#Bill really has a type

[thisispersonal]

so my copy of the book of Bill finally arrived, so here’s bill on a date with David Lynch.

based on this page:

[poor-ciceros-voring-again]

Today's Billtober prompt is Home Dimension and I was originally just gonna draw the portal with Bill pulling Ford through it BUT the song Axolotl by Summerbloom gave me other ideas <3

Lyrics from:

@dailybill-cipher

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 14

Mesa

     The engine grumbled to life as Fidds turned the key, the sound rattling through the car like a low, anxious hum that settled in Ford’s chest. He slumped into the passenger seat, his body sinking into the worn upholstery, its sagging comfort easy to melt into. As they pulled out of the gravel driveway, the cabin, his refuge, shrank behind them, fading into the distance as rocks and dirt crunched beneath the tires. Ford’s gaze drifted out the window, focusing on how the daylight felt on his face through the glass, his mind slipping into a quiet reverie as the scenery blurred by.

     The world outside morphed into a patchwork of muted November hues—the bare branches of trees reaching like skeletal fingers against the gray sky, patches of faded grass stubbornly holding on to the remaining vestiges of autumn. The landscape was stripped of life, suspended between seasons, like everything around him had stalled out. The colors bled together, the muted grays of the season creeping in, leaving only flashes of red barns or the distant silhouette of a hill. Ford watched as the landscape rolled past, each image a fleeting reminder of the transition of time—caught between the warmth of summer and the cold grip of winter, reminders of the world that moved on even when he didn’t.

     Beside him, Fidds hummed softly with the cassette in the player—his usual rock tunes playing through the speakers. He bobbed his head lightly, tapping along on his steering wheel, a beat that blended into the background noise. Ford’s mind wandered with it, the rhythm carrying him deeper into his mind. He found himself lost in the rhythm of the passing scenery, the way the light seemed to filter through the clouds, casting a soft glow over everything. A space where he could lose himself in the monotony. There was a comfort in it, the kind that came from not having to think, not having to feel.

     But he did think. He always did. It was like the harder he tried to push it all away, the deeper it sank into him. The smell of the heater running thick in the car, the faint scent of dust and oil—it pulled him back, reminding him of the lab. How he wanted to be there. The endless hours spent chasing data, never done, always another step. How it was fast, intense, and hard. How he could so easily lose track of time. But the noise—that constant grind—had quieted, and in its place, was the silence. 

     Ford pressed a hand hard against his thigh. He needed to go back. To the work, to the rush of it, the way it made him forget. It was all he had left. Bill was gone, and everything felt like a half-dream since then. He’d been starving in a way—of connection, of slowness, anything to fill the void left by Bill’s absence. And now, it was like the world was testing him, pulling at the edges of that emptiness. Fidds had pulled him out here, away from the safety of his lab, and Ford felt the stilts he’d built to stand on start to splinter.

     He could still hear it, the way Bill’s laughter cut through him. That look in his eye that could just level him. Ford’s chest tightened. That was what had hooked him—that feeling of being understood, the way Bill could get inside his head and twist it all up until Ford didn’t know where he ended and Bill began. Now, all that was left was this hole that nothing could fill.

     He turned his head slightly, glancing at Fidds, who was still tapping along to the music, unaware of the storm raging quietly next to him. Ford was grateful for the noise, that Fidds liked the music loud. It kept him from asking questions, from noticing the way Ford’s hands were trembling slightly in his lap. He didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t. He was too wrapped in the sharp ache of longing and grief. The need to truly know him. But now, he was filled with the reality, the acceptance, that he never would. Still, he dwelled. He couldn’t help it.

     Their first stop was at a guy named Reggie’s; someone Fid had heard about through a mutual acquaintance, who knew him through another friend, and was now who he’d buy weed from. Ford didn’t know much about him other than that Fiddleford came out here about once a week, said he had a lot of good bud and was a bit “eccentric.” Ford wasn’t surprised by that—eccentric seemed to be the type of person that gravitated to Fidds.

     They pulled into the driveway and Ford was immediately struck by the number of cars in the driveway, more than he expected. He took a breath, appreciatively exiting the car as unease coiled in his gut. Ford walked behind Fidds as they approached the door, his hands shoved into his pockets. The yard was cluttered with little things—twinkling ornaments strung up in the trees, wind chimes swaying gently in the breeze, small signs and figures tucked into the landscaping. Ford’s attention settled on the door, a low hum of music seeping out from behind it. What are you getting me into now, Fid?

     “I swear, every stoner in America is no more than three degrees separated from each other,” Ford mused, breaking the silence as they reached the door. The remark came casually, making conversation on their way up the steps, a way to settle the anticipation building in his chest.

Fidds chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, it’s like a big ass, never-ending game of who’s who.” His voice had that easy, relaxed drawl. Ford had always envied that about him—how Fidds could walk into any room, any situation, and seem completely unfazed. Nothing stuck to him for long. Ford wished he could be like that, wished he didn’t carry everything around with him. Fidds knocked on the door, and it swung open.

     The smell hit him first—incense and marijuana, thick and sweet, swirling around them. Then, the music followed, the hum of a record spinning in the next room, the sound wafting out with the haze. The man standing in the doorway didn’t immediately speak, but his presence was as intense as the energy that came from the house, tugging on Ford’s curiosity.

     This must be Reggie. He stood there, framed by the light inside, leaning casually against the doorframe, almost posing. He was smaller than Ford expected, thinner. His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in his eyes, something sharp and calculating behind them. His clothes hung loosely over his frame, draped in silky layers of embroidered flourishes that made him seem both casual and deliberate, everything carefully curated. The jewelry around his neck and fingers caught the light, glinting as he glanced between the two of them, sizing them up.

     There was a brief moment of silence, his eyes settling on Fidds first. Then, a slow, tight smirk tugged at Reggie’s lips, playful and knowing, as if he already had them figured out.

          “Don’t tell me…” Reggie’s voice came out smooth, an amused tenor that slid past his lips. “Is this him?”

     Ford stood there behind Fidds, feeling strangely exposed under Reggie’s gaze as it shifted to him. Fiddleford chuckled, though there was a slight edge to it now, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice, as if Reggie had already spilled some secret he wasn’t meant to share. “Yeah, this is him.”

     Reggie’s smile widened, revealing a gap-toothed grin. It was disarming and genuine. His eyes lingered on Ford, a moment longer, taking his time, and Ford felt a flicker of self-consciousness under the scrutiny. “My, my, Stanford Pines,” Reggie mused, the words rolling off his tongue with an air of reverence. “I’ve heard so much about you. Please, come in.” He gestured grandly, stepping aside with effortless grace, his movements smooth and confident. Ford hesitated for a split second, a sense of unease washing over him. But he followed Fidds through the threshold. The warmth of the space wrapped around him as he stepped inside, drawing him in. 

     The house was a patchwork of colors and textures—tapestries and textiles draped over the walls, casting the room in soft, muted hues. Every surface was cluttered with trinkets and oddities, small curiosities that seemed carefully curated, though haphazard in their arrangement. Shelves overflowed with mismatched objects, some gleaming, others dusty with age. The floor was covered in overlapping rugs of all kinds—plush, worn, patterned, solid—each one seeming to tell a different story underfoot. It reminded him of home; not the cabin, but home , home. The one back in Jersey. But he quickly tucked that burst of nostalgia back into the recesses of his mind. He already had enough to think about.

     The first thing Ford noticed was the absence of a couch. Instead, a large glass table sat low to the floor, surrounded by oversized cushions that looked as though they had borne the weight of a thousand conversations, the fabric worn soft and frayed in places. The cushions were slouched in a way that suggested hours of use, sagging into themselves like they were resigned to the inevitability of hosting more people, more silences. Ford hesitated for a beat, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound felt final, like a lock sliding into place. No escape now.

     Reggie moved with that same liquid grace, every step part of some internal rhythm only he seemed attuned to. It was unsettling, the way he seemed to glide through his own space with so little effort, like he was both the host and a piece of the room itself, stitched into the fabric of it. Ford watched, half-captive by the ease of it all, as Reggie folded himself down onto one of the cushions, his legs crossed and arms reaching out, hands already working with practiced precision. The herbs and bags appeared out of nowhere, slipping through his fingers with a dexterity that seemed almost choreographed. It was almost hypnotic, the way his hands moved, quick but deliberate, like he was performing a ritual.

     Ford hovered for a moment, hovering on the edge of the room as if it might swallow him whole. But then his body gave in—he was exhausted, and something about the room only amplified the feeling. His legs buckled beneath him, and he sank down onto one of the cushions. It was too soft, pulling him in deeper than he wanted, and he could feel his muscles loosening against his will, like the house itself was forcing him to relax.

     His head felt heavy, bloated with thoughts that buzzed just under the surface, too full, too much. Most of them were back at the lab, still wrapped up in that black hole he had been circling for weeks—Bill, the silence that came after, and the ache that sat lodged there between his ribs, refusing to move. He had been running from it, pushing his body beyond the point of breaking just to drown out the noise, but the quiet had only made it louder. Ford leaned back against the cushion, feeling the weight of everything pressing in on him.

     His eyes wandered to Reggie’s hands again, watching the way they danced over the table, delicate but steady, moving as if on autopilot. Ford didn’t want to be here, not really. He wanted to be back in the lab, in the chaos of it all, where there wasn’t time to think. But he was here. He was tired. So he let his mind drift, trying to stay distant, biding his time until it was over. Until he could leave.

     There was an eruption of laughter from the next room, a sudden burst of sound that tore through Ford’s already frayed nerves. It grated against him, sharp and unwelcome, pulling him further away from any hope of calm. He didn’t have the energy to interact, to smile and nod through small talk. He shot a look at Fidds, a silent plea. This wasn’t a part of the deal , his expression said. Fidds responded with a light shrug, as to say what can you do?

     “Here you go, darling,” Reggie’s voice slid into the air, velvety and low, interrupting their silent conversation. The endearment barely registered at first, Ford’s thoughts too scattered to process the words, or the slow movement of a joint, already rolled and lit, being passed over to Fidds. Ford’s gaze followed the motion.

     Reggie sank back when Fidds freed his hand, as though he was carefully unfolding himself into the space between them. He reclined on one elbow, his body draped in loose fabric that seemed to cling just where it needed to, revealing in some places and falling away in others. There was an intentionality in the way he settled, languid and unhurried, like time bent around him. Ford’s attention snagged on the glint of gold against Reggie’s chest, the faint shimmer from the chains that lay in the hollow of his collarbone, contrasted by his dark skin. It reminded him of someone—of Bill. Of the easy way he commanded attention, of the sharpness in his gaze, the way the room always bent to him, too.

    Reggie wasn’t sitting too close—not close enough to feel suffocating—but close enough that Ford could see every detail: the smooth skin exposed through the gap in his shirt, the subtle shift of his muscles beneath it. The chains shimmered in the low light, catching the warmth of the room and throwing it back. And the way Reggie let himself be seen, with that casual ease. It caught Ford off guard by it—the openness, the confidence that came with it.

     And then Ford realized, with a sudden jolt of embarrassment, that Reggie had been watching him watch. His heart stuttered, a flicker of panic tightening his stomach. He snapped his gaze forward, heat crawling up his neck as he swallowed hard. The moment was gone as quickly as it had come, but it left something heavy between them—an unspoken acknowledgment. Ford felt it settle in the air. He tried to focus, to steady himself, but the weight of Reggie’s eyes was heavy. He could feel it like a tangible thing, pressing in on him. Though, Reggie said nothing. Ford shifted in his seat, willing the tension in his body to ease, but Reggie, for his part, didn’t seem bothered. He rolled the joint between his fingers when it came back to him, a practiced ease as he’d done everything else, like the brief moment hadn’t rattled him at all.

          “ So , Fiddy,” Reggie finally said, his voice light and casual, “how’s life, how’s the wife?”

     “Good, good,” Fiddleford replied, glancing over at Ford, his smile easy and familiar. “We’ve been making some real progress, mostly thanks to Ford here. He never leaves the lab.” He chuckled lightly. “I had to drag him out here kicking and screaming.”

     Ford felt the eyes on him before he saw them, a warm sense of examination prickling at the back of his neck. He shifted a little, trying to ignore the sudden awareness of himself in the space, his shoulders stiff against the cushion. Reggie’s grin widened, a flash of amusement on his face, but Reg didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate inhale from the joint, letting the smoke swirl around him as his gaze remained on Ford—narrowing slightly, analyzing him in a way that felt layered, as if he were seeing more than Ford was willing to show. Ford gathered enough courage to meet Reggie’s gaze, flashing a tight smile as he rested his arms on his knees, clasping a hand around his wrist to comfort himself. 

     “Workaholic, huh?” Reggie finally said, his tone light and playful, though there was a note of a deeper curiosity—or perhaps recognition. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift between their shared eye contact, and then, casually, Reg held the joint out in Ford’s direction. “Relax, friend.”

          Fidds made a move to take the joint, shaking his head with a knowing laugh. “Oh, no, he doesn’t really—”

     “Sure,” Ford cut in, his hand moving quicker than Fiddleford’s, snatching the joint from Reggie’s fingers. The interruption felt abrupt, but Ford didn’t care.

          Fidds turned to him, surprised. “You sure?”

     Ford shrugged, already bringing the joint to his lips. “Yeah.” His voice came out more casual than he felt. The desperation was there, beneath the surface, an urgent need to drown out the noise. The room felt like it was closing in, the colors, the heat, everything blurring at the edges, and he just wanted to sink into it, disappear into anything that wasn’t the silence that had wrapped itself around him for weeks. “It’s Sunday, right?” he added, throwing out the excuse like it could explain away the restless impulsiveness.

     Reggie’s low chuckle followed, a sound that rumbled through the room like a warm breeze. “That’s the spirit,” he said, his voice smooth as he lightly punched Ford’s shoulder, movements unhurried, deliberate. The loose fabric of his shirt shifted slightly when he rested his arm on a pillow. His jewelry gleamed in the dim light, catching Ford’s eye again, but just for a moment.

     Ford inhaled, and the smoke hit his lungs hard, stinging more than he’d anticipated, less forgiving than the cigarettes he was used to. It felt thick, clinging to the walls of his chest, like it didn’t want to leave. He coughed—once, sharp—and then immediately took another drag, if only to avoid Reggie’s gaze, which rested on him longer than he could ignore. There was something in the way Reggie looked at him, not intrusive, but like he was waiting. Their eyes met again, briefly, and Ford quickly averted his gaze, focusing on the swirl of smoke that drifted in front of him as he exhaled, his chest tightening with the strain of trying not to cough again.

     A burst of voices shattered the uneasy quiet. The door creaked open, and two men strolled in, heavy-footed, their steps too loud for the room’s low thrum. “Hey, Fidds is here!” one of them called out, pulling Ford’s attention like a hook. He glanced over, catching them in that instant—the type that fit everywhere and nowhere, guys who knew how to slip into spaces like they’d been there forever. Their familiarity with Fidds was immediate, like muscle memory. Fiddleford stood up to greet them, laughing as they clapped him on the back, handshakes exchanged in quick, fluid movements Ford couldn’t follow. They acted like they’d known him for years, even if it had only been months.

     Ford’s stomach twisted, though it wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was more a sharp pang of awareness—how easily Fiddleford blended in, how quickly he found his place here, while Ford remained on the outskirts, out of rhythm, out of sync.

     The taller one, bulky with long hair, caught sight of Ford and let out a goofy laugh. “Hey, yo! Is that your guy, Fid?” he shouted, then turned his head toward the room he’d just come from. “Guys, check it out! Fidds is in here gettin’ his boss highn’ shit!”

     Ford felt heat crawl up his neck, shrinking back into the cushion as two more people filtered into the room. Suddenly, it was too much—too many eyes on him, the joint in his hand suddenly feeling like a spotlight. The pressure tightened in his chest, the space growing smaller, more suffocating with each passing second. He could barely breathe under the weight of their casual, curious stares.

     Fidds, sensing the shift in Ford from across the room, placed a hand on the guy’s chest, his voice light but firm. “Hey, give him a break, don’t crowd his genius.” He teased, though there was a gentleness to it, a way of diffusing the moment before it could press further. He gestured toward Ford. “Everyone, this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Ford Pines. Ford, this is—well, everyone.” He chuckled, pointing them out one by one. “Suz, Charlie, Rich, this eccentric fella here is Bobby,” he added, patting the taller guy’s chest. “And, well, you’ve already met Reg.”

     Ford gave a tight nod, his discomfort rising with every name that was thrown at him. Instinctively, he brought the joint back to his lips, taking another hit, hoping the burn would soothe the sudden anxiety in his gut. “How’d ya do,” he managed to mumble through a cough, his voice barely carrying across the room.

     Beside him, Ford could feel Reggie smirking, the subtle curve of his lips unmistakable in the periphery. The moment stretched on, Ford’s pulse loud in his ears as the room’s energy hummed around him, all of it too much, too fast, but somehow still slow enough to drag him under. 

     Bobby’s energy bubbled up again, immediately distracted as soon as introductions were done. “Fid, man, you gotta check out all the work we did on the truck,” he said, already tugging on Fidd’s arm, his body half-turned toward the back door as if it was a foregone conclusion that they’d go.

     Fiddleford hesitated, glancing back at Ford. There was a flicker on his face—an apology, maybe—but it was too quick to catch, slipping away before Ford could decide what to do with it. “Yeah, okay, I’ll come take a look,” Fidds finally said, his voice soft but resigned.

     Ford shot him a look, hoping it would be enough— You’re leaving me here? —but Fiddleford either didn’t notice or pretended not to. He was already swept up in the group’s orbit, their conversation flowing easily as they drifted toward the back door. It was all mechanics and jargon now—engines, gears, repairs—familiar territory for Fiddleford, their voices overlapping in that seamless fashion as they moved toward the back door, voices overlapping, pulling him further away.

          Now Ford was alone, high, with a stranger.

     He sat there, his body stiffening, the cushions suddenly too soft, too inviting, like they might swallow him whole if he let his guard down. He blinked, trying to focus, but the room felt like it was tilting, the corners dimming into shadow. When he looked up again, Reggie hadn’t moved. He was still there, lounging against the pillows, one arm resting casually on his bent knee, the other holding the joint, now half-burnt. His shirt still hung loose, and Ford couldn’t help but notice the way the fabric shifted, revealing more glimpses of smooth skin, the gold of his jewelry catching the ambient light.

     Reg wasn’t saying anything, just watching Ford in that same quiet, expectant way. It wasn’t pressing, but it wasn’t subtle either. Ford felt his pulse quicken, not from any real fear but from the strangeness of the moment. He cleared his throat, the sound too loud, too sharp. Reggie didn’t flinch, just lifted the joint and offered it again, the gesture casual but somehow pointed. Ford took it, let the familiar burn of smoke settle into his lungs, its warmth filling the silence, the haze of it making the room feel more distant, softer around the edges. When he exhaled, the smoke twisted into the air, dissolving the tension for a brief second.

     “You’re really wound up, huh?” Reggie mused, finally breaking the silence, his tone light, almost playful, as if he were teasing a friend. He took the joint back from Ford’s fingers, his touch idle for a fraction longer than necessary, sending a warm jolt through Ford, an ignition of those idle nerves. “Do you mind?” he asked, tugging gently on Ford’s extra finger. It felt intimate, like a small secret shared in the open air. Ford blinked, feeling disoriented, the world around him a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. Was it the weed? His racing thoughts? Maybe it was a combination of both, but he found himself humorously complying with Reggie’s curiosity, holding out his hand to let him observe.

     Reg’s hands were soft compared to Ford’s, his fingers long and slender, a fraction of the size of his own. They felt delicate but precise, the kind of touch that wasn’t accidental. Reg ran his thumb over Ford’s scarred knuckles first, tracing the jagged edges where the skin had split and bled. The scabs still clung to the surface, tender reminders of the glass that had torn through several days before. “Reckless, too,” Reg said, his lips pulling into a slight smile, tsking in mock disapproval. His eyes flicked upward, locking onto Ford’s with a playful intensity, like he was daring him to admit something Ford didn’t want to say.

     Ford coughed, the weight of that look settling in his chest, a quiet pressure he wasn’t prepared for. The kind that made it hard to breathe. “Yeah… “ his voice broke through. “—little accident in the lab,” he said. It was a lie, and Ford couldn’t help but feel like Reg knew it, it was in his eyes, the uncomfortable sense that he saw right through him.

     “What do you do there?” Reg’s voice was casual, but the question hung heavier than it should have, biding between them like it wanted more than just a simple answer. Ford hesitated, feeling the familiar knot of unease rising inside him.

     He tried to deflect, laugh off the question, the sound rough and jagged, but it escaped anyway. It surprised him—how genuine it felt. It might have been the first real laugh he’d let out in weeks. “I can’t tell you,” he said, a slight lift at the corner of his lips. “—it’s classified,”

     He could feel the tension tugging at him, the way he was leaning into the moment without fully being present. Reg’s touch was grounding, though, making him more aware of the room, the warmth, the closeness, but he was still far off, half-immersed in the pull of his own thoughts. The part of him that was still stuck where Bill had left him. But he was here now, Reggie seemed warm and inviting, and Ford, in his exhaustion and restlessness, felt like he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to lean in—just a little further.

     Reg chuckled, lips barely parted, the sound low and conspiratorial. “A man with secrets..?” he mused, flipping Ford’s hand over with a theatrical flourish, turning his palm over and presenting it like a stage. “Reveal them to me . ” The words were soft, yet they carried weight, a teasing command. His index finger traced along the lines of Ford’s palm, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver up Ford’s arm, the sensation startling in its gentleness. It was subtle, but Ford felt it—the way Reg’s touch seemed to draw out the tension buried in his muscles, in his mind, the warmth from his hand seeping slowly, steadily into his skin.

     He felt himself leaning into it, almost unconsciously. The contact was soft but insistent, and for a moment Ford allowed himself to sink into the sensation, to forget about everything gnawing at him from the inside out. The soft hum of the house, the low flicker of light from the candle burning on the table—it all blurred together, folding into the quiet intimacy of this exchange. “I felt your aura the moment you stepped into my doorway,” Reg continued, his tone dipping lower, eyes scanning Ford’s palm with a seriousness. “You’re very powerful, you know. ‘In tune.’”

     Ford blinked, caught in the intensity of Reggie’s gaze, and it threw him off balance. He shook his head slightly, instinctively pulling back from the weight of it. “My mother used to say the same thing,” he said, his voice a little rougher, trying to tether the moment in something lighter. “She read palms, too.”

     Reg lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. “Well acquainted with chiromancy? Aren’t you just full of surprises,” he said with a quiet grin, the words light but curious. “She had the sight?” His gaze drifted back to Ford’s hand, the question hanging in the air with the same weight as before, though his tone remained casual.

     Ford let out another chuckle and shrugged, it was genuine, warmer this time, less guarded. “She said she did,” he replied. “Although, I don’t know how much I believe in that stuff,” His skepticism felt rehearsed, the doubt practiced. It was a lie. The things he’d witnessed, the unspeakable forces he’d encountered—they’d shattered the framework of everything he thought he understood about the world. But disbelief had become a convenient mask, a way to keep himself at a distance. He wasn’t denying it for Reg’s sake, though—this was Ford’s way of keeping the moment alive, keeping the exchange moving, as if daring Reggie to dig deeper.

     And Reg didn’t falter. His fingers moved slowly, methodically, tracing the lines of Ford’s palm like they held a map, like he could read what was buried deep beneath the surface, pulling it out from Ford’s core. His touch wasn’t invasive, but there was a precision to it, an almost unsettling tenderness that made Ford feel exposed, like something private had been unearthed without his permission. The sensation stirred deep within him—a ripple of vulnerability that twisted itself into his gut, mingling with the curiosity that had always gnawed at the edges of his mind. This moment, simple as it was, felt like the most intense positivity Ford had experienced in ages. And despite the discomfort, he was clinging to it, reluctant to let it slip away.

     Reg’s gaze drifted up from Ford’s palm, the smoldering joint dangling between his fingers. He passed it to Ford without breaking the connection between them, the lingering warmth of his hand a reminder of the touch they’d just shared. Ford accepted it, taking a slow drag, his eyes never leaving Reg’s. The weight between them was a force, pulling at the tension bunched in Ford’s chest, slowly unwinding it.

     Reg’s laugh broke the silence, soft and playful, bubbling up from his throat like it had escaped without permission. “What?” Ford asked, a slight smile playing at his lips again, feeling a lightness begin to settle into his bones.

          Reg shook his head, his laughter sputtering past white teeth, the sound was infectious. “Your eyes are so fuckin’ red,” he teased, thick amusement in his voice.

     Ford exhaled, the smoke ghosting around his head, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to defend himself, didn’t feel the need to armor up. He just smiled back, letting the moment hang between them, the air heavy but easy. 

     A slight shiver slid down Ford’s spine as Reg’s fingertip returned to his skin, grazing the curve of his palm, just lightly enough to feel like a breath of wind. Ford exhaled, the sound shaky in his throat, and suddenly, it wasn’t just Reg’s words or the touch itself. It was the way Ford felt his own body responding, betraying him in the quiet space between them. He was too tired to fight it, too worn down to resist the pull any longer.

     Reg’s eyes glinted with that familiar knowing, an amused awareness that settled into his gaze, like he could see past Ford’s careful exterior with ease. “Since you’re experienced,” Reg started, his voice dipping into a melodic rhythm, “I won’t give you the usual surface-level read. On the house, of course.” He paused, letting the offer hang between them, a subtle invitation that felt more intimate than it should have. “We’ll start simple, and build up to it,” he added.

     Ford nodded, the gesture slow, and suddenly the act of swallowing felt thick and deliberate, like the air had shifted. He told himself it was cotton mouth, effects of the smoke, but it didn’t explain the way Reg’s presence clung to him.

     “You have a strong head line.” Reg paused, watching Ford carefully, the intensity of his gaze tightening Ford’s stomach. “Means you’re analytical. A thinker. Figured as much…” He smirked, eyes holding Ford’s as if daring him to react. “But you also tend to overthink. Get lost in your head. Wrapped up?”

     Ford’s pulse quickened, the anxious thrum matching the weight of the words, like they were brushing up too close. “Yeah,” he murmured, the answer slipping out before he could think. He glanced down at his palm, trying to tether himself, but his gaze slid to the shimmer of gold at Reg’s neck instead, catching the soft light as it rested on his skin. He swallowed, clearing his throat, forcing himself to keep his cool. “That’s pretty vague, though,” Ford replied, his tone leveling out. “Doesn’t everyone get stuck in their own head?”

     Reg laughed, the sound light but full of meaning. “Patience is a virtue.” He reminded, letting the moment settle before his fingers moved again, soft and deliberate as they traced along Ford’s palm, following the lines. “This heart line here…” Reg’s fingertip followed a faint curve toward Ford’s first pinky. “It shows you care deeply. But you—” His finger pressed into Ford’s palm, the contact sending a brief rush through him. “You’re special.” Their eyes met again. “You have two heart lines.” Reg’s finger drifted down the line. “You build walls. Keep people at a distance. Afraid to let them in?”

     Ford kept himself steady, playing it off. “Again, this could be applied to most people,” he said, his voice measured. But there was something about the way Reg’s gaze held his that made it feel personal, like the truth was creeping close to the surface.

     Reg was pensive, quiet for a moment. “You wanna get deep?” he asked, reaching behind him and plucking another pre-rolled joint from the table. He held the end up to a candle burning nearby before bringing it to his lips. “Let’s get deep.” Reg shifted his focus back to Ford’s palm, his fingertips brushing over it again, this time with more purpose. 

     Ford watched as Reggie shifted his focus back to his hand, the joint passed between them almost as an afterthought. The smoke lingered in the air, thick but secondary to the slow, deliberate movement of Reg’s fingers as they traced the familiar lines of Ford’s palm, now with more purpose.

     “You’re not an easy read, but ,” Reg murmured, his touch firmer now, his thumb pressing into Ford’s skin as though searching for something just beneath the surface. His voice was low, almost playful, yet the intensity in his gaze remained unwavering. He let a few beats pass, letting the tension settle around them. “A brutish romantic with a soft spot,” he said, a teasing smile breaking through as he exhaled smoke. “Methodical, disciplined… tethered to routine. The type to wear a tie on the weekends,” he added, hooking a finger around the fabric at Ford’s neck as he spoke, gently tugging it from the V of his sweater.

     The sensation sent a jolt through Ford, a mix of embarrassment and unexpected thrill coursing through him as the tie slid out of place, the slight rustle of fabric heightening his awareness of their proximity. He swallowed hard, a flush creeping up his neck, feeling exposed yet strangely exhilarated and Reggie continued. “Idealistic, egotistical… but with enough charm to use it to your advantage,”

     Ford’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement crossing his face as his eyebrows lifted, his gaze dropping into the lines of his own palm. “Egotistical?” he echoed, his voice low, laced with disbelief. He studied his hand like he might find the word scribbled somewhere between the creases.

     Reg chuckled, a soft sound that broke through the haze of smoke. “Look, here,” he said, his tone warm, almost coaxing as his fingertip brushed over Ford’s skin with an easy familiarity. He traced a line where the Head and Heart lines seemed to blur, running his finger slowly along the intersection. “You’ve got a partial Simian Line,” he explained, pausing just long enough for the weight of the words to settle between them. “That’s rare.”

     Ford watched the movement, the subtle touch drawing his focus, making it hard to look away. Reg’s voice dipped lower, a teasing edge to it. “Your logic and emotions tangle together. It must be agony .”

     Ford gave him a look, skeptical, but there was an exchange in the shared glance. It was like a challenge, the way Reg didn’t seem to break the connection between them. Ford’s lips twisted upward, barely noticeable but enough to cut through the heaviness. “Agony, huh?” he muttered, his voice rough, raspy from the smoke. “This guy sounds dramatic.”

     Reg grinned, another quiet laugh rumbling through him. “Just calling it like I see it.”

     As the joint passed between them, each handoff felt deliberate, more intimate than the last. Their fingers brushed lightly, a subtle connection that deepened with every touch. The smoke curled around them, thick and fragrant, softening the edges of the room, the world outside. Ford let the warmth of it fill him, dulling the noise in his head, muting the sharp angles of his thoughts. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other, the quiet holding them in place.

     Reg’s voice stayed soft when it came again, but there was an insistence in the way he continued, his fingertip grazing a barely-there arc on Ford’s palm, a touch that felt almost reverent. “And this—your Venus ,” he murmured, punctuating the word while tracing the faint curve. “It shows you’ve got deep romantic tendencies,” he went on, the weight of his words pressing in on the space between them. “Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

    Ford didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the way Reg’s finger traced along his skin. His breath hitched, when he felt a nail lightly graze his last finger, an isolated sensation that Ford was not used to. “And this?” Reg’s fingers brushed across it, lingering there, gaining a tight breath from Ford. “You’re special, no doubt about it. You’ve got something about you—something otherworldly. You feel like you’re meant for more, don’t you? Ambitious, driven, but…” His thumb lightly pressed into the base of Ford’s hand. “This here shows me you have a weakness. Where you’re vulnerable.” He passed the joint back.

     Ford’s lips brushed the edge of the joint, inhaling slowly, feeling the heat settle into his lungs as he repeated Reg’s words. “And what’s that weakness, exactly?”

     Reggie’s eyes glinted, his lip catching briefly between his teeth, a moment of pause before letting Ford’s words slip into the haze. He didn’t answer, not directly, but instead let the silence build, lingering as his gaze traced the lines of Ford’s hand again. “Those walls,” he murmured, his voice softer now, heavier. “They sure are high…” His fingertip trailed lower this time, down the length of Ford’s palm, grazing the sensitive skin at his wrist.

     Ford’s breath hitched, the touch a jolt against his nerves. He didn’t mean to pull back, but his body reacted instinctively, a light gasp escaping him as he tried to retract his hand. Reg’s grip tightened, not harsh, but firm enough to keep him anchored in place.

    Their eyes locked, the air between them intense, charged. Ford’s breath was uneven now, heavier than he meant it to be, his pulse thrumming in his throat. But Reg didn’t break eye contact, didn’t let the tension snap. His gaze was steady, sharp, reading every flicker of emotion that Ford couldn’t quite suppress, commanding his attention.

     “But you’re waiting…” Reg’s voice was just above a whisper, each word careful. His finger grazed Ford’s wrist again, more intentional this time, pressing lightly against the thrum of his pulse. “For someone bold enough…” he continued, the words slipping between them like a promise. “…to take it.”

     Ford’s throat felt tight, his body teetering on some edge he wasn’t prepared for, but he didn’t pull away this time. Reg’s grip loosened, his fingers easing, cradling Ford’s hand with a tenderness that almost felt out of place. Ford stayed, breath shaky, his body betraying the defenses he had spent so long building. He didn’t relent, didn’t retreat.

     “And once they have…” Reg’s voice was velvet-soft, wrapping around Ford’s resolve. His touch drifted, fingertips brushing down the edge of Ford’s palm before finally pulling away, leaving the skin there tingling in its absence. “You can’t stop...”

     Ford’s pulse raced beneath the surface, his body feeling impossibly heavy as the weight of the moment bore down on him. His mind felt thick, hazy, every thought coming slower than the last, like it was slipping through his fingers before he could grasp it. He didn’t respond—he couldn’t. He was sinking into the quiet pull between them, and for once, he didn’t want to stop.

     “You’re a fire,” Reg murmured, his voice soft but insistent, threading through the fog in Ford’s mind. “Burning bright, even if you bury it beneath the fear… and doubt.” His touch slid over Ford’s palm again, this time more deliberate, starting at the heel and moving upward. He slowly intertwined Ford’s fingers with his own, the touch wasn’t rushed—it was slow, almost agonizing in its tenderness.The movement subtle but charged, letting his words hover in the air between them.

          “And once you’re cracked…” Reg continued, his voice even lower now, his touch deliberate, sliding over the curves of Ford’s fingers. “You just can’t help yourself—”

     Ford barely registered the shift at first, the gentle way Reg’s fingers slipped between his own, testing the space. The intimacy of it, the simple gesture, it made Ford’s heart stutter. Reg leaned forward slightly, fully intertwining their hands, “You sink your teeth in—” his voice was soft, teasing, punctuating his point by clasping Ford’s hand into his own.

     A bolt of awareness shot through Ford, snapping him out of the fog he’d drifted in. He couldn’t tell if it was the weed, the conversations, or just the way Reg seemed to navigate the space between them so easily, but he didn’t realize how close they’d gotten until now, and suddenly, everything felt hyperreal—the warmth of Reg’s hand, the buzz, the shrinking distance between them.

     Ford could feel his pulse racing, a wave of surprise mingling with an unsettled pulse. It was like an itch under his skin, a quiet stirring that made him uncomfortable. Reg wasn’t playing coy anymore; the air between them had thickened, charged with an energy that neither of them could deny. Ford’s heart thudded harder, the realization quickly sinking in, heavy and undeniable.

     “You’re very handsome,” Reg murmured, his voice smooth, coaxing, the compliment slipping out so effortlessly it felt rehearsed. Yet, it hit Ford squarely, easily peeling away another layer of his exterior. There was no mistaking the way Reg looked at him—an intensity, an almost predatory focus that tugged at Ford, drawing him in despite himself.

     “Thank you,” Ford responded, the words spilling out before he could even think them through. They felt foreign on his lips, stiff and out of place. His voice wavered, betraying the storm inside him as he realized just how close they were now and how their hands were still clasped together. The haze of the high wrapped tighter around him, blurring the edges of everything. He felt the room growing smaller, the space more intimate. Reg’s proximity was intoxicating, the quiet promise lingering between them, and Ford felt himself teetering on the edge of something he wasn’t prepared for.

     Amid the swirl of sensation, guilt surged through him, sharp and unwelcome, cutting through the fog. His mind flitted back to Bill and he realized that this was the longest he’d gone without thinking of him in weeks, without the emptiness that had been gnawing at him since. But the void was still there, like a gaping wound, and the thought of filling it with anyone else sent a pang of regret through him. It wasn’t fair—none of this was.

     The ache in his chest became unbearable. He sucked in a breath, pulling his hand back in a sharp, reflexive motion, retreating before he could let himself fall any further. The air between them felt cold in an instant, the warmth of Reg’s touch fading too quickly. Ford’s movements were jerky, deliberate, as he turned away, reaching into his coat, searching for an escape from the intimacy that had come too close for comfort.

     “Can I smoke these in here?” Ford’s voice cut through the heavy silence, awkward and abrupt, like a stone dropped into still water. The tension shattered, fragmented around them as he fumbled to fish a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. The familiar weight settled in his hand, a small comfort, something solid to hold onto in the rising warmth of the moment.

     Reg laughed, a low, rich sound that filled the space between them, effortless and unbothered. It felt like he could hear the chaos in Ford’s head, the way his thoughts tumbled over one another, trying and failing to resist the pull of the moment. “You can smoke whatever you like in here,” Reg replied, his tone easy, unfazed. He took another slow drag from the joint, his gaze steady and unflinching, watching Ford like he could see right through him.

     Ford’s hands shook slightly as he pulled out a cigarette, turning it over in his fingers. He took a deep breath, hoping the familiar ritual would steady him, but it did little to quell the whirlpool of emotions churning inside. The room seemed to close in around him, the boundaries of this strange, intimate space blurring. He could feel Reg’s eyes on him, studying him, and that gaze—it wasn’t just curious, it was deeper, more knowing. It made him nervous.

     Ford fumbled through his pockets, fingers clumsily brushing the fabric in search of matches. “Fuck,” he muttered around the cigarette hanging between his lips, realizing they were still tucked away in his lab coat, far away from here. His eyes flicked back to Reg. “You got a light?”

     Reg didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand slid around the back of Ford’s neck, the touch soft, deliberate, sending a pulse of electricity through Ford’s veins. Before Ford could react, Reg was pulling him closer, their faces just inches apart. The joint was almost burned down now, just a smoldering ember at the tip, but enough to get the job done.

     Reg leaned in, the joint held between his lips as he brought it to Ford’s cigarette. Their faces were so close now, Ford could feel the heat of Reg’s breath mixing with his own, the soft exhale of smoke curling between them like a veil, thick and intimate. The flicker of the flame illuminated Reg’s eyes—dark, focused, and anything but subtle now.

     Ford’s heart pounded, a rhythm that matched the tension rising between them, the closeness almost unbearable. The ember glowed, casting a warm, brief light across their faces, and Ford inhaled sharply, his cigarette igniting with a soft crackle. But he barely noticed, too consumed by the way Reg was looking at him, the intensity in his gaze.

     Reg’s fingers were like feathers at the back of Ford’s neck, his thumb brushing against the nape of his skin, light, but covetous. Ford’s pulse raced, the warmth of Reg’s touch seeping into him, disarming him in a way he hadn’t expected. The smoke between them thickened, curling up in lazy spirals, filling the space with a heavy, intoxicating haze. Ford exhaled slowly, his breath mingling with Reg’s as they stayed close, neither one pulling back.

     Ford felt himself loosening, surrendering to the look in Reg’s eyes, yet beneath that ease lay an undercurrent of apprehension. It was subtle at first, almost like a gentle pull drawing him deeper into the moment, but then it magnified—every detail sharper, inescapable. The way Reg’s shirt hung loosely off one shoulder, the deliberate way he sat, angling his body just enough for Ford to catch the view he wanted him to see, every move intentional. Ford was all too aware of it, and that awareness made it intoxicating. Made it terrifying.

     Reg was leaning closer now, the tension between them so thick it buzzed in the air. Ford’s heart thudded wildly, matching the flurry of emotions swirling in his head. The thrill of this moment battled with the shadow that dwelled in his mind. Bill . Bill, who was always there, an ache that never fully left. But it was different now. He was tired. He was high. He was sad.

     And Reg—Reg was here. Solid, real, warm, his fingers ghosting across Ford’s thigh, light enough to be innocent but with an edge of intent that made Ford’s pulse spike. It was like a flame igniting his nerves, spreading heat through his body, making it hard to think straight, hard to resist the pull between them.

     They were just looking at each other now, every second feeling like a step closer and Ford wasn’t sure he could pull away from it. His hand stayed just a moment longer on Ford’s thigh, igniting more than just his skin. They were so close now—close enough that Ford could smell faint fragrance of Reggie’s lotion, how it clung to his skin—he smelled like patchouli. Earthy, grounding, yet heady in the thick air closing between them. 

          Ford liked patchouli.

     “You ever been with a man before?” Reg asked, his voice quiet and smooth as his fingers tiptoed further up Ford’s thigh, tracing delicate patterns against his denim. The intimacy of the gesture sent shivers through Ford, igniting a warmth that spread from the point of contact.

     Ford met his gaze again, feeling the gravity of the moment settle around them. The facade of subtlety in Reg’s eyes had vanished, replaced by curiosity and an intensity that made Ford feel flush. That curiosity came with a weight of memories he still couldn’t shake. He could almost feel Bill’s presence in the room—the sharpness of his wit, the intensity of his gaze that had always left Ford feeling both exposed and exhilarated.

     Reg was different—but he was confident and charming in a way that drew Ford in, filling a void he hadn’t realized he’d been yearning to fill. Reg wasn’t Bill, not even close, but there was something tantalizing about his attention, the way he flattered and teased, reading Ford like a book, getting under his skin. The thought stirred a bittersweet ache within him. The turmoil twisted in his gut, the allure of Reg’s touch and the pulse of longing made it difficult to think clearly. He swallowed hard, battling the nerves that threatened to overwhelm him.

          Ford nodded lightly to the question, redness creeping across his cheeks as he fought to reconcile the whirlwind of emotions inside him. Reg wasn’t Bill, but maybe—he could just— pretend?

               No

     In an instant, the spell broke. Ford recoiled, drawing a measured breath and sitting up straighter, guilt spilling through him as the moment slipped away. He couldn’t do it. Quickly, he took a puff of his cigarette and retreated, the smoke swirling around him as he tucked into himself, a futile attempt to mask the tension that still crackled in the air. He couldn’t bear to look at Reg, his leg bouncing nervously under the weight of his eyes.

     Reg rested back on his elbow, a tight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, as if to savor the remnants of that moment. Ford caught his breath, the memory of their closeness was heavy in the smoky air, like a half-finished thought, tantalizing and unresolved. Regret was already bubbling up in Ford’s chest. This is exactly why he left you. He pulled his knees closer to his body, keeping his eyes fixed forward, puffing at his cigarette, resisting.

     Reggie just looked at him, a knowing expression settling on his features. “You’ve already bit, hm?” he asked, his tone a teasing caress, yet there was a deeper undercurrent, tender and understanding.

     Ford closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, savoring the familiar burn of the cigarette. He let the smoke roll from his mouth in a slow, deliberate stream, each exhale a quiet acknowledgment of the truth he couldn’t quite articulate. He nodded quickly, nervously, the admission heavy on him, mingling with the haze of the moment.

     Reggie’s gaze roamed over Ford, lingering. It felt disarming and nerve wracking. “Is he kind?” he inquired, his voice low and rich, the question weaving itself into the fragile fabric of their conversation.

     Ford swallowed hard, the words lodged in his throat like stones as he fixed his gaze forward, unable to turn back and face him. He felt the smoke curl around him, a gentle embrace that offered both comfort and confinement. Stillness stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of concession.

     “I see,” Reggie said, his voice dropping further, almost conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret. He began swaying his knee back and forth, a rhythmic motion that mirrored the tension building in the air around them. “Do you like that?” he pressed, a daring curiosity lacing his words.

     Ford remained silent, his body taut with the effort of holding back, wrestling with the question’s gravity and its answer. Stillness fell between them again; responding not with his voice, nor with his body. But the answer was there, hanging in the space between them, pulsing with unacknowledged longing. He didn’t need to say anything; the truth lay in the way his breath quickened, the way his heart raced, a confession spoken in the silence.

     Laughter erupted from the other room, shattering the fragile bubble they had created. The sound spilled into the space like a sudden gust of wind, accompanied by the slam of the back door and the clamor of boots stomping across the floor. Fiddleford and two other house guests reentered the living room, their exuberance vibrant and chaotic. Ford felt a conflicting rush of relief and disappointment wash over him—relief that the pressure of the moment had lifted, but disappointment that he was losing what he hadn’t quite grasped, and the relief it offered him. But the weight of Reg’s gaze felt too heavy to bear, and he wanted to leave; he couldn’t take it anymore.

     Fidds glanced over at the two men gathered at the table, his smile faltering as he took in Ford’s hunched posture, the way his leg bounced nervously—a telltale sign of his discomfort. Fidds had known Ford long enough to recognize when he was struggling, down to the way he was holding his cigarette; awkwardly pinched between his index finger and thumb. Classic Ford. Even if he didn’t know the details of what happened after he stepped out, the distance Ford had created between himself and Reg tugged at his heart. There was a flicker of guilt simmering in his chest; he’d thought inviting Ford out would help him relax, help him meet new people, but it had clearly backfired. Fidds wanted to be a good friend, to encourage Ford to break out of the shell he often retreated into, but all he saw now was Ford’s unease, the way he faced away, lost in thought.

     “We’d better get going,” Fidd said, his voice cutting through the laughter as he locked eyes with Ford across the room, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil they both felt. He was aware, on some level, that Ford was grappling with something deeper, something that made him work himself to the bone. Fidds wished he could pry it out, wished he could ease the burden Ford carried, but he didn’t know; the weight of absence heavy on his friend’s shoulders, the truth of his feelings. All he knew was that his friend was fighting battles unspoken. But he didn’t need to know. Not everything. Not if Ford wasn’t ready.

     With a gentle resolve, Fidd slapped a wad of cash onto the glass table and smiled at Reg, the sound sharp and decisive against the laughter still bubbling in the background. “The store closes early on Sunday.” he said before he reached out to Ford, offering a hand to help him stand. Ford hesitated, feeling the remnants of the intimate moment with Reg still on his mind, the unvoiced confessions now overshadowed by the arrival of laughter and light. But he took Fidd’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up, the warmth of their connection a reminder of the world beyond the chaos of his mind.

     Reg reached the door first, his hand poised on the handle as he swung it open, helping them on their way out. Fidds walked out first, exchanging brief pleasantries as he and Reg passed one another. He went stepping into the cool air with a casualness, almost skipping down the concrete steps.

     Ford followed just behind, flustered and desperate to escape the remnants of the visit. The cold air hit him like a splash of cold water, stark and refreshing, but it couldn’t shake the heat still lingering in his cheeks. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping to soothe what was wrestling in him. As he stepped through the threshold, he felt a gentle tug on the sleeve of his coat.

     Ford turned back, caught off guard by Reg’s presence so close again. “Come back whenever you’re ready,” Reg said, his voice low and inviting, hanging in the air like a spell waiting to be broken.

     Heat flooded Ford’s cheeks, and he cleared his throat, the sound sharp against the stillness between them. He nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration coursing through him in a way that was unsettlingly exhilarating. Without another word, he turned away, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he trudged after Fidds, the weight of Reg’s words in his ear.

     As they approached Fidds’ car, Ford felt the urge to look back, a magnetic pull compelling him to see if Reg was still watching. He stole a glance over his shoulder just as he reached the car door, and there was Reg, framed in the doorway, eyes fixed on him with an intensity that sent a perturbed vibration through Ford’s chest.

     Suddenly, the air felt even cooler, sharper, and he snapped his head forward, tucking into his shoulders as if to shrink away from the warmth of Reg’s gaze. He felt exposed, and unsteady as he climbed into the car, the weight of the afternoon pressing down on him —uncertainty, agitation, and something that tasted faintly of observation. He couldn’t quite explain it, couldn’t articulate the tumult that churned in his chest. It was probably just in his head, he told himself, but the sensation remained. It felt, oddly, as though every moment spent in Reg’s presence had been a probing examination, intentional. He couldn’t shake the feeling—as though, that entire time, he was being watched.

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[Read Entire Work Here]

[pfffsfic]

i think human bill would have leprechaun vibes, by which I mean abnormally short but with facial hair and an adult voice/wardrobe

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

last post for the night i swear

the real tragic part about the whole science fair incident is that perpetual motion is impossible to achieve

ford’s machine would have never worked, regardless of whether or not stan had interacted with it

(warning i accidentally wrote an approximately 30-tag dive into ford’s character in the tags don’t click see more if you don’t want to read that)

anyway!! good night everyone ❤️‍🩹

[yesyourstalker]

Makeup artist:.......... Are you nervous?

Baja: a little bit.... This isn't like in front of a studio audience right

Makeup artist: No sweetie, it's just a one-on-one interview.

Baja: that's good. Who are we interviewing?

Makeup artist: You're going to have to ask the show-runner, Mickey.

Mickey: let's go. Let's go. Let's go what takes so long putting powder on a face. He has perfect skin anyway. We had to get him to the dressing room. We start filming in a couple minutes

Makeup artist: I'm finished. Just need to map down some scales and he's...... All done. You're free to go sweetie

Baja: thank you

Mickey: So you must be then host of the show. Sorry I wasn't able to meet you sooner. I was on vacation. Oshi told me you're a really good candidate for this show. You seem to be competent you know your way around music....*sip* ..... Coffee?

Baja: I don't really drink that much coffee. I like tea though

Mickey: Green tea! *Snap*. .*snap*

Assistant: your green tea

Baja: thank you

Mickey: Well I know one thing for sure. She was right about the pretty face. Now as you get dressed head to the studio so we start filming promotional material Ramon should be there with you. After your interview which will count as the pilot

Tammy: Mickey listen I really think you should reconsider about not casting me for the show

Mickey: No....*sip*

Tammy: but I really think you should I mean I can at least be co-host. I'm great to be around! Tell him, baba

Baja: it's Baja

Mickey: No, we need to bring up the sea slug viewership

Tammy: I can be the second co-host

Mickey:....*sigh*...... Tammy listen to me. You didn't get the job all right. You just don't fit the criteria we need for this show and this channel. But hey you have other opportunities for other networks alright. You're pretty, you're bubbly and you have a nice rack. You can get a job anywhere with those qualities around here.... You're just not going to find it at this station

Tammy: but-

Mickey: goooooood byyyyyyyyyyyyyeeee Tammy!!

Security guard: Right this way ma'am

Tammy: Mickey!!! I'll have your fucking job!!

Mickey: we'll see you next week Tammy we're filming the season finale

Baja: she seemed pretty upset

Mickey: eh she'll get over it ... She's been in a couple of shows here and there on the network. She plays Kate the baby sitter on 'dock and dingy' ......*sip* ..... She'll be fine. Here Is your dressing room your clothes should be folded

Baja: alright... and I just head to set after

Mickey: yep your's and Ramon's chairs will be the brown arm chairs. The musician or celebrity will be sitting on the loveseat and will perform on the stage behind you

Baja: they're going to perform?

Mickey: yeah.. yeah they're starting their Solo career

_______________________________________________

Ramon: hey... You look good. They spruced up your wardrobe too

Baja: yeah. I wonder if we're able to take this home with us

Ramon: probably. I think it'd be easier just to keep in our dressing rooms for now. Keep our work clothes separate from our regular clothes. Feels like bad energy to mix them together.

Baja: how so?

Ramon: I mean this nice brand name stuff fancy designs, colors and a hefty price on it. It's nice but it isn't really me. It's what the studio and the producers want me to be and I rather keep that at work when. I go home I wear my regular off-brand jeans, my 8-year-old sweater and a pair of kicks with a hole in it. That's me. That's who I am. A regular person, I'm not above anyone and I don't want to feel like I am. Get what I'm saying

Baja: yeah... I get it. You don't want the job to change you

Ramon: exactly

Mickey: All right! Hitch you got the shot?

Hitch: Yeah I got it. We can use this for commercials

Baja: you were filming?

Mickey: Yeah yeah no worries. We just wanted to film you guys interacting. We didn't tell you cuz we wanted to look natural.

Hitch: we didn't have any mics on so we couldn't hear what you were saying so don't worry about it. I'm the director by the way names Hitch. Nice to meet you..

Baja: hello

Ramon: hey

Mickey: alright so we're going to start filming the show in 30 minutes. Kikura is their dressing room.

Ramon: Kikura from C-side?

Mickey: yeah

Kikura: sorry I'm late.. I tend to procrastinate when I'm getting ready for these types of things...... Not a good excuse but... yeah

Mick: Well that's perfectly fine. We'll be filming in a couple minutes this is Ramon and this is Baja. They're going to be the ones interviewing you

Kikura: hey

Hitch: while we wait for that, let's do some more advertisements

______________________________________________

Assistant: alright..... Advertisement 2 take one...[clap]

Baja: Hi my name is baja and I'm the new host of the inklab's new show 'music at midnight'.... Me and my new co-host Ramon

Ramon: sup

Baja: we're going to be interviewing musicians from all walks of life

Ramon: and different genres.

Baja: We're going to have nice conversations getting to know them, telling us some really cool stories.

Ramon: a show airs Thursdays at 11:30 p.m. can't wait to see you there!

Hitch: CUT!.... Great! We're going to do some more editing and maybe some reshoots on that but here is your intro You're going to do this during every episode you introduce yourself. You tell them what show they're watching and then you tell the current news what's going on in the music world..... You're also going to have to do that when you start writing articles for the blog, but we'll get to that later. ... Here's the monologue script. If you want to go off script feel free... Go over it, memorize We'll film in 15...... Oshi! Good to see you..*mwah mwah* how are you baby

Oshi: Hitch! Hope everything is going well I just wanted to check in on everyone

Hitch: yes... You're going to start filming soon so have a seat....(Pat...Pat)

Oshi: alright..... I'm getting a call.....*ugh*..............[inhale].....[exhale]...... Hi Shimi! How are you doing dear?... Are you having fun on the farm? I saw some pictures warabie posted on squidder. You look cute riding the tracker hehhe....... Well you only have one week left honey..... yes I've enjoyed my break..... The church? If that works for you honey I guess it gives you a purpose.........*sigh*...(Eye roll)....acting is also your purpose I know...how's warabie is he having fun?......well tell him to try to enjoy himself..............yes ...... alright good bye hun.............

_______________________________________________

Shimi: hm.....

Merv: Shimi it's your turn to take the manatees out to graze, take your son with you. Noiji start up the tractor I need you to harvest the octoberries, ikkan pack up squidmelons and head into town. Koi would you help me harvest some of the squid lemons

Koi-koi: I'd love to

Merv: Cirrina sweetheart you said you're going into the city for a school project?

Cirrina: Yeah just for 2 hours. When I get back I'll feed the krill and clean out their coop

Merv: All right, be safe

Shimi: warabie help me load up the manatees

Warabie: yeah..... What were you calling Mom about?

Shimi: It's none of your concern she didn't let me talk anyway............

Warabie:... All right, the manatees are in (bump...bump).....

Shimi: alright...................

Warabie:............so what's mom up to at home?

Shimi: she's working on project O.E.T network

Warabie: that's nice she's been working on that for years

Shimi: *humpf*.... We've been working on for years.... Typical of her to go behind my back and do things without my permission or opinion

Warabie:...... Oooookkkaaay...........hm.................hey mahi

_______________________________________________

Mahi: hey dude

Warabie: what's going on at home?

Mahi: nothing much. Baja got a new job...... stop!........ Yeah, he's going to be on TV now. That's pretty neat

Warabie: tv?!

Mahi: some talk show.... Midnight music...... Music at midnight something.....neta stop spawn camping!

Neta: I'm not spawn camping

Warabie: he got the job!? How did he get the job?!

Mahi: I don't know, I really haven't had time to talk to him. He's been in and out of the apartment for like days now..... cod damn it!.... Let me leave the base at least...... fuck!

Neta:hehehehehehehe... I'm sorry .hehehe

Mahi: sorry... Neta's being an asshole...uhhhhh...Baja honestly hasn't been here and when he is here he's just there to get dressed and then leave.

Warabie:*sigh*....... good for him... Guess he's going to be the new breadwinner

Mahi: hey so when are you coming home?

Warabie: end of the week I should be home

Mahi: great apartments too quiet and-Neta!

Neta: what?! What am I doing wrong? I'm just playing the game. It's not my fault you always end up in my range of sight. Get good at the game

Mahi:*huff*... Can you come home faster? I miss you

Warabie: aww I miss you too mahi.. I honestly want to go home too. This place sucks ......I'm tired of scooping Manatee shit and hauling crates of squidmatoes

Neta: ask him the question

Mahi: *ugh*........are you able to bring home fresh produce and milk

Warabie: I....... I'm going to have to ask ikkan's dad that

Shimi: we're here unload the manatees

Warabie: I got to go.... text you later..........

Mahi: bye..... I'm not playing with you anymore! I'm done with this game....

Neta: One more round. I want to get a gold badge on this weapon I'm two games away. You can be on my team this time

_______________________________________________

Cirrina: .......this must be the address..........(Knock knock)

Bayou: Cirrina! You showed up!

Cirrina: yeah....hehehe sorry if I'm a little early ...

Bayou: no worries. Come in, come in you can use your shoes on the shelf right here. So what do you want to know about krillarney?

Cirrina: I'm just you know the origins and the history of krillarney...... You lived on the surface for most of your life, right? Is that true for most octolings here?

Bayou: yeah... Most of us here spent their whole lives on the surface though there are some who moved here who previously lived underground

Cirrina: Interesting......so... And did your family move here?

Bayou:...... I think you might get more information from my nan.... Nana!!....... You remember my Nana. from church?

Nana: yes!? Bayou? What is it love?.....oh... Dear the little girl from church. Nice to see you again sweetie

Cirrina: hello..

Bayou: Nan do you mind if she asks you a few questions?

Nana: I have no problems sweetie

Cirrina: It's just a couple questions .. . I'm doing a five-page essay on octarian history in other countries

Nana: wasn't that nice? Well what do you want to know dear?

Cirrina: uhhhh .... When did you move here

Nana: oh I have no idea sweetie It's been years...... The war started when I was around......10 of 11 years old. I lived with my two sisters in a small village My mother was a School teacher and my father passed away years ago.

Cirrina: *writing*

Nana at the time my village was not affected by the high tides but it was targeted with conflict over land and resources. Next thing you know, I was being drafted for the war along with my two sisters. They just turned 13. They never held a weapon before. My mother couldn't even imagine them going to war, it was only after the first bomb we decided to leave. We had to leave quickly so we weren't able to bring a lot. All we had to pack was whatever we could fit in our backpacks. I packed two dresses, pair of pants, three shirts and one skirt. I also packed my Adva doll she's the only toy I played with for years.

Cirrina: *writing*

Nana: My mother was good friends with a man who moved to our village before the war happened. He was a nice inkling man Mr. Doal he offered to help us leave. His son got drafted and passed away early in the midst of combat. He told us about a developing sovereign country called krillarney that was currently taking in anyone and everyone across the world who wanted to get away from the war

Cirrina: *write*..... So how did you get to krillarney

Nana: we were informed that there were fairies and ships offering to help people leave. We set our trip in the middle of the night and met up with Mr. Dole and other people who wanted to leave as well. The walk was 3 hours straight. No brakes, no rest until we made it to the coast and we got onto a ship. It was a squid beak ship if I remember, The S. S. Escargot. We sailed for a week to krillarney making several stops picking others in similar situations.

Cirrina: was it just inkfish who were escaping?

Nana: oh no there were so many people from so many walks of life on the ship. Urchins, fish, cephalopods, Crustaceans. So many were affected by this war. I remember seeing some still wearing their military uniforms. It was their only chance to leave and they took it

Cirrina: when you got to krillarney what was it like? Was different from how it is today.

Nana: Well I can tell you one thing we didn't have these malls, outlets or a nice studio apartment like I have now hehehe. .... When I first got here My mother could only afford a nice small house with two bedrooms. Our neighbor was young octoling and his wife was a bass. They were enlisted in the military for years. When the war started they were completely against it. They were planning on having kids at the time they couldn't do that if they were at war. Unfortunately they weren't able to have kids but they watched me and my sister so many times that they kind of saw us as their kids hehehe

Cirrina: *writing*...... Do you ever think about your old village? What happened to it?

Nana:............. Well....um..... Like I said at the time the high tides didn't affect my home but.............. Soon enough it was............. Everything was wiped out and everyone......... From what I know now....... The water levels have subsided and it is inhabitable but............ I just never went back. Everything I know about that place is gone. My home my toys.....some of my old friends

Cirrina:.... I'm sorry.......

Nana: it's alright love

Cirrina: ....... I think I asked enough questions

Nana: are you sure? I could tell you more

Cirrina: oh that's ok really.... I have enough to write my paper. I have to get home to do my chores

Bayou: alright..... Do you want me to walk you to the fairy dock?

Cirrina: (blush).... well........ok...

Bayou: great..... I'll be right back Nana

Nana: Come back safe

Cirrina:..........................

Bayou:...........................

Cirrina:..................

Bayou:..............you know we have tons of historical sites here if you ever want to check them out..... Add some photos for extra credit

Cirrina: that would be nice but I really need to get home

Bayou: we don't have to do it today.

Cirrina: I leave at the end of the week

Bayou: Well you can plan something for this week maybe Tomorrow maybe?....

Cirrina: I can see.... Yeah I think tomorrow would be good yeah..

Bayou: All right so why don't we meet up here again at 2:00 and I can take you to the lighthouse, The bridge of new beginnings and I can even take you to the museum

Cirrina: Great! It's a date! I mean....uh... No! It's not a date..... it's a day out....an outing yeah it's it's it's an outing we're going out......for the day! We're going out for the day

Bayou:..heheheheheh... Here's my number....... I'll text you tomorrow. See ya Cirrina!

Cirrina: bye..hehehehehe........*sigh*..........

_______________________________________________

Assistant director: 'music at midnight'.... Introduction take three!.....(CLAP)

Hitch:go!

Baja: welcome, welcome! Welcome my name is Baja! And this is my co-host Ramon

Ramon: hey!

Baja: I'm very excited to say that this is the first episode of our very new show called 'music at midnight'. What is music at midnight? Well as the names in the title says we're going to be talking about music and it's going to be airing during midnight.

Roman: yep so while we sit here and talk and do interviews. You're going to be sitting on your couch or in your bed and your nice warm jammies.....

Baja: I wish we could wear pajamas

Ramon: Right? We should ask the exacts for a pajama day

Baja: hahahaha...(CLAP)..... All right, let's get started.... Today's music news....... But before we do that, who's who's with us today

Ramon: today we have Kikura sitting in our guest seat

Kikura: hey everyone

Baja: so we Kikura here today and there the guitarist for the band c-side and she's a part of another group riot act.....now Kikura is it true that riot act actually came before the band C-side?

Kikura: uh....oh my cod.......uh wow..... Yeah actually that is true. It did come before C-side... Technically yes but at the time it was not called riot act.... It was actually called 'no boys allowed' uhhehe.... We were in high school that was our original band.... We were in an all-girls school. We were just a couple of weird kids just screwing around... We were all in theater together and we used to hang out under the bleachers and I don't remember who mentioned it but one of us said "wouldn't be funny if we started a band and we had no idea how to play the instruments"....and heh That's how it really started

Baja: it started out as a bit?

Kikura: Yeah it started out as a bit. We started to borrow instruments from The music room and we started to play, used to write music together like we had our own group chat and everything ... It started to get serious during second year of school. It started out as a joke and then just kind of started to really get into it and we really just stopped seeing it as a joke and started seeing it as more of a hobby and soon after we started to book gigs, shows and sets in people's basements. It just kind of took off after that.

Ramon: so what made you join C-side?

Kikura: so C-side started after I met Beika it was a small underground club. He recognized me from my band and he was really excited to see me! He told me that he was a bass player and his old roommate was a drummer and they needed a guitar player. He had a couple songs that he's written and he wanted my opinion on it. He wanted to see if I was able to do a demo track for him.

Baja: *nods*

Kikura: a couple weeks of talking I went to the studio and I met Uotora... He's such a sweetheart oh my cod.... We did rewrites and we wrote some more music. We did some test tracks and 5 hours later I was officially a part of the band...

Baja: what was your first concert like.... You played in sesame hall as the opener for wet floor

Kikura: I was surprisingly calm during the whole show. Really thought I was going to panic and freeze up because this is the first actual concert like a concert concert like it wasn't just a group of people hehehe in a backyard. I remember the crowd wasn't that enthusiastic when we came up but after playing 'click bate' people really just started to really get into it and we just formed a fan base after that.

Ramon: are you still a part of that band? After you released your new album with riot act

Kikura: oh yeah definitely. I'm still a part of the band I'm not going anywhere. This ain't that kind of band. Do we treat each other with respect...hehehe...hm... But no this is just a side project. We all just started talking again and it's just a passion project we're just doing really

Baja: and speaking of passion projects, let's get to the news....Nami one of the members of beloved yet controversial bands front roe has enough that branching off and starting a solo career. Today on Inkstagram she announced that she's working on a new album and writing her own songs she even took a selfie of herself in the studio showing in the recording booth.

Ramon: I think nami's very underrated in the band. It's good to see she's getting out there

Kikura: I'm so happy that she is. I only met her two times. It was during the black square music festival and the seashore awards she is so nice, she's so kind and so pretty. We were talking and I brought up keeping my music in a notebook and she did the same thing too. She has several notebooks of music that she really wants to make but it doesn't really fit the sound of 'squid squad'..... Well I guess it's front roe now but she's kept those book for years... I truly hope she's putting those to good use

Baja: You know this actually isn't her first solo work. She worked on a soundtrack for 'high-rise falling 4'. It was a video game for the gamer boy x system.

Kikura: really?

Raman: Yeah I know that she composed background music for the menu and she also made The third boss Battle song. Man If they ever make the movie of high-rise falling

Baja: they are never going to make that movie.... It's always in production hell for years now

Kikura: I've only played the second and third game in that series, but I heard the movie is going to be starting off with The fifth installment and going backwards which doesn't make any sense

Hitch: what is high-rise falling? I don't know what that is. What are they talking about?

Oshi: It's just a game that these kids play. The audience will know what they're talking about

Ramon: they should bring her back for the movie. It would be really cool if she remixed her original tracks. I love that for him. I'm happy that she's making music. I'm really excited..... What else we have for the news

Baja: SashiMori are no longer doing fall tours or winter tours like they used to

Raman: oh?

Baja: So one of the members, Paul. He's no longer able to travel because he has school so they're going to have to do summer tours

Ramon: that makes sense.... I remember their last tour was during fall during spook fest. Everyone dressed up in costumes and during their last set, people were giving out candy.... Folks was handed a bucket before they got into the arena. it was good candy too like people were getting full size candy bars..... What type of candy do you like? I like gum.... You could never go wrong with gum..... Good flavor, good texture... And you can blow bubbles with it. What about you?

Baja: I enjoy chocolate... I love a good piece of chocolate..... Especially if it has a filling in it like marshmallow or something.....Kikura?

Kikura: I would say I'm a hard candy type of person.... I enjoy jawbreakers

Baja: really

Kikura: Yes, it lasts longer than most candies and..... Besides lollipops It is the only candy that is socially acceptable to take out of your mouth

Hitch: do we have any chocolate sponsors?

Oshi: no but I can get with the marketing team and see what we can do

[one hour of banter later]

Baja: Well folks that's our show! Thank you for being here for our first ever episode. The riot act album will be released on the 22 so make sure you check your local stores for it....now enjoy one of their debut songs 'No planned survivors'

[riot act performing in the back ground]

Mickey: what are the viewerships right now?

Assistant: Right now the viewerships are sitting at 89.4 million...and online..... only 20k views... But that number might rise in the next week

Mickey: [inhale].....[exhale]...... What do you estimate the viewership for ink lab plus?

Assistant: Well..... Judging from the viewership on TV and the viewership on the app we might be able to gain..................... 100 million first episode maybe even more...

Executive: I don't understand it! they talked about video games and then candy, went on a tangent about handbags and backpacks. How is this popular?! This is supposed to be about music and celebrities.

Oshi: Kids today aren't really all that interested in celebrities showing off their fancy cars, expensive clothes and lifestyle. They're bored at that and so are the newer artists. They just want to know who they are as a person....if knowing about their favorite candy and opinions on games keeps them engaged and interested in their music and our show I see no problem with it

Mickey: hmmmm.....

Hitch: I think we might need a meeting for this. I have an idea

Oshi: what's the idea

Hitch: we haven't had that much traction on the app for a while. instead of making a recorded video the next time we film we do a live stream and have the audience involved with the conversation

Mickey: I like that. Keeps the audience engaged and keeps the viewerships high. it saves money on editing

Hitch:......... These kids are going to make us a lot of money

_______________________________________________

Neta had 12 kills in one match and 6 of them were mahi

lmao fish was fighting for their life @fish-at-fish-fish-resort

[breadboylovin]

graydon should bring back his really long hair. for me

[eldragon-x]

well anyway

[amlovelies]

Ximena is oc of the week and she's one who I'd moved to the back burner because like she didn't feel super distinct or have much personality and now I have to think of a personality 😬 I think I might make her a gamer. I don't have any ocs who are gamers so that might be fun

[pineyw00dsshesquatch]

I really loved making anthro pokemon. Humanoid body types take all the fun out of it.

listen pokemon is really cool but some of the final evos for the starters are really pushing it for pokemon. that is not a thing that eats from a bowl on the ground that cunt pays rent and goes to gay bars on the weekend

[hellyeahsickaf]

I found an extremely dope disability survival guide for those who are homebound, bedbound, in need of disability accommodations, or would otherwise like resources for how to manage your life as a disabled person. (Link is safe)

It has some great articles and resources and while written by people with ME/CFS, it keeps all disabilities in mind. A lot of it is specific to the USA but even if you're from somewhere else, there are many guides that can still help you. Some really good ones are:

How to live a great disabled life- A guide full of resources to make your life easier and probably the best place to start (including links to some of the below resources). Everything from applying for good quality affordable housing to getting free transportation, affordable medication, how to get enough food stamps, how to get a free phone that doesn't suck, how to find housemates and caregivers, how to be homebound, support groups and Facebook pages (including for specific illnesses), how to help with social change from home, and so many more.

Turning a "no" into a "yes"- A guide on what to say when denied for disability aid/accommodations of many types, particularly over the phone. "Never take no for an answer over the phone. If you have not been turned down in writing, you have not been turned down. Period."

How to be poor in America- A very expansive and helpful guide including things from a directory to find your nearest food bank to resources for getting free home modifications, how to get cheap or free eye and dental care, extremely cheap internet, and financial assistance with vet bills

How to be homebound- This is pretty helpful even if you're not homebound. It includes guides on how to save spoons, getting free and low cost transportation, disability resources in your area, home meals, how to have fun/keep busy while in bed, and a severe bedbound activity master list which includes a link to an audio version of the list on Soundcloud

Master List of Disability Accommodation Letters For Housing- Guides on how to request accommodations and housing as well as your rights, laws, and prewritten sample letters to help you get whatever you need. Includes information on how to request additional bedrooms, stop evictions, request meetings via phone, mail, and email if you can't in person, what you can do if a request is denied, and many other helpful guides

Special Laws to Help Domestic Violence Survivors (Vouchers & Low Income Housing)- Protections, laws, and housing rights for survivors of DV (any gender), and how to get support and protection under the VAWA laws to help you and/or loved ones receive housing and assistance

Dealing With Debt & Disability- Information to assist with debt including student loans, medical debt, how to deal with debt collectors as well as an article with a step by step guide that helped the author cut her overwhelming medical bills by 80%!

There are so many more articles, guides, and tools here that have helped a lot of people. And there are a lot of rights, resources, and protections that people don't know they have and guides that can help you manage your life as a disabled person regardless of income, energy levels, and other factors.

Please boost!

[anakinh]

i can't wait until i get enough clout in my job to be bitchy. not like, be a bitch, but be bitchy. i work in climate change and decarbonization. i need to be bitchy. like imagine

a company's emission disclosures and their sustainability goals are literally just a post on facebook

no i cannot 'move your emissions' so you 'don't need to disclose it'

bezos earth fund????

this american organization's website is somehow subtly hyper-american and i don't trust it. like it's not actually extremely american but it feels like only 1) an american who's 2) writing this for politicians could've made this website. the vibes are rancid.

bezos earth fund???

your company cares so much about sustainability that you're following all of these standards and certifications AND your company is on the board for/founded the organizations who publish them? so you're patting yourself on the back for meeting international standards that you set?

am I being overtly cynical about this? do they genuinely want to help? I genuinely want to help and yet I am doing so in a capitalist structure even though capitalism caused most of this. how can you dismantle something using the same structure that caused it? i don't know if you can. i don't know how else to do it? i can't be that special. how many people are like me in those companies? Do they genuinely want to help? Are these measures and standards that they set actually useful? are the sustainability reports actually good or does it just sound good?

morality crisis

bezos earth fund???

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[sexbot300]

18+, minors dni! (being a slut for nanami bc honestly who isn’t)

authors note: hello! this is my first-ever post, i hope you guys enjoy it! (I literally have no idea how layouts work yet, bear with me)

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚

sugardaddy!nanami who scolds you whenever you feel as if you’re “doing too much,” with all the lavish gifts he gives you. nothing is too much for his angel.

sugardaddy!nanami that asks which jewelry set you like best. emerald or ruby? ah. how about both?

sugardaddy!nanami who you thought would be a joyless, serious man as people portray him. they’re not lying, he really is serious, to people that aren’t you. you’ll witness a soft side of him that only shows the most gentle of smiles.

sugardaddy!nanami who gladly scoops you up bridal style in his arms, walking while you burry your head into his chest.

sugardaddy!nanami who unpacks the gifts he gets you on the countertop after a business trip. “kento, baby, you shouldn’t have.” you play with the polyester ribbon while he simply leans back on the fridge opening up a beverage. “I couldn’t help but have the prettiest woman in the world waiting for me at home. it would be embarrassing of me to show up empty-handed.”

sugardaddy!nanami who for the first few times that you went out with him, meticulously kept track of the things you called “cute” and noted wherever your eyes wandered for a minute too long. the next morning you woke up with everything you ogled your eyes at decorating your room. attached is a note that read, “please forgive me, sweetheart, I didn’t know which you liked best. p.s. my sincerest apologies again, I let my own thoughts get carried away. be good for me and wear this tonight.” your fingers gingerly held onto the note, until your eyes fell on two things you don’t remember looking at when you went out shopping. a beautiful silk gown and an expensive lingerie set.

sugardaddy!nanami who will gladly kneel to strap your heel, placing a kiss on your ankle, after trailing his hand up and down your shin.

sugardaddy!nanami who sends you a monthly allowance for your hair, nails, skincare, and whatever you desire.

sugardaddy!nanami who thinks indulging in materialistic things is futile, but he wants to see you decorated in every fine piece of fabric, clothing, and accessories.

sugardaddy!nanami who acts as if he’s unbothered by you curling up on his lap while he types away on his work computer. you couldn’t even tell how much he adores every second of this as he idly types away. he loves to have you pushed up on him all the time, the minute you slightly move? a strong hand is placed on your thigh or waist to prevent you from leaving.

sugardaddy!nanami who’s only condition is to continue this dynamic until you’re unhappy or want nothing to do with it. (you literally want to marry this man but okay).

sugardaddy!nanami who has a saturday night ritual with you where you buy the most extravagant of desserts and feed it to each other. oh yeah, you have to be sitting on his lap the entire time while you both feed each other from the same fork.

sugardaddy!nanami who places his nose on the nape of your neck while you’re seated on him as he sharply breathes in your scent. “as much as I enjoy eating sweets with you,” he said in a whisper, “they could never mimic your taste.”

sugardaddy!nanami who started off paying your rent, bills, and utilities which he felt mentally, secretly disgruntled by. not because he’s paying (duh) or he has to take care of you, it’s just the fact you haven’t moved in with him yet.

sugardaddy!nanami who considers you under his care and deems your wellbeing as his responsibility. you’re hurt? point to where. your body is sore? lay back down while he massages you. you’re hungry? food is being sent over and here’s money for grocery shopping. you’re upset? he kneels down in front of you as he attentively listens to your sobs.

sugardaddy!nanami who supports your hobbies. he’ll drop off little things that he knows have to do with your interests and only says, “you like this don’t you?” you name drop pilates, cooking, art, knitting, whatever it is, he signs you up for the nearest classes.

sugardaddy!nanami who actually notices if you did something different with your hair, if you wore a new shade of lip gloss. little things.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚

sugardaddy!nanami who places the most tender of kisses onto your forehead like he didn’t wreck your shit a second prior. “such a good girl… i’m so so proud. taking my cock in so well.”

sugardaddy!nanami that plays with your body in subtle ways. hands? his big, veiny fingers are stroking yours gently. thighs? constantly getting gripped. your waist? a strong arm wrapped around it. your cheek? a thumb stroking it. shoulders? relieving tension from it. collarbone? rearranging your necklace so it lays properly. guts? fucked out of place. makeup? smeared all across his luxurious bedsheets. lips? blown out from sucking his monster cock and making out.

sugardaddy!nanami who rents out an entire summer beach house with a glorious view of the ocean. partially because he likes the privacy of you two alone, surrounded by nature, and romantic sunset dinners. also because he wants to watch you ride him while he leans back on a beach chair without disturbing the public. (nobody is allowed to see what’s his).

sugardaddy!nanami who actually pounded you into another dimension, your mind still in a haze while he carries you to the running bath. “stay with me princess, i need to clean you up.”

sugardaddy!nanami who makes sure you finish several times before he does. oh poor baby, you’re out of breath? would you like some water? we’re not finished yet. poor nanami didn’t get to cum once, and you so badly want him to use your body to do so.

sugardaddy!nanami who buys you a personal collection of sex toys to play with when he’s not there. he personally studies the way your body twitches and convulses with certain toys, he needs to know how to please his princess. sometimes he chuckles to himself because he knows deep down, nothing– no one, can please you the way he does.

sugardaddy!nanami who sees you stressed or crying over school and work and quickly replaces those tears with ones of joy.

sugardaddy!nanami who will have you folded like a damn lawn chair and only whisper sweet nothings while drilling into you.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a high sex drive but hides it in the beginning like the gentleman he is, making sure you feel comfortable and safe.

sugardaddy!nanami who gives you the car you’ve been wanting forever. you ride the car for a bit with him ecstatic, kissing him over and over, giggling. you both quickly found a new way to celebrate. you’re pinned down over the glove compartment, one large hand gripping both of yours as they’re pinned to your back, and the sounds of skin slapping with your loud moans mix in the air. “ke-n-toooo~ I-I don’t want to ge- uh! It m-messy in h-ere…” “don’t worry darling, I-” a low grunt comes out, “i always cum inside dont I?” he quickens up the pace only to have you screaming like a whore. “t-that’s it. just take it. It feels good, I know,” he mercilessly pounds into you, kissing your temple, “just come undone on me, that’s it. make me proud.”

sugardaddy!nanami who texts you to quickly come to the office and sends you a cab for an urgent “visit.” why? he’s stressed and his favorite method to cool down is your throat expanding around his girthy dick. he'll grip the strands of your hair while cooing at you, "i know angel, i know. but you look so beautiful right now, don't stop."

sugardaddy!nanami who groans from the stressors of his job, turning his attention to you while he pushes himself back on his chair. he looks down on his bulge before sighing and tugging his tie down left and right. “go ahead. come suck me off, i need it and I know you want it too.”

sugardaddy!nanami who does the whole pillow underneath, hand pressed on lower abdomen, with a vibrator wand abusing your clit.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a diet that consists of devouring your pussy on a regular basis. “b-babe… i- ah! s-slow down,” as you elicit a loud dirty moan that fills the room, “pleaaaase.” if only you knew he takes more pleasure out of this than you and you’re the one gripping his hair to the point of leaving his scalp red. he further pushes his nose into you, mumbling, “beg all you want, I’m not done.”

sugardaddy!nanami who is a gentleman, really. who will kill anything within 5 meters if it remotely threatens you. but he can’t help but admire the way your little cunt can’t fully take it the first few times together.

sugardaddy!nanami who never thought much of daddy kinks, but when he hears “daddy” slip out of your precious mouth, his heels dig deeper into the mattress, his massive body weight shifts crushing you, angling his dick in an almost sinful way while pressing you deeper into a mating press. “say it again.”

sugardaddy!nanami who watches you squirm with a vibrator jammed to your clit and his tongue lapping up and down your cunt like any separation from his tongue and your pussy will cause his death. “k-kento s-stop this feeli- ah! I th- oh god! I think I need to pee!” he can’t help but chuckle in his head. his baby never squirted before until now.

sugardaddy!nanami who secretly wants to get you knocked up. man loves fucking his cum into you. he has such a big breeding kink that you catch on.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

[fullhalalalchemist]

URGENT: 🚨🚨EARN IT ACT IS BACK IN THE SENATE 🚨🚨 TUMBLR’S NSFW BAN HITTING THE ENTIRE INTERNET THIS SUMMER 2023

April 28, 2023

I’m so sorry for the long post but please please please pay attention and spread this

What is the EARN IT Act?

The EARN IT Act (s. 1207) has been roundly condemned by nearly every major LGBTQ+ advocacy and human rights organization in the country.

This is the third time the Senate has been trying to force this through, and I talked about it last year. It is a bill that claims "protects children and victims against CSAM" by creating an unelected and politically appointed national commission of law enforcement specialists to dictate "best practices" that websites all across the nation will be forced to follow. (Keep in mind, most websites in the world are created in the US, so this has global ramifications). These "best practices" would include killing encryption so that any law enforcement can scan and see every single message, dm, photo, cloud storage, data, and any website you have every so much as glanced at. Contrary to popular belief, no they actually can't already do that. These "best practices" also create new laws for "removing CSAM" online, leading to mass censorship of non-CSAM content like what happened to tumblr. Keep in mind that groups like NCOSE, an anti-LGBT hate group, will be allowed on this commission. If websites don't follow these best practices, they lose their Section 230 protections, leading to mass censorship either way.

Section 230 is foundational to modern online communications. It's the entire reason social media exists. It grants legal protection to users and websites, and says that websites aren't responsible for what users upload online unless it's criminal. Without Section 230, websites are at the mercy of whatever bullshit regulatory laws any and every US state passes. Imagine if Texas and Florida were allowed to say what you can and can't publish and access online. That is what will happen if EARN IT passes. (For context, Trump wanted to get rid of Section 230 because he knew it would lead to mass govt surveillance and censorship of minorities online.)

This is really not a drill. Anyone who makes or consume anything “adult” and LGBT online has to be prepared to fight Sen. Blumenthal’s EARN IT Act, brought back from the grave by a bipartisan consensus to destroy Section 230. If this bill passes, we’re going to see most, if not all, adult content and accounts removed from mainstream platforms. This will include anything related to LGBT content, including SFW fanfiction, for example. Youtube, Twitter, Reddit, Tiktok, Tumblr, all of them will be completely gutted of anything related to LGBT content, abortion healthcare, resources for victims of any type of abuse, etc. It is a right-wing fascists wet dream, which is why NCOSE is behind this bill and why another name for this bill is named in reference to NCOSE.

NCOSE used to be named Morality in Media, and has rebranded into an "anti-trafficking" organization. They are a hate group that has made millions off of being "against trafficking" while helping almost no victims and pushing for homophobic laws globally. They have successfully pushing the idea that any form of sexual expression, including talking about HEALTH, leads to sex trafficking. That's how SESTA passed. Their goal is to eliminate all sex, anything gay, and everything that goes against their idea of ‘God’ from the internet and hyper disney-fy and sanitize it. This is a highly coordinated attack on multiple fronts.

The EARN IT Act will lead to mass online censorship and surveillance. Platforms will be forced to scan their users’ communications and censor all sex-related content, including sex education, literally anything lgbt, transgender or non-binary education and support systems, aything related to abortion, and sex worker communication according to the ACLU. All this in the name of “protecting kids” and “fighting CSAM”, both of which the bill does nothing of the sort. In fact it makes fighting CSEM even harder.

EARN IT will open the way for politicians to define the category of “pornography" as they — or the lobbies that fund them — please. The same way that right-wing groups have successfully banned books about race and LGBT, are banning trans people from existing, all under the guise of protecting children from "grooming and exploitation", is how they will successfully censor the internet.

As long as state legislatures can tie in "fighting CSAM" to their bullshit laws, they can use EARN IT to censor and surveill whatever they want.

This is already a nightmare enough. But the bill also DESTROYS ENCRYPTION, you know, the thing protecting literally anyone or any govt entity from going into your private messages and emails and anything on your devices and spying on you.

This bill is going to finish what FOSTA/SESTA started. And that should terrify you.

Senator Blumenthal (Same guy who said ‘Facebook should ban finsta’) pushed this bill all of 2020, literally every activist (There were more than half a million signatures on this site opposing this act!) pushed hard to stop this bill. Now he brings it back, doesn’t show the text of the bill until hours later, and it’s WORSE. Instead of fixing literally anything in the bill that might actually protect kids online, Bluemnthal is hoping to fast track this and shove it through, hoping to get little media attention other than propaganda of “protecting kids” to support this shitty legislation that will harm kids. Blumental doesn't care about protecting anyone, and only wants his name in headlines.

It will make CSAM much much worse.

One of the many reasons this bill is so dangerous: It totally misunderstands how Section 230 works, and in doing so (as with FOSTA) it is likely to make the very real problem of CSAM worse, not better. Section 230 gives companies the flexibility to try different approaches to dealing with various content moderation challenges. It allows for greater and greater experimentation and adjustments as they learn what works – without fear of liability for any “failure.” Removing Section 230 protections does the opposite. It says if you do anything, you may face crippling legal liability. This actually makes companies less willing to do anything that involves trying to seek out, take down, and report CSAM because of the greatly increased liability that comes with admitting that there is CSAM on your platform to search for and deal with. This liability would allow anyone for any reason to sue any platform they want, suing smaller ones out of existence. Look at what is happening right now with book bans across the nation with far right groups. This is going to happen to the internet if this bill passes.

(Remember, the state department released a report in December 2021 recommending that the government crack down on “obscenity” as hard the Reagan Administration did. If this bill passes, it could easily go way beyond shit red states are currently trying. It is a goldmine for the fascist right that is currently in the middle of banning every book that talks about race and sexuality across the US.)

The reason these bills keep showing up is because there is this false lie spread by organizations like NCOSE that platforms do nothing about CSEM online. However, platforms are already liable for child sexual exploitation under federal law. Tech companies sent more than 45 million+ instances of CSAM to the DOJ in 2019 alone, most of which they declined to investigate. This shows that platforms are actually doing everything in their power already to stop CSEM by following already existing laws. The Earn It Act includes zero resources for proven investigation or prevention programs. If Senator Bluementhal actually cared about protecting youth, why wouldn’t he include anything to actually protect them in his shitty horrible bill? EARN IT is actually likely to make prosecuting child molesters more difficult since evidence collected this way likely violates the Fourth Amendment and would be inadmissible in court.

I don’t know why so many Senators are eager to cosponsor the “make child pornography worse” bill, but here we are.

HOW TO FIGHT BACK

EARN IT Act was introduced just two weeks ago and is already being fast-tracked. It will be marked up the week of May 1st and head to the Senate floor immediately after. If there is no loud and consistent opposition, it will be law by JUNE! Most bills never go to markup, so this means they are putting pressure to move this through. There are already 20 co-sponsors, a fifth of the entire Senate. This is an uphill battle and it is very much all hands on deck.

CALL YOUR REPRESENTATIVES.

This website takes you to your Senator / House members contact info. EMAIL, MESSAGE, SEND LETTERS, CALL CALL CALL CALL CALL. Calling is the BEST way to get a message through. Get your family and friends to send calls too. This is literally the end of free speech online.

(202) 224-3121 connects you to the congressional hotline. Here is a call script if you don't know what to say. Call them every day. Even on the weekends, leaving voicemails are fine.

2. Sign these petitions!

Link to Petition 1

Link to Petition 2

3. SPREAD THE WORD ONLINE

If you have any social media, spread this online. One of the best ways we fought back against this last year was MASSIVE spread online. Tiktok, reddit, twitter, discord, whatever means you have at least mention it. We could see most social media die out by this fall if we don't fight back.

Here is a linktree with more information on this bill including a masterpost of articles, the links to petitions, and the call script.

DISCORD LINK IF YOU WANT TO HELP FIGHT IT

TLDR: The EARN IT Act will lead to online censorship of any and all adult & lgbt content across the entire internet, open the floodgates to mass surveillance the likes which we haven’t seen before, lead to much more CSEM being distributed online, and destroy encryption. Call 202-224-3121 to connect to your house and senate representative and tell them to VOTE NO on this bill that does not protect anyone and harms everyone.

[citricacidprince]

Could you draw that "I trust you" scene with Mabel and Stan but with the relativity AU? (The stan twins and pine twins swap ages au)

OF COURSE, I WILL GLADLY DRAW THEM!!! 💥💥💥

I’m gonna post a long winded thesis about my thoughts on this AU, my take on the AU, and two additional arts under the cut because ooooh boy it’s a tad bit long lol. Also, please please forgive the formatting, I’m writing this all on the fly and it’s extremely disjointed, sorry- 💥

I know there’s the ‘canon’ Relativity AU designs and character dynamics, however I don’t really like them that much ngl. I feel like it mostly just ends up with ‘Mabel and Dipper get switched with Stan and Ford with no nuances once so ever’ and that BLOWS!!! There’s so much potential there and no one is playing with it!! YOU GUYS DON’T EVEN HAVE MABEL PRETENDING TO BE DIPPER, WHATS THE POINT????

Not only that but I feel like making Dipper and Mabel’s dynamic just Ford and Stan’s when they’re adults is a HUGE simplification of their characters. Like, Mabel and Dipper fight, but they don’t fight like Stan and Ford, they’re not as hard headed and stubborn. Mabel would commit some crimes yes, but I don’t believe she would get into some of the heavy shit Stan had in his past. I refuse to believe Mr. Dipper ‘Undiagnosed Anxiety Disorder’ Pines would fall for Bill’s flattery as easily as Ford did.

The Pines Twins are very different from the Mystery Twins. Mabel and Dipper didn’t grow up with a father constantly comparing the two and pinning them against each other, outright telling one kid they’ll always be a failure while the other is going to have the burden of making their family rich. They never had that tension. They wouldn’t be walking on eggshells around eachother as adults.

I know that makes the concept sound boring to some, ‘Where’s the fun in the AU if you take away the sibling fighting’. You cowards, you can still have it, young Stan and Ford are RIGHT THERE. During the second half of the show when Dipper comes back through the portal, instead of having the older set of twins, something that doesn’t male sense with their characters, have a building tension that’s going to explode soon and keep it between Stan and Ford, don’t take it away from them. If anything, I think taking away the resentment and anger growing between the two and giving it to Mabel and Dipped is a butchering of all the characters.

Sure that means some of the episodes would have to change or be completely erased, but that’s fine!!! Make up some new ones!!! Get silly with it!!!

Mabel and Dipper talk about feelings, Stan and Ford don’t. Mabel and Dipper can’t stay mad at each other, Stan and Ford will try and stay mad for decades because being angry is easier than being upset.

In my idea of this AU that fight at the end of Weirdmageddon HAS to be between Stan and Ford, and Stan HAS to still be the one getting his memories erased.

💥 Post Not-What-He-Seems Relativity AU Rambling Below 💥

Dipper is a paranoid man, fool him once you’re never going to fool him again. He would never in a million years ever work with Bill again. Ford however is an extremely lonely child, both he and his brother are desperate for any type of positive attention. I think Bill would see him as a potential protege, especially since Ford is a ‘freak’ like he is and the kid is extremely smart for his age. He’s malleable, Bill probably thinks he could shape him uo to be the perfect lackey.

Ford, being the lonely kid he is, probably does fall for the praise initially. He craves attention and Bill pushes all the right buttons and says all the right words, tries and gains his trust even if time has proven again and again that he shouldn’t be trusting the demon.

The tension between the Stan Twins would grow after Grunkle Dipper comes back because Ford is upset that Stan didn’t listen to him (even if it was for the best that he did) and that Grunkle Dipper forgave Graunty Mabel so easily because if Ford was in those shoes he wouldn’t have. It grows more and more as Ford becomes distant and Stan tries to connect with his brother to no avail. Which, of course, comes to a boiling point when Ford says he’s going to stay in Gravity Falls and learn under Grunkle Dipper. Stan is rightfully upset. He can’t go back to New Jersey by himself. It’s always just been the two of them, he needed Ford, he couldn’t handle school or their father by himself. He can’t be alone.

Unlike Mabel who just wanted one more day of summer, Stan wishes that he wouldn’t be alone, which indirectly causes Weirdmaggendon.

Stan’s prison bubble would probably be a fake New Jersey-esc town full of a bunch of little Stans running around. Town O’ Stan. A place where no Stan is left behind.

Ford says some nice words to Stan there to get him outta there but there is still this intense tension between the two.

During the Cipher Wheel Ford is the one who tackles Stan. The two fight, whining out hurtful words neither of them mean and only stop when Bill shows up and captures them. Graunty Mabel and Grunkle Dipper run off and distract Cipher in hopes that they can keep the attention on themselves long enough that their great nephews could come up with a plan to escape.

The younger twins don’t find a way out and instead, finally, have an actual talk about their feelings, one that definitely ends up in tears as the two talk about the pressure that’s put on them or how worthless they feel. After that the boys get a rush of determination to escape when Stanley has a plan. Ford immediately hates the plan but Stan insists that they do it, in his own words, ‘Let me prove I can do something right for once.’

When Bill comes back and threatens to kill either Mabel or Dipper just for the hell of it, Ford calls out that he’d like to make a deal.

He wants to work with Bill, let Bill into his mind willingly. Bill immediately jumps on that offer. Ford is a promising young kid, perfect henchmaniac potential, not to mention it would absolutely devastate Dipper is his great nephew willingly turned to Bill’s side.

He goes into Ford’s head, revealing Stanley just in time to reveal that he was trapped, panicking as he was erased with a swift left-hook along with a kid who was happy to prove he was good for something after all.

Everyone was devastated after Weirdmaggedon of course, a child had his mind completely wiped. Stanford took it the worst, he just managed to finally break down those words that others built in his head, that he was too good for Stanley or that he didn’t need a knucklehead like him dumbing down his brain, and now his brother was gone. Just like that.

We all know what happens after this, Stan gets his memory back, everyone celebrates and the Stan twins are sent home, promising each other that they’ll never let anyone try and tear them apart ever again. Dipper and Mabel stay at the shack, after all, all they could ever want is there, where else could they possibly go?

Sorry this was… extremely rambly and long, I am extremely tired and can’t think straight I have a bunch more ideas and concepts so if anyone’s desperately wants to hear them just ask I guess, sorry you read this dumb of ass essay haha 💥