its way down your chin before he takes a tissue and wipes it off. he gently nudges you awake.

"yn, baby. you need to get to bed. come on now."

he's honestly surprised when you easily comply, maybe because of your half-asleep state, because usually you'd reject and sit for some time more. the walk that he'd planned to tire you out had worked, he thinks to himself, as he supports your asleep body to your bed and lays you down, tucking you in the soft, weighted blanket - your favourite - before settling in beside you.

as he drifts back to sleep, he hears you murmur to him.

"seungie, wake me up early tomorrow, okay?"

it's only after he reassures you that he will that you finally wrap your arms around his torso and settle into the warmth of his chest before falling asleep.

-----

sunday; 11:17 a.m.

seungcheol is awakened by you snuggling closer to him. it's way past the time he was asked to wake you up at, but he wouldn't dare wake you up when you seemed to sleep so peacefully. that too on an off day? he could never.

he takes his sweet time admiring your features during this moment of calm: your eyelids that are open in the slightest, the little sniffs with each breath you take because winters meant you're cold at every passing moment, the hair that fell out of the neat bun you made before going to bed, puffy cheeks that seem to move as you chew on something in your dream (he guesses). his urge to touch your face overpowers every other thought as he lightly traces his finger along the line of your brow. this seemed to have woken you up because you sigh before opening your eyes; the first thing you see in the morning being his handsome, bed-face that's smiling towards you.

a view you could never get tired of.

you press the lightest of kisses on his lips and turn to check your phone. panic seeps into your brain within a millisecond when you realize its way past your wake-up time. you sit up in a swift motion.

"cheol, i asked you to wake me up at 7!"

"relax baby, it's a sunday."

"but-"

before you could argue back, he sits up and places a smooch on your lips.

"no buts. you don't have to rush every time; it's alright to take breaks."

another kiss.

"good morning, baby. let's go make some pancakes."

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Water is Thicker Than Blood Chapter 48

he was actually looking at his SUIT!!!!!!! MWAH HAH HAH HAAA!

{Start} {Prev Next} {MasterPost}

Fourty Eight chapters. There is now twice as many chapters in this as I thought there would be before I gave up on typing out my original outline. I just read the doc back and im glad i didnt stop it at just 24 cuz that would have sucked ass, im glad i spent 57 weeks of my life writing this silly little story.

i stopped typing up the outline because i kept adding more things in the middle of the chapter outlines and i just kept getting more and more behind.

when im done writing this story, I think i would like to live stream going through all the chapters and adding director's commentary to them. If i do I'll definitely read out my outline as well, and y'all will see why I'm not writing this story as a fan fiction.

It would be fun putting on character voices, too, i can dig it. lmk if thats something yall would be interested in. Of course we have a loooooong way to go until i finish this story still, so ah,,, yeah keep tuned

dont run away from that TV! Wittb will be right back after these commercials. (the commercials last for a week)

anyway, this is the shirt that the one that Sabo picks up is inspired by:

[set-wingedwarrior]

I'm preparing for this exam and because i'll get two chances i'm basically studying through doing exercises alone withouth reading all the textbook's chapters (to be quicked) and idk if I should feel proud or what for my consistent scores of more or less 50% at every frist try lmao

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 7•\

Former and further chapters can be found here.

You and Johnny kiss. With company. Ghoap/fem!reader, dry humping, kissing, handjobs, exhibitionism, suggestion of blowjobs.

-

Kissing Johnny only gets easier, and it was easy to begin with.

-

The next morning sees you running late for work. After your late night, you had forgotten to set your alarm and hadn’t awoken until the sun spilled in through your open curtains and you could hear the sound of Simon bustling around at the other end of the apartment. You had taken the quickest shower of your life, brushed your teeth, and done your best to make yourself presentable, rehearsing potential excuses in your head for your boss. There was a crash on I-57; my car broke down; a child fell down a well… 

You didn’t even have time to grab a cup of Simon’s coffee before you were wrenching the front door open, but when Johnny calls out sharply for you to halt, you are startled enough into stopping your frenzied rush, turning to blink at his careful, limping approach. He cups your jaw and brings your mouth to his, tasting like creamer and sugar, just the way you like your coffee. 

“Have a good day, hen,” he says when he pulls back, giving you an innocuous smile. 

Your eyes flitter to Simon, who is leaning with one hip against the kitchen island, coffee halfway to his mouth, brows raised—it’s reflexive to check on him, to make sure that Johnny hasn’t made him angry with this sudden show of affection. To make sure that you’re allowed to enjoy it. When Simon’s coffee finally completes its circuit to his mouth, you look back at Johnny and give him a shy smile. 

“You too,” you say for lack of better words. After you shut the door, you mouth to yourself, Oh my god. Then you remember your own lateness and rush down to the parking lot, praying for green lights all the way to work. 

Inside the apartment, Johnny fixes Simon with a smug expression. 

Simon shakes his head, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. 

-

When you get home from work, feet aching and a knot in your neck, it all seems to melt away as Johnny sits up from where he was slumped on the couch and draws you onto his lap. You’re careful not to put too much pressure on his bad thigh, gripping his shoulders tightly, eyes flickering around the apartment looking for the looming presence of Johnny’s other half once Johnny’s intent seems clear. 

“Where’s Simon?” you breathe. 

“Out,” says Johnny, taking your chin in his fingers and coaxing you down toward his mouth. He pauses, lips nearly brushing. “Should we wait so he can watch?” 

“What?” 

Johnny grins. He leans up the last few hairs’ breadths and kisses you, and Simon finds you in a similar place nearly an hour later. 

You’ve shifted of course, unable to kneel for so long without your legs falling asleep. Now Johnny lays with his bad thigh braced against the back of the couch, legs opened for you to be nestled between, your arms looped around his neck so you can play with the soft hairs at the back of his head. 

Your mouth feels numb from kissing, your thoughts syrupy and slow, focused only on the softness of Johnny’s mouth, the way his stubble rubs your cheeks raw (and your neck, when he gives your mouth a break and trails his lips down your jaw to the space between your neck and shoulder). Your head feels light and airy, your heart too, positively buoyant with all the affection. The only part of you that doesn’t feel sleepy and slow is that needy place between your legs; there you ache, slick enough for your panties to stick to you every time you shift. 

Johnny isn’t unaffected, either. He’s been hard since he dragged you onto his lap, but he seems completely content to do nothing about it. Anytime you try to escalate your kisses into something a little firmer, a little more satisfying, he drags you back to that soft and slow place where it feels like all your thoughts leak out your ears. 

“Johnny,” you breathe into the crook of his neck, resting your own sore one. He hums in answer. “Don’t you want—more?” 

“Got you in my lap,” he says, hands massaging your hips firmly. “What more could I possibly want?” 

You let your pelvis settle a little more firmly against his own, rocking against his hard cock. He can’t control the way his breath hitches at the stimulation, fingertips digging into your flesh. 

“Oh, him?” Johnny asks innocently. “Just ignore him.” 

“I don’t want to ignore him,” you mutter sulkily. “I want to sit on him.” 

Johnny guffaws. Beneath you, his cock twitches. 

The door opens and Simon enters. He’s dripping sweat from his run, and for the first time you notice the backpack he carries with him, the way it seems to droop against his back, like it’s filled with something heavy. All three of you freeze at the sight of the other. The moment is broken by a buzzing—Simon fishes his phone from his pocket and sighs, pressing it to his ear. 

“I’m listening,” he says, shutting the front door behind him. 

Johnny reaches out softly and turns your chin back towards him. There is something in his eyes, something mischievous, but all he does is coax your mouth back down to his and kiss you again. You sigh against his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he sucks sweetly on your tongue. You hear the sound of Simon’s voice, but his words go in one ear and out the other, the warm rumble of his tenor doing nothing to help the ache between your thighs. 

Johnny grips your hips in his hands and—oh, oh god. He rocks you gently against him, his cock brushing against your soaked sex through your respective layers. It sends a jolt through you, even this small stimulation feeling good after denying yourself for so long. You can’t help the sound that slips out of your throat, the little whine that Johnny swallows whole and matches with a warm, pleased hum. 

You know what he’s doing now. Had he planned it to be like this? It’s hard to imagine that he hadn’t, not with his earlier flippant phrase of waiting for Simon to watch. Respectability wars with your own need, and you find that it’s far too easy to let your need win, to let Johnny’s hands guide you against his cock again and again, stoking that fire in your belly into something transcendental, something too big to be ignored. 

“Johnny?” you hear Simon say to whoever is on the other end of the phone, the name briefly breaking through your stupor. “Being a pain in my ass, as usual.” 

You break away from Johnny’s mouth but can’t seem to stop the gentle rolling of your hips. Instead you bury your face in his neck, hoping for some reprieve from the embarrassment that has your face aflame, from the shame that seems to be doing nothing but whetting the ache between your legs. 

“Johnny,” you whine quietly. “Be fair.” 

“What’s unfair?” he breathes. He jerks his hips up against you softly. “Oh—this? You want me to stop? Just say the word.” 

You chance a glance toward Simon and find that he still has the phone pressed to his ear, but his eyes are focused firmly on you and Johnny, his expression of greater intensity than usual: brows lower, eyes darker, scarred mouth barely parted, like he has something to say but can’t. He meets your eyes and hums something noncommittal into the phone. You wonder if he’s paying attention to the call at all. 

Simon turns his eyes away. He reaches down and grips the hem of his shirt, lifts it up to wipe at his dripping brow, and it gives you a glance of his body: pale and scarred, but so fucking strong, muscled with a nice layer of padding. Fuck, they are both so painfully beautiful. You realize that Johnny has stopped his gentle ministrations on your hips and that now all the movement is due to you: you’re the one grinding against his hard cock. You hide in his neck again, placing sloppy kisses against his steady pulse. 

“That’s it,” Johnny mutters, barely loud enough for you to hear. His hands slip around to cup your arse. “Does that feel good?” 

You nod. Anything would feel good after so much time spent on the most innocent of foreplay, anything would feel good with how swollen and wet you were. Johnny’s hands press against you, lengthening your strokes, turning your hasty, jerky movements into slow, sensual rolls of your hips, maximizing the contact between you both. 

“Sit up, I want to see you,” he whispers. Your head is so full of cotton that you do, forgetting for a moment that Simon is there. He’s watching you again, one hand braced against the countertop, dark eyes watching the way you grind against his husband’s cock, knuckles white where he grips the phone and presses it to his ear, giving the occasional grunt to whomever is on the other line. Johnny says: “Fuck, yer beautiful.” 

You ignore that, unwilling to let him fluster you any more than you already are. Instead you brace your hands against his chest and quicken your hips, feeling the coil inside your belly twist tight. You’ve needed to cum since last night, since Johnny first kissed you with Simon right there watching. All you want is to feel that sweet burst of pleasure, to let it rise up like high tide and drown you. Johnny’s hands smooth along your thighs and up your belly and cup the fullness of your breasts, and that’s all you need to cover your face, mouth falling open as a painfully embarrassing sound is torn from your throat. Your body is wracked with shivers as your pussy clenches tight around nothing, and you’d forgotten over the years just how unsatisfying these kinds of orgasms could be. You needed something inside you, something you could clench down on, if only Johnny had been willing to give it to you. 

A door clicks shut. Your misty eyes open to find that Simon is gone. 

“Beautiful,” Johnny says, drawing you back down into his arms for a kiss. Against your mouth, he mutters: “Yer perfect.” 

“We scared off Simon,” you groan, forehead resting against his own. Beneath you, his cock is still hard, reminding you that he still hasn’t cum yet—likely can’t with just this level of stimulation. 

“Yeah, he’s scared t’ death,” Johnny says, eyes rolling, his hands smoothing up and down the small of your back. “Probably already got his cock out in the next room.” 

You frown. That wouldn’t make any sense. You decide to focus on what does make sense—helping Johnny find his own pleasure. Reaching down, you lightly trail your fingers over his clothed cock, feeling positively electric when he gives a shaky sigh, cock jerking beneath your tentative touch. 

“Want some help?” you ask. 

He just gives you a soft smile. “Actually, I know just the person who’s going to help me.” 

-

When Johnny enters the bedroom, Simon is nowhere in sight. The light coming from beneath the ensuite door tells him all he needs to know. He raps his knuckles against the door and waits, unable to help the grin that stretches his mouth and the way his cock nudges at the fly of his denim. The door opens and a hand reaches out, gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him in, pressing him back against the door with enough force to rattle the knob. 

“Hi love,” Johnny coos. “How was your run?” 

Simon kisses him, sucks on his full lower lips, licks into his open mouth like it is a cup he can drink his fill from. Johnny meets him with equal fervor, his hands falling to find Simon’s belt already undone, his cock already free and hard. It’s a warm, familiar weight in his palm as he strokes his lover and thumbs at the leaking head. 

“Not—not being subtle at all,” Johnny warns him. 

Simon just grunts in between kisses. 

“What, can you taste her on me?” Johnny teases. 

Simon groans and buries his face in the crook of Johnny’s neck where you had buried your own. He presses his mouth to every mark you left behind, teases your teeth marks with his own, hips thrusting into the tight fist of Johnny’s hand. 

“You’re not subtle either,” Simon grits out, palms placed flat on the oak door, pinning Johnny in place. “She’s going to catch on that you’re trying to play matchmaker.” 

“I’m not aiming for subtle,” Johnny breathes. He presses Simon back with a palm against his chest and drops to his knees, even as Simon’s eyes tighten with disapproval, knowing Johnny can’t remain in the position long. Johnny just grins, easy and lighter than he’s felt in weeks. “I’ve got about five minutes before my leg starts killin’ me…think you can cum before then?” 

“I think that depends on how good your mouth treats me,” Simon says. 

“I’d better get to work then, hadn’t I?”

[possamble]

Needlessly close reading and long commentary on chapter 57 and how the audience actually has an extremely limited view on what Marcille has been like over the course of her life.

I am once again thinking about how pre-dungeon Marcille is so quiet and stoic that she seems like a completely different person. How jarring chapter 57 is for the audience. Like you have Marcille, who has been just the most blindingly expressive person with resting baby face

And then the chapter drops a title page of Marcille hearing from Falin for the first time in four years and it's like.

Who is that. Genuinely. Would you even realize that's Marcille without the context clues?

And then the chapter just keeps coming in with the sucker punches.

We have SEEN Marcille meet strangers. It was never with this understated of a smile.

literally who the hell is this. the few times the audience gets to see some Signature Marcille Faces that they're used to is when she finally gets to see Falin again

when she's testing out her new spells

(and when Laios and Falin are fantasizing about her being their damsel in distress, funnily enough)

And then finally. Finally you get to a fully recognizable Marcille when she fucking DIES and comes back to life to geek out about necromancy.

We know she loves magic. We know she loves Falin. So it's not so surprising that she wouldn't be able to keep a mask up when thinking or talking about the things she loves. But why the mask in the first place? Where does it come from? It's tempting to think that, maybe, Falin's departure just hurt her so much that it turned her into a quiet person.

But that's only half true. If you go back, the first instance you see of this incredibly mild personality is actually introduced much earlier, in chapter 17.

What if she was always like that. What if her default after her father died was to hold people at arm's length, to never really emote past being polite and friendly. What if Falin was the first person who was able to bring her out of her shell, and when she left, Marcille just went back to how she was.

And when comparing her detached demeanour with someone else...

It's not exact, but wouldn't you say there's a resemblance? Wouldn't you think she might be trying her best to imitate what she saw of her own mother working as an accomplished mage?

It would certainly explain why she's hiding behind her portrait in her nightmare, at least.

We aren't told that Marcille has been distancing herself from everyone around her using a mature and dignified personality she modelled off her mother. But we sure as hell are shown it, I think.

[ckret2]

Chapter 57 of human Bill Cipher is no longer the Mystery Shack's prisoner—but at what cost:

The execution of Bill Cipher.

Saturday, 6:30 a.m.

Ford hadn't slept well.

He'd elected to spend the night on his cot down in his study. Even though he had no proof and a solid metal barrier in his head, there was an irrational part of him that feared Bill might be able to read his mind and predict his plans if he was too close to him. He'd decided it was easier to just sleep somewhere "safe" than spend all night trying to argue his own brain out of its paranoia.

The safety hadn't been much of a comfort. Every time he opened his eyes, he was sure he could see the outline of the Quantum Destabilizer laying on the worktable across the room.

He gave up and got up for breakfast an hour after sunup.

When he exited the vending machine, the first thing he heard was muffled pop music and laughter from the living room. He pushed open the door; Bill and Mabel were up with the sun as well and had apparently elected to throw a spontaneous dance party. Mabel had set her boombox on the TV, was blasting the soundtrack from one of her cartoons—"Let's tag along, with Cinnamon, 'cause all you have to do is believe!"—and was unsuccessfully attempting to teach Bill a dance move.

"You have to do it like this," Mabel said, pointing at her legs, which were crossed at the knees with her left foot crossed over her right foot.

"That is what I'm doing." Bill's left foot was positioned straight in front of his right foot.

"No it's not! Look, you've got to move your left foot further to the right!"

Bill looked at his feet, looked at Mabel's dubiously, and looked back at his own; and then hesitantly scooted his left foot a few inches to the right.

"Yes," Mabel sighed. "That's step one, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now step two!" Mabel swung out her right foot and crossed it over her left ankle.

Bill swung out his right foot and placed it down directly in front of his left foot.

"Bill!"

"What!"

Mabel cracked up and leaned against Bill's side, hugging him, while he protested, "I'm doing the same thing you are! It looks exactly the same! Don't play mind games with me, Shooting Star."

Curious. Was this a second dimensional thing—did crossing his legs over each other not come naturally to Bill? But Ford had seen him cross his legs while seated plenty of times. Maybe it was only when he was trying to dance? Ford had been taking notes on Bill's body language in human form; maybe he should make a note of this—

Why bother? What value did the information have? When Bill would be gone forever in a few hours.

Bill had coaxed Mabel into giving up the dance lesson and switching to something more freeform, grabbing her hands and spinning around the room with her to a far goofier song with annoying sound effects. His gaze glanced over Ford, glanced away; and then he stopped and did a double take, almost throwing Mabel off-balance. "What's with the sour face?" he demanded, breathing heavily from exertion. "Hey, am I not allowed to dance now?" Mabel glanced back at Ford.

Ford just shook his head dismissively and hurried through the living room, heading to the kitchen. He had the unsettling feeing that Bill had seen more than he let on in Ford's face. He told himself, again, that Bill couldn't read his mind. Not like this, anyway.

####

6:35 a.m.

Ford was making breakfast when Dipper came downstairs. Dipper glanced into the living room, then lowered his eyes and hurried past without greeting Mabel. He couldn't meet Ford's eyes, either.

That was kind of how Ford felt, too. "Eggs and bacon?"

"Just eggs."

"Scrambled?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

He added a couple of eggs, and a couple more for Mabel.

"Good morning!" Stan's greeting made both Ford and Dipper flinch; it was far too boisterous for the somber room. It almost sounded forced. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Ford glanced toward the window. The sky was gray and overcast. "Eggs and bacon?"

"Yeap, thanks."

He added more to the skillet. "You're cheerful this morning."

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, a shade defensively. "Aren't you?"

Ford offered him a wan smile. "Of course."

Dipper just stared at the table, looking slightly sick to his stomach.

####

6:40 a.m.

The only ones who seemed to be in a genuinely good mood were Mabel and Bill, bounding into the kitchen, still breathing heavily from their exercise. Mabel moonwalked across the kitchen until she bumped backwards into a chair. She sat and flopped over the kitchen table, arms stretched out across the tabletop, and only sat up when Ford sat a plate in front of her. Bill looked at the filled chairs, the four Pines with their four plates of food, and the empty skillet, and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. "No, that's fine," he said, still catching his breath, "I didn't want breakfast anyway. Thanks for asking."

"Bill! Ask nicely," Mabel said.

"Please don't make me starve, while I watch you eat, because you've magically ensured I can't feed myself."

Mabel pushed her chair out to stand, but said, "I don't think that was nice."

But Ford sighed and stood first. "I'll deal with it." Maybe providing the death row inmate his last meal would help assuage Ford's misguided conscience. When Bill saw Ford get out the eggs and bacon again, he frowned and looked almost ready to say something; but he just shrugged moodily and looked away.

For a few minutes, an awkward silence reigned over the room as Ford cooked Bill's breakfast. Stan cleared his throat and said, "So, uh—hey, Mabel. What're you up to today?" As if he didn't know full well. Ford had told him last night why they'd scheduled Bill's execution for Saturday.

"Thanks for asking," Mabel said, like she'd been just waiting for someone to bring it up. "I'm going out with Candy and Grenda! Grenda's mom's picking me up at seven." No wonder she was up so early.

"At seven?" Stan repeated, checking his watch. "That's less than twenty minutes, isn't it?"

Mabel processed that. She looked out the window. It wasn't light yet; but then that was only because of the cloud cover. "Oh." She started shoveling eggs into her mouth.

"You're ditching me today?" Bill groaned in exaggerated irritation. "I don't believe it. I'll be bored out of my mind."

Mabel blew a raspberry. "You'll live!" (Ford winced.)

"At least leave me with the Color Critter tapes so I can entertain myself."

"No! We have to watch those together! Especially the two-parter, that's up next."

Bill let out the loudest, longest sigh. "Fine. Leave me to suffer."

"You big baby."

Ford offered Bill a plate of eggs and floppy bacon. Bill took it without saying anything; but he looked at his plate with three strips of bacon, Ford's as yet untouched plate with two, and his eye flicked to Ford's face. Ford's breath froze; for a moment his panicked mind was sure his pity offering had given him away.

But then Bill looked away with a deliberate air of indifference. He grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and started shoveling eggs in his mouth like he hadn't had a decent meal in days. (When had he last had a decent meal?)

As Ford sat again, Mabel asked, "Grunkle Ford! Do you want me to pick up one of Phrancisco's solo albums? He only went solo after you got stuck in space, right?"

He tried not to think about Mabel bringing him home a gift just to discover that he'd executed her friend while she was out. (Would she ever speak to him again after this?) "N—no thanks, Mabel, that's fine. You should buy something for yourself."

Bill groaned. "You two and your terrible taste in synth pop." He slurped down half a strip of bacon. "Hey, if he isn't getting anything, pick me up a CD by Mysterious Mo's Average Joes, would you? They should be in the rock section."

Mabel laughed. "Who? They're not gonna have that!"

"Why not! They were really popular. In the 1960s. For seven weeks. Any decent record store oughta have them."

(What kind of music did Bill like, Ford wondered desperately. He knew what songs Bill had referenced, he knew what songs Bill taunted him with—Bill's soundtrack was as carefully curated as his dreams were choreographed, designed to evoke a specific effect—but what did he like? It was too late for Ford to learn.)

"I'm not going to a record store," Mabel said. "I'm going to a Phrancisco concert."

"What?! Since when!"

"Since I won tickets like, two weeks ago! I told you!"

"No you didn't."

There was an unexpectedly vicious edge to Bill's voice that made Ford tense up. He met Stan's gaze; he'd clearly noticed it too.

"Oh," Mabel said. "Well. I'm going to a concert. That's what Candy and Grenda are coming over for."

"Huh." Bill leaned back against the counter, nibbling at his second strip of bacon. There was something darkly calculating in his eye as he stared at Mabel. "So that talentless hack is in town? Where's he playing? He can't be at the convention center, no way he could pull a crowd that size."

"He's not in Gravity Falls, he's in Portland."

"You're going all the way to Portland?!"

Mabel leaned slightly away from Bill. "Yeah?" She sounded wary now. Ford didn't blame her; he'd never seen Bill snap at her like this before. 

"W—Pff!—It might have been nice to know earlier!"

Mabel shrugged helplessly. "Well... sorry! Now you know!"

"Fine." Bill sighed angrily. "You're going all the way to Portland for a show—so you're not getting back til, what, dinner time?"

Mabel sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Actuallyyy, we're staying in town overnight and coming back tomorrow."

"WHAT!"

"Yeah, it's a late show. And Grenda's mom has some kind of reward thingy at a hotel she wants to use—"

"And you DIDN'T ASK ME?!"

The entire room fell silent, staring at Bill. Dipper's gaze darted between Mabel and Bill, bewildered. Stan put a protective hand on Mabel's shoulder.

Face strangely neutral—controlled, Ford thought—Bill said, "I meant. You didn't... tell me?"

Stan growled, "Not an improvement, Cipher."

"Warn, didn't warn me."

With a chill Ford hadn't known she possessed, Mabel said, "Excuse me? Was I supposed to?" Ford didn't know a lot about adolescents, but he recognized that voice. That was the quiet rage of the teenage girl offended. That was the voice that got fruit punch poured in your hair.

Bill stammered, "I mean— That— Well—!" He paused, ate a large mouthful of eggs to give himself time to regroup, and said, "Through no fault of my own, I'm completely dependent on you for any kind of mental stimulation, kid. You don't think maybe a 'hey Bill, would it bother you if I'm gone all weekend' would be polite?"

"So what if it does bother you!" Mabel's outburst was so vehement that Bill flinched in surprise. "I'm just one kid, you're a—an ancient psychic ghost triangle thing! You can't depend on me for everything, that's insane, I don't even know how to be whatever you need! Do you think I'm gonna stay inside the shack all summer just because you want me to?!"

Bill's mouth worked uselessly for a few seconds, grappling for words. Voice strained, he said, "I mean... not 24/7, but..."

"Unbelievable." Mabel shoved her chair back. "I'm gonna pack. If you'll permit me, Mr. Bossy." She stormed from the room.

"Hey, hold on—!" Bill started to follow, but stopped in the doorway—glancing back over his shoulder, worriedly, as if searching for something—and looked directly at Ford, for just a moment. And then he was gone, stumbling up the stairs trying to catch up with Mabel.

Bill knew. Ford was sure of it. He could tell the future, even as a human, they were aware of that. He couldn't see very far, from what Ford could tell; but this was a strange, powerful weapon, perhaps its beam was visible from chronologically farther away. Or maybe Ford himself had betrayed it somehow—in his face, in his body language—he remembered the way Bill had stopped dancing to stare at his face. Or maybe it was just intuition. But whatever the case, Bill could tell something was coming.

He wasn't trying to get Mabel to stay because he was worried about getting bored; he knew she was probably the only thing that might shield him from execution.

He knew that if she was out of town, he'd be defenseless.

####

6:50 a.m.

Their voices rose until they were audible from downstairs: "—But two whole days is ridiculous—!"

"Ridiculous to WHO! Ridiculous to you?! If you think you can just—just—manipulate me into staying here forever—"

"Manipulate?! Oh, all right, is that what you think of me! You've got some nerve, Shooting Star—"

Ford looked at Stan. "We should—"

"Yeah."

They hurried upstairs, Dipper close behind.

"Wait—" Dipper caught Ford's coat and tugged him back before he reached the bedroom door. "Don't, we should let them work this out."

"Are you serious?"

Dipper lowered his voice. "She's... been under a lot of pressure because of Bill. She's been acting like it's her job to save him. Maybe it'd be good if she... sorta figures out..." He screwed up his face. "Okay, I just want her to start hating him again, is that so bad?"

Well. At least it was honest. "If he gets angry enough to hurt her—"

"Then she'll flip him on his head and break his arm. I'm really not worried about her safety, Bill's pathetic," Dipper said. "Really, really... really pathetic."

Stan said, "Yeah, she'll be fine, she's a baby tiger. And maybe this'll be good for her! She won't... you know. Miss him as much. Silver lining."

Ford was worried about how bad she'd feel once she learned the last conversation she ever had with Bill was a fight; but maybe Stan was right. If Bill had died the day after Ford had discovered his true plans for the portal, would Ford have regretted that their last conversation was a fight—or would he just have been relieved that Bill was gone? Ford hadn't regretted that fight a single day since then.

He hoped Mabel would feel the same about it.

####

7:00 a.m.

There were no sounds of violence through the bedroom door—just stomping and thudding as Mabel packed. And the argument, which only seemed to be getting worse, Bill's strident voice drowning out most other sounds: "—and on top of that, you won't even give me the stupid cartoon tapes so I can at LEAST entertain myself while you're gone?!"

"AaaAAARGH THAT'S ALL I'M GOOD FOR TO YOU, ISN'T IT? I'M JUST YOUR ENTERTAINMENT!"

"Well—! Well SO WHAT! Like YOU'D spend any time with ME if you didn't think I was fun! What ELSE am I to you if not just your FUN SUMMER FIX-IT PROJECT?!"

"I THOUGHT you were my FRIEND!" 

All three eavesdroppers cringed.

"WELL! If you're gonna act like this just because I wondered what you're up to, maybe NOT!" (All three eavesdroppers cringed harder.) "What kind of fun are you good for, you wouldn't even be into burning a house down!"

"OH YEAH, WELL—YOU WOULDN'T EVEN BE INTO—into—n-NOT BURNING A HOUSE DOWN!"

"OHHH WOW, GREAT COMEBACK."

Shrilly, Mabel shouted, "SHUT UP!"

"All right," Stan muttered, "This is just getting petty, I'm breaking this up."

Dipper moved like he was considering getting in the way. "But Grunkle Stan—"

"I think we're way past the point of your sister hating that demon." Stan opened the door a crack. "Hey—!"

Bill and Mabel rounded on Stan, faces red, tears pricking at the corners of Mabel's eyes. They both shouted, "STAY OUT OF IT!"

Stan quickly shut the door. A sweater gently thudded against the other side. Stan said, "Maybe we oughta let 'em work it out."

"It isn't getting violent, is it?" Ford asked.

"Only verbally."

Ford hesitated; but then nodded uneasily.

####

7:05 a.m.

Mabel said, "Grenda's mom's outside, I'm LEAVING."

"FINE! GO! Who needs you?! I could DIE and you wouldn't care!" Bill's voice cracked on the word. 

Ford was sure he knew.

"MAYBE I WOULDN'T!" (All three eavesdroppers cringed harder still. Ford hoped she wouldn't remember saying that tomorrow.) "Get out of my room!"

"No, YOU get out! I'm staying right here!"

"Fine!! Then you can just stay here all weekend!"

"FINE!"

"FINE!"

There was some final angry rustling and the zip of a backpack; and then Mabel was storming out of the bedroom. She slammed the door, rubbed her eyes, and glared at the guys.

They tried to look like they hadn't been listening.

"Leave him in there," Mabel snapped, pointing at the door. She was shaking with anger. "He's in TIME OUT."

Ford and Stan nodded. Dipper glanced nervously at the door, "Um..."

Mabel glared into his eyes.

Dipper raise his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine."

As Mabel stomped downstairs, Ford nudged Dipper and whispered, "It's fine. He won't be there very long."

The reassurance made Dipper look faintly sick. "Yeah."

####

7:07 a.m.

Candy and Grenda grinned as Mabel burst out of the shack, ran to the car, pulled open the back door, and slid in. Grenda cheered, "Mabel!"

"Are you ready to board the Party Bus?" Candy asked.

Grenda whispered loudly, "That's the new name of the car."

Instead of answering, Mabel slammed the door, fastened her seatbelt, and hugged her backpack to her chest.

Grenda and her mom turned around to stare at Mabel from the front seats. Grenda's mom asked, "Is everything alright, sweetie?"

"'M fine, Mrs. Grendinator," Mabel said, staring at her knees. "I just... fought with a friend this morning."

"Oh, honey..."

Voice shaking, Mabel said, "Can we just go? Please?" Her hands were trembling.

Mrs. Grendinator nodded. "Of course."

As they pulled around the Mystery Shack and toward the road, Mabel glanced toward the attic bedroom window; but no one looked back.

####

7:10 a.m.

Candy reached over to rub Mabel's upper arm. "Who did you fight with?"

Grenda asked, "Was it Pacifica?" Both of them had a lot of thoughts about Mabel's deal to help at Pacifica's alpaca ranch, which they were politely swallowing down until and unless Mabel and Pacifica had a falling out and it became acceptable to be mean about Pacifica again.

Mabel shook her head. "No, it's... You don't know him. The new guy staying at the shack."

Grenda and Candy exchanged a glance. They didn't know very much about the "new guy" at the shack, except that he was the reason they couldn't have sleepovers at Mabel's place this summer; but Mabel insisted he was actually really fun; but also she couldn't tell them his name or anything about him. They already didn't think too highly of this mysterious new guy.

Warily, Candy said, "The new guy who you said is like a cool big brother-slash-sister?"

Mabel winced. "I... don't remember saying that."

"You said that."

Grenda threw in, "Like three days ago! When we were jumping off Candy's roof and you said he could probably do all kinds of cool low gravity tricks if he was there! Remember?"

Mabel groaned and thudded her head against the window.

Grenda said, "He sounds like an uncool big jerk-slash-loser if he made you upset." Candy nodded emphatically.

Mabel didn't answer for a moment. "I used to think he was," she said. "Now I just... think he needs friendship. More than I can give him by myself."

It was a miserable grey morning as they got on the road.

####

7:25 a.m.

They'd left Gravity Falls, passed beneath the defunct railroad track, and were almost to the highway when the Triple Digit Truck Stop's lumberjack statue appeared between the trees. That was the place where the Pines and Bill had negotiated the terms of his captivity. Mabel and Bill had traded pancakes there.

Quickly, voice tight, Mabel said, "I forgot to use the bathroom at home. Can we pull over?"

"Sure, Mabel."

"Sorry."

Before Mrs. Grendinator had turned the car off, Mabel had already opened the car door and was sprinting for the truck stop's attached convenience store, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as she went.

"Mabel, wait!" Candy unfastened her seatbelt as fast as she could and ran after her.

Mrs. Grendinator put her hand on Grenda's before she could get out of the car. "Who is this friend of Mabel's?"

"We don't know," Grenda said. "She won't say a lot about him. Candy and I think he's some kind of werewolf catboy they have to keep hidden from the public. You know what the Mystery Shack's like."

"Hmm." Mrs. Grendinator watched Mabel, lips pressed together in worry.

When Grenda caught up with Candy inside the convenience store, Candy pointed toward the restrooms. "Mabel went into the unisex restroom," she said ominously.

Grenda winced. The one restroom with a real door. It was the only one you could cry in with total privacy. "So it was a fight fight, huh?"

"We should grab her extra road trip snacks." Candy eyed an aisle filled with various forms of jerky.

Grenda nodded, "Definitely extra snacks."

####

7:35 a.m.

Candy and Grenda were admiring a souvenir plastic skull painted with a patriotic stars and stripes pattern when Mabel finally emerge from the restroom, face freshly washed, eyes scrubbed, looking significantly more cheerful. "Hey guys! Are we looking at cheap souvenirs?"

"Yeah, check out this cool skull!" Grenda said.

"And it has babies." Candy held up two miniature starred-and-striped skulls.

Grenda held out a plastic bag. "Hey—while you were busy, we got a bunch of snacks: Nyumalums, Gummy Koalas, Cheese Boodles..."

"Ooh!" Mabel rummaged through the bag. "And... plastic dinosaurs?"

"So we can make Mabel Juice at the hotel!"

"Aww, guys! That's—really thoughtful, thank you."

"Of course, any time," Grenda said.

Candy said, "We know you don't want to talk about your other friend, but... we want you to know you can if you ever want to."

"And if you don't, we're here for you anyway!"

Mabel gave them both a watery smile. Without a word, she pulled them into a tight hug.

They hugged her back; Grenda squeezed them both and lifted them into the air for a second.

Mabel said, "You're the two best friends I could ever ask for, you know that?" She pulled back, put her hands on their shoulders, and said, "I'm putting the whole thing at the shack out of my head! I'm not letting it ruin our trip to Portland! We're going to have fun and watch some old guy play a synthesizer!"

"Yes!" "LET'S GO!"

They left the convenience store together, chanting, "Syn-the-siz-er! Syn-the-siz-er! Syn-the-siz-er!"

####

7:50 a.m.

Dipper, Ford, and Stan had kicked aside Bill's sofa cushion bed and taken over the attic window seat so the could uneasily hover near the attic bedroom and listen for anything inside.

Bill was completely silent.

"Probably meditating or something," Stan said. "Spitefully meditating. I keep catching him meditating on the downstairs toilet. Usually in the middle of the night."

"I've seen him in the living room," Dipper said. He remembered coming downstairs when he was out of his body and catching Bill watching Dr. Calligraphy—the radiant golden aura that had surrounded Bill on all sides until Dipper broke his concentration.

Ford muttered, "As long as he isn't breaking anything."

The Quantum Destabilizer was a powerful weapon; its beam could be seen from miles away. Ford had never seen it at work fully unobstructed on Earth, but in the Nightmare Realm any missed shot had still been visible, a bright streak in the roiling dark, long after any other beam of light would have faded to invisibility.

At least Gravity Falls was in a valley, hidden from the rest of the world by mountains and trees; but it was an overcast day and only getting darker. They wanted to make sure Mabel was far out of visual range before they fired the quantum destabilizer.

They decided to execute Bill at noon.

It was a long wait.

####

11:55 a.m.

Ford went down to the gift shop; waited five minutes for the tourists to empty out as Soos escorted them into the museum for the noon tour; and slipped behind the vending machine. When he came back up with the Quantum Destabilizer's carrying case, Melody stared for a moment from the cash register, then quickly averted her gaze.

Mrs. Ramirez had been watching television in the living room since she'd finished breakfast around ten. As Ford passed through again, he paused awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of the destabilizer's carrying case. "Mrs. Ramirez," he said. "We're, ah... going to make a bit of noise upstairs. Just—don't worry when you hear it, it's all under control." She'd gone to bed before he'd given Soos the news and woken up after the shack had opened; he didn't know whether Soos had had a chance to tell her.

Mrs. Ramirez took in Ford's nervous expression, his stiff posture, and his mysterious black case, and quietly asked, "It is time?"

Ford nodded solemnly.

She merely nodded back, her expression placid and unreadable. "Okay," she said. "Before you go, please turn up the volume for me. The remote is missing."

"Of course." Ford knelt down to turn the volume knob. When she said it was high enough, it was almost twice as loud.

Dipper and Stan were both standing right outside the attic door when Ford came back upstairs. Dipper looked like he was about to be eaten alive by anxiety. He flinched when Ford put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't look away from the door.

Voice low, Stan asked Ford, "You sure you don't want me to do it? I know this isn't the first time you've shot at him, but it's, uh... it's a lot easier to shoot in self-defense than it is to execute a helpless prisoner."

Ford elected not to ask questions. "No, it should be me. I designed this weapon, I know how to handle it." He gave Stan a wan smile. "Besides—it's high time I shoot Bill without your head in the way."

Stan laughed wryly.

Dipper sat on the floor and put his head in his hands.

"Are you alright?" Ford knelt next to Dipper.

"Yeah." Dipper waved Ford off. "Just... didn't get much sleep. Little dizzy."

No stomach for murder. Ford had been preparing for this for over thirty years; Dipper hadn't. And that was a good thing. "You can go downstairs if you..."

"No no, I'm fine, I..." Dipper took a deep breath and lifted his head. "I'll face it."

Stan nodded. "Good man."

Ford should have made it an order—he could have told Dipper to keep Mrs. Ramirez company—but he just nodded.

He stood, took a deep breath, and gripped the door knob. Time to face it.

####

12:05 p.m.

The room was still; the only light came indirectly from the window. There was no sign of Bill.

Ford frowned.

Moving as quietly as he could, keeping his back to the wall, Ford crept around the perimeter of the room, checking the closet by the door, Dipper's bed, Mabel's bed.

On the nightstand by Mabel's bed was a disheveled stack of papers; Ford recognized them as her crayon drawings from yesterday's lesson. In the top picture, Mabel had drawn Bill in his true triangular form alongside a pink heart-shaped Flatworlder shooting magic rainbows and blue fire. "FIGHTING EVIL WITH RAINBOWS! (BILL'S ON PAROLE TO HELP.)"

He picked it up to study the pink Flatworlder—Mabel?—and saw another picture underneath: Bill floating in the sky, blue flames again hovering over his raised hands, staring out of the paper as if he could see Ford; beneath Bill, Mabel had written, "I BELIEVE IN YOU. YOU CAN CHANGE!"

Ford's stomach turned. He grabbed and stuffed the second drawing in his pocket—he couldn't stand to look at it—and turned away from the others, trying not to think of Mabel, trying not to think of Bill standing on top of the TV excitedly lecturing about two-dimensional genetics and driving to the moon.

It wasn't until then that he saw the sign.

A bent pink posterboard read "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" in Mabel's round handwriting. The I's were dotted with hearts and the rest of the poster was covered in stickers of triangle-shaped objects. It had been angrily, crookedly affixed to the ladder up to the loft over the bedroom with too much duct tape, half warning, half flimsy barrier.

When Ford backed up to the window to try to see further up onto the loft, he could just see Bill, laying on his side, hood up and shoulders hunched, back to the room. No wonder he was so quiet. His tantrum must have exhausted him—and he certainly hadn't gotten enough sleep over the past week; he'd climbed to the highest point he could find and went to sleep.

Ford could shoot Bill in the back without ever waking him.

He carefully unpeeled enough duct tape to bend the posterboard to the side, made sure the Quantum Destabilizer's strap was slung securely over his chest, and climbed as quietly as he could.

Bill lay curled up in a ball, as small as Ford had ever seen him, beneath the round golden yellow and sky blue stained glass window on the far end of the loft; as though waiting for a sunbeam through the window that would never reach him.

####

12:08 p.m.

The longer Ford was in the room, the more queasy Dipper looked. When Stan was worried he was about to get the kid's half-digested eggs on his shoes, he hissed, "What's taking him so long?" (Dipper started.) "Did he lose his nerve—?"

####

12:09 p.m.

The atmosphere abruptly grew eerily quiet and still. There was a shrill, whistling shriek and a blast of blue-white light so brilliant it pierced the cracks of the wooden boards in the attic bedroom's walls.

Every light in the house went out. The air conditioning was silent. The television in the living room turned off. Abuelita waited in the dark, staring at the screen, her expression calm and unconcerned, her hands in her lap laced so tightly that her knuckles were white, until the whine upstairs faded and the TV flickered back on.

####

Soos and his current tour group fell silent, staring at the ceiling as the strange blue lights between the boards faded and the electric lights turned back on. A mom gripping her two children's hands demanded, "What was that?" A few other tourists started murmuring.

"Oh, that?" Soos laughed nervously. "Probably just our resident mad scientist, testing out death lasers from space again, heh."

There was a pause, and then the tour group chuckled appreciatively.

"Haha, right? Hey, speaking of mad scientists—if any of you guys are hungry, stick around after the tour, I'll give you directions to Greasy's Diner. Sometimes Fiddleford McGucket gets coffee there—you know, the famous inventor guy?" Soos pointed over the crowd. "But first, let's go this way to see the invisible man. Or—heh—not see him. You dudes know what I mean!"

As the tour group moved on to the next exhibit, Soos paused to flip up his costume eyepatch and frown at the ceiling.

####

Stan and Dipper rushed into the bedroom. The air was hot, stagnant, and stuffy. Dipper was the first to spot Ford in the loft. "Great Uncle Ford?" He rushed up the ladder, Stan following as fast as his bad back would allow.

Ford was kneeling on the floor, the Quantum Destabilizer dropped across his thighs. There was a hole through the wall straight in front of him, and a pile of ashes three feet in front of his knees. The destabilizer's beam had clipped the loft's stained glass window and shattered it. 

All the tension had drained from his face. All the skin sagged into a deep frown.

"Grunkle Ford...?"

"It's done."

Dipper swallowed hard. "So... Bill is...?"

Ford turned to look him in the eyes. "Yes, he's dead."

Neither one of them needed to say anything else to know what the other was thinking. They just shared a look—the two most miserable co-conspirators in Gravity Falls.

Stan, unenthusiastic, said, "Great. Let's go downstairs and celebrate."

####

12:20 p.m.

They got soda and pie, sat in the kitchen, stared into space, and didn't eat.

####

1:00 p.m.

The streak of empty sky opened up by the Quantum Destabilizer's beam had sealed shut again.

It began to drizzle over Gravity Falls.

####

During Soos's lunch break, he went upstairs to quickly patch the hole in the wall before the rain could intensify enough to flood the attic. Everyone downstairs pretended not to hear the hammering.

Stan crossed paths with him when he came downstairs to grab a few more supplies. "Soos? Why are you going upstairs with a broom, a dust pan, and a flower vase?"

Soos said, "Well, I was gonna clean the attic, but it seemed kind of disrespectful to vacuum Bill up, so..."

Stan grimaced. "I'm sorry I asked."

Before the next tour started, Soos brought the sofa cushions downstairs and finally returned them to the folding sofa bed.

####

Dipper went down to the cellar to play video games on the old TV. Abuelita was still in the living room, and Dipper didn't want to use the TV he and Mabel had set up in the attic nook last summer. He didn't want to be anywhere near that bedroom.

"You sure you don't wanna play pinball?" asked Tumbleweed Terror, for the fourth time.

Dipper lost another life. He sighed irritably. "No, man. You tried to kill us last summer, remember?"

"Only on account of your cheatin'," Tumbleweed said. "If'n you don't cheat, I reckon we could get along just fine."

"No. I don't even like pinball."

There was a chilly silence. "Now, them's fighting words." It shot off threatening green sparks.

Dipper scooped Rocky the geodite out of his lap, stood, turned the TV at an angle, and sat down farther away from the pinball machine.

It gave up sparking and sighed. "Hey—whatever happened to that blonde prisoner?"

Dipper flinched and looked at the pinball machine. "What? Who?"

"The one y'all kept locked down here for a day sometime last month. Golden-haired gal with jaundice dressed like a Roman emperor. She, uh... mighta sweet-talked me into letting her play a few rounds for free. Didn't make no difference—terrible reflexes like hers, she weren't no high score candidate anyway." It sounded really defensive about having given someone free balls. "Said her name was 'Goldilocks'. I didn't buy it—but she seemed like a real desperado type, figured it weren't none of my business if she wanted to keep her name secret."

Dipper frowned. He turned away from Tumbleweed Terror. "You won't see her again."

"You sure? She said she might come back, I've been keepin' track of her last score—"

"She's gone. Just—stop talking about her." Dipper lost his last life. He groaned in frustration, and started the level over again for the fifth time. None of it was familiar. He wasn't thinking about the game.

####

"Fishing," Stan said, calling through the open guest room door as he finished another lap of the hallway. He'd taken advantage of Bill's absence by flinging open every door that had remained shut all summer.

"Hm?" Ford was seated at the guest room desk, consumed with writing in his journal like a possessed man trying to exorcise his demon through ink.

"We oughta go fishing," Stan said. He'd been wandering around the shack like a restless ghost since the rain started, loudly making plans now that the rest of summer was freed up. "Fishing season's been open a month and we haven't gone yet! You're gonna love it—the kids and Soos are great fishing buddies."

"Great," Ford said distractedly.

"I bet the guys at the Mackerel lodge think I haven't been out there because I'm embarrassed they kicked me out," Stan muttered. "It's not like I can tell 'em why I couldn't get out of the house..." He trailed off, looking at the ring on his left pinky with the symbol of the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel—the one Bill had shoplifted at the mall.

He crossed his arms, pinning his left hand against his ribs. "My boat might be a little too small for all five of us, though," Stan said. "I wonder if Soos has repaired his since last summer?"

"Yes, yes," Ford mumbled.

Stan frowned. "Hey, Poindexter." He leaned on the desk to peer over Ford's shoulder. "Whatcha writing?" Ford hadn't seen anything that interesting lately, had he?

Ford froze, shoulders tensing, one hand sliding under the cover like he was about to slam it shut. A page and a half were completely packed with words, crammed together without any of Ford's usual headers or esoteric margin doodles, the only illustration a small diagram of a planet encircled by a ring, a moon, and what looked like a sea serpent.

Guiltily, Ford said, "As much as I can remember."

Stanford skimmed the page. The writing was too cramped for him to read most of it, he could only pick out a few phrases that Ford had capitalized in lieu of properly sectioning off his thoughts—"POLYGONAL GENETICS," "SPHERICAL GEOMETRY," "BISHOP BISHOP," "WHAT IS 'EYM'???" Stan pressed his lips together and nodded. Fine. However Ford got it out of his system, as long as it was out.

Stan pushed off the desk and wandered from the room. "We could get fishing gear tomorrow," he said, knowing in his heart no one would be in the mood for it once Mabel got home. "Drizzly, cloudy weather is great for fishing. This is the perfect time to go out on the lake."

Ford had already buried himself back in his journal, writing as fast as he could.

####

Abuelita had dozed off in her seat with the TV still playing soaps.

She was the only person in the house whose conscience felt clean.

####

7:00 p.m.

For the first time since the beginning of summer, Melody stayed over for dinner. 

It was a very quiet dinner.

####

10:30 p.m.

"I don't... wanna sleep in the attic tonight." Dipper hovered awkwardly in the guest room's doorway. "You know. With... Mabel gone and all."

"How come," Stan said, "you scared of ghosts?"

Ford shot him a look. "Stan."

"What!" Stan shrugged. "There shouldn't be a ghost anyway, right? That's what your fancy gun is for? It destroyed his... soul or whatever he's got?"

Guilt briefly flashed across Ford's face. He nodded sharply. "Dipper—I'll be sleeping down in my study tonight. You can sleep in my bed if you'd like."

Stan almost asked why Ford was still sleeping downstairs, with the demon out of the picture; but he figured it was for the same reason Dipper wanted to stay out of the attic. Scared of ghosts. Not necessarily literal ones.

"Hey," Stan said to Dipper, when Ford had left and the door was shut. "It's—fine if you want to stay down here. Really. Spending the night in the same room as a dead body's no joke."

Dipper opened his mouth, decided he didn't want to know, and shut it. "Thanks."

Stan was settling into bed and about to take off his glasses when he glanced around the room, flinched, and swore under his breath.

"What?" Dipper glanced across the room. He cringed.

Soos had placed the flower vase on the guest room's fireplace mantle.

####

10:32 p.m.

Dipper carried the vase into the living room, set it on the table, and ran back to the guest room.

The axolotl in the fish tank studied it curiously.

####

11:59 p.m.

In a hotel room in Portland—the Grendinators sharing one bed, Candy and Mabel sharing the other—Mabel waited silent and still for Candy to fall asleep. When Mabel was sure Candy was out, she took her phone off the bedside stand, hid under the covers, and turned the phone's volume down to the smallest sliver of sound possible. She looked up the song "We'll Meet Again," pressed play, and held the speaker up to her ear.

She wiped her tears with the bed sheet.

####

Sunday, 10:15 a.m.

The rain was coming down even more heavily than yesterday.

Soos had been reminded of a broken umbrella Ford had given him a couple weeks ago, and gone looking for it to fix it. He'd now been searching for it for over half an hour.

"I'm sure I left it in the office," Soos said, checking the coat rack in the entryway again to see if he'd hung it up there and forgot.

Stan grunted. "Everything's going missing. The remote's been missing for days." He, Ford, and Dipper were sitting in the living room watching some feel-good Sunday morning news story about a performance troupe that did interpretive dance to bird song. No one was enjoying it. "I don't think I've seen the remote since before the whole eclipse-or-whatever."

"Oh, I found it," Soos said.

"You did? Where?"

"Yeah, it was in my Monster-Mon backpack for some reason? It was pretty waterlogged though. I've been trying to dry it out in the office."

They processed that. Then Ford let out a bark of laughter. "Did Bill bring it along when we went camping just so no one could use it?" He sat up and sucked in a deep breath to shout the question to Bill—and then remembered. The air whooshed out of him in a long sigh. He slouched back onto the sofa.

They heard a car pulling around the house.

Every head turned toward the door.

Outside, Mabel's muffled voice said goodbye to her friends.

There was a moment of dreadful hesitation; and then Dipper, Stan, and Ford were on their feet and moving to the entryway.

Stan opened the door before Mabel could reached the doorknob. "Hey, sweetheart! How was the show?"

Mabel started. "Oh! Great! Hi guys!" She looked between their faces warily. "Whaaat are you all doing here?"

They all avoided meeting her eyes in different directions. Stan said, "We were just—watching the TV and heard you pull up."

"Oh," Mabel said. "Well. The concert was amazing! I got an autograph!" She pulled up her sweater (which today had what looked like two kissing parrots with her sleeves serving as their wings), to reveal she was wearing a pale blue t-shirt of Phrancisco's first album cover, signed in black marker. "Yesterday we went to a cool bookstore, and we got those fancy donuts this morning! Grunkle Ford, we got a lot of pictures of that weird crystal shop sign on the way home!"

"Ah," Ford said. "Good."

She swung around her backpack on one strap to unzip it. "I got two CDs—one of Phrancisco's new stuff and one with acoustic covers of his greatest hits! Except I don't think he had any hits? So I guess they're just his favorite songs." She pulled out the acoustic album. "I... got this one for Bill. I'm gonna ease him into liking synth pop by taking the synth out first." She looked between the guys. "Where is he?"

They winced in three different ways.

Cautiously, Mabel asked, "Is he still in the attic?"

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. Stan lost the silent argument. He looked at the weathered porch between the door and Mabel's shoes and mumbled, "Weshotim."

"Say wha?"

Stan cleared his throat. "We got that—space gun of Ford's working. We shot him. He's... I'm sorry, sweetie."

Mabel stared at Stan. She dragged her gaze from his face to Dipper's. Dipper bit his lips, staring at his feet. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

She looked from Dipper to Ford. "Grunkle Ford?" Her voice was small. "Is it true?"

For a long moment, Ford said nothing. He dragged his eyes up to meet her stare, took a deep breath, and nodded. "He's dead."

Mabel's eyes widened.

She backed out of the doorway, face blank with shock. Stan reached for her, "Sweetie—" but she jerked her arm away before he could touch her. She turned, leaped off the porch, and ran around the shack toward the main road, her sweater making her look like a colorful bird fluttering away into the gray rain.

"Mabel—Mabel!" Stan stepped out onto the porch. "It's pouring out there, you can't go out!"

Dipper ran several steps after her; then stopped and glanced back at Ford, searching his face for a cue—now what?

Slowly, Ford put a hand on Dipper's shoulder, holding him back. "She... probably doesn't want us to follow."

Dipper's shoulders sagged, but he nodded.

"She'll be fine," Stan said worriedly, "right? She just—needs time. Gotta grieve in her own way. She'll be back later."

"Yeah," Dipper said, voice thin. "She'll be fine."

Stan stared into the rain a moment longer; then nodded sharply, turned, and shuffled back inside.

Quietly, Dipper asked, "Did we do the right thing?"

Ford didn't know. His stomach had been twisting with guilt and doubt since yesterday. His conscience had kept him up half the night. "I hope so." He feared they'd have second-guessed themselves no matter what.

Ford looked at the Hand Witch's ring; but its cabochon remained a steady, deep blue.

####

8:00 p.m.

Mabel returned to the Mystery Shack when dinner was almost over, shoes and knees muddy, hair hanging in wet tangles around her shoulders.  Stan sent her upstairs to change into something dry before she ate; she obeyed without saying anything.

Soos quietly hustled into the living room to grab the flower vase and hide it back in the guest room.

By the time she came back downstairs, everyone had finished eating and Abuelita was washing the dishes. Mabel was wearing a sunny yellow t-shirt. Nobody said anything.

Abuelita had set out a plate for Mabel; she ate alone in the kitchen. Nobody disturbed her.

####

8:45 p.m.

Mabel stopped in front of the living room on her way to the stairs, looked in at her family—Stan, Ford, Dipper, Soos—like she wanted to say something; but she changed her mind and headed up. After a few minutes, Dipper quietly slid off his seat, said goodnight, and followed Mabel upstairs.

"Whaddaya bet that poor kid's in the doghouse now?" Stan muttered. "Bet he'll be back down here in a few minutes."

Ford shook his head. "She—probably needs her brother right now."

Dipper didn't return.

####

Monday, 1:00 a.m.

Stan had said that now that they finally had the house to themselves again, he was gonna enjoy one of the privileges of being an adult he'd missed all summer: staying up to watch boring late night movies. Ford and Soos sat up with him.

None of them cared about the movies. They just couldn't think of sleeping.

During a commercial break between movies, Soos said, "So... I figure we can put the door back up on the downstairs bathroom, huh?"

Stan gave him a tired look.

There was a knock on the back door.

All three of them whipped around to face it.

"Dude," Soos whispered. "It's like, one."

Stan said, "Who the heck...?" He glanced at Ford.

Ford was just staring at the door, eyes wide and mouth turned down, face sick with dread, like he was sure he was about to get arrested for murder.

Stan slowly stood, looked around for a potential weapon, remembered that any potential weapons had been cleared out of the common areas, and cautiously went to open the door.

Standing outside, pants soaked up to the knees, one ankle hooked over the other, hand on hip, using a broken umbrella like a cane, wearing top hat and black gloves and a sequined gold tailcoat—

"Hiya, Stan!" Bill Cipher beamed brilliantly. His gold tooth matched his new coat. "Didja miss me yet?"

Stan punched Bill in the nose.

####

I considered ending the chapter right after the execution when they were eating pie lol.

Comments? Questions? Theories? Thoughts? Questions? Emotions? More questions? I have been DYING to hear what y'all think of this one!

[sso-maev]

PUTTING JORVIK ON THE MAP: SIZE AND LOCATION

WHERE IS JORVIK?

Finding Jorvik’s exact location is actually pretty easy.

”Jorvik, located somewhere between Norway, Iceland, and the British Isles, of which it was once part, is a nexus of worlds.” - Jorvik Calling, Prologue.

This is still a pretty large area, but one that’s significantly narrowed down by reading Four Stories from Jorvik. Anne’s segment Midnight Sun establishes that Jorvik is at the very least partly above the arctic circle, to the point where Anne can see it while riding by Jorvik Stables in the middle of the night. This also puts Jorvik pretty close to the tectonic rift between the European and American continental plates, which handily explains why Jorvik is a volcanic Island.

HOW BIG IS JORVIK?

Jorvik’s size requires a bit more speculation, and I’m relying on two book sources.

1: Jorvik stables is a bus trip from Jorvik city.

Anne lives in Jorvik City but goes to school with the other soul riders in Jarlaheim, and has her horse at Jorvik stables. We know that she goes there by bus, so the distance between Jarlaheim and Jorvik City shouldn’t be too large; I’m capping the max length of the bus ride to about an hour.

2: Valedale is less than a day’s ride from the wineyard.

In The Legend Awakens, Elizabeth and the soul riders are heading to Pi’s Swamp and sleep over at the Wineyard. The soul riders wake up late and leave after having eaten breakfast and lunch. The sun is ”at its highest point in the sky” when they leave, so probably around 1-2PM. It’s twilight when they arrive, and the Baroness comments that they showed up in time for the evening feeding of the horses. Since the days are shorter in late October/early November, which is when this chapter takes place, we can guess that they arrived at around 5-6 PM.

Mapping out the most likely routes for these two trips, the route to the Wineyard is about a third of the bus route from Jorvik City to Jarlaheim. Additionally, the bus would drive on average ~70 km/h because of Jorvik’s smaller roads. The average walking speed of a horse is 6 km/h.

Now, the Valedale-Wineyard trip could take anywhere between 3-5 hours, but I’m inclined to believe that it’s on the lower end of that scale to keep Anne’s commute as short as possible. That leaves us with a 18 km long ride, and a 54 km long bus tour that takes 46 minutes. Pretty reasonable!

RESULTS

With these new measurements, we can figure out the actual distance between different places on Jorvik. Most importantly, we can measure the absolute width from Jorviks westernmost to easternmost point: 92 km, or ~57 miles!

Having figured out an estimate of the island’s size and location, we can now put Jorvik on the map!

[wintersettled]

Here's a list of recs if you'd like to read somecomics about different batfam characters:

BRUCE WAYNE - Batman: Year One (1987) - Batman: The Long Halloween (1996) & Dark Victory (2000) - Batman: Knightfall Saga (1993) - Batman: No Man's Land Saga (1999)

SELINA KYLE - Catwoman (1989) - Catwoman (1993) - Catwoman: When in Rome - Catwoman: Selina's Big Score

DICK GRAYSON - Robin & Batman (2022) - Robin: Year One - The New Teen Titans (1980) - Nightwing (2016) #35-43 - Batman: Black Mirror

JASON TODD - Batman: The Cult - Batman: A Death in the Family (i dont actually care for this but i feel obligated to include it so here...) - Batman: Under the Red Hood

- Robin Lives!

TIM DRAKE - Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying - Robin (1993) - Young Justice (1998)

CASSANDRA CAIN - Batgirl (2000) - Batgirl (2008) - Batgirl (2024) - Birds of Prey (2023) (which also includes barbara!)

BARBARA GORDON - Batgirl: Year One - Black Canary/Oracle: Birds of Prey - Birds of Prey (1999) (especially Gail Simones run!!) Barbara also appears frequently in the batgirl runs

DAMIAN WAYNE - Batman and Robin (2011) - Robin: Son of Batman - Robin (2021)

- The Boy Wonder - Batman & Robin (2023) (currently ongoing! imo this would be a good place to start reading since its happening right now so you can see it happen along with everyone else!)

DUKE THOMAS - Batman: Zero Year - We Are Robin - Batman & The Signal

HELENA BERTINELLI - Huntress: Year One - The Huntress (1989) - Batman/Huntress: Cry for Blood - Helena is also a character in birds of prey from issues #57-127

STEPHANIE BROWN - Detective Comics #647-649 - Showcase '95 #5 - Robin (1993) #126-147 (steph has a ton of appearances in Robin 1993 so it would be good to read that for more or to look through her appearances on locg if you just want to read about her! these chapters are her as Robin.) - Batgirl (2009)

I haven't read a super large amount for every single one of them so disclaimer that some of the ones I mention here might not be their best! These are what I could think of but there are plenty more, especially as standalone issues, so if anyone sees this please mention more!! also, there are lots of comics that are questionable but this list was very much on the fly off the top of my head so i was kind of sat here with my head in my hands like 'god i need to give more than one jason todd comic dont i....' and this was all i could come up with that wasnt like.... a random detective comics issue idk

I'd also like to say these feature a lot of minis just for ease but there are a ton of really good guides available for these character -- imo a lot of Jason's best stuff is as Robin within tec and batman