#I like portal pals too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darlingdaisyfarm · 1 month ago

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cigarettes after sex

tags: mullet!stan pines, fem!reader, mentions of alcohol and smoking, nsfw, sexual themes, depression, ptsd, drunk sex, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, inspired by cigarettes after sex songs, so I recommend to listen some while reading that :)

Stan hasn't been himself since the portal swallowed Ford up.

His life is ruined, his mind is ruined, everything is ruined. Every single night, he’s hunched over the journals, Ford’s stupid, cryptic notes that Stan can’t figure out, can’t understand, but wants to. It's like trying to read in the dark. He knows there’s something in them, some answer, but it’s out of his reach and every time he thinks about his brother being gone, his chest tightens, that guilt slamming into him so hard he feels like he can’t breathe so he drowns in his own tears.

Stanley knows he’s not the smart one, never was, and now it feels like he’s lost every chance to make things right. The lab is his prison. The cigarettes are his only escape, one after another until the ashtray overflows, the smell of smoke permanently clinging to everything in this place. His eyes burn from lack of sleep, the bags under them deep and dark and he doesn’t bother to clean himself up anymore. What’s the point? He’s all alone. Again.

Tonight, something changes. He can’t sit in that goddamn lab for another second, can’t stare at those useless pages with his head spinning. So, he stumbles out into the cold and ends up at the bar down the street — the only place still open this late.

When he walks in, he’s already halfway drunk and you spot him immediately from across the room. It’s not hard; the guy’s a walking disaster. His coat is rumpled, hair a tangled mess, and his eyes are empty, hollowed out like he’s already lost something far more important than money. You've seen a lot of people sink to the bottom, but this guy sank even lower than most.

Stan doesn’t notice you at first. He barely notices anything as he stumbles up to the bar, hands trembling as he grips the counter. His cigarette hangs loose between his fingers, half burnt and about to fall, but he’s too out of it to care. He leans heavily against the bar, head down like the weight of his own body is too much.

“Whiskey,” he grumbles. “whatever’s cheap.”

The bartender glances at him, sizing him up with a frown. Stan looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, hasn’t eaten much either. It’s written all over him, the sag of his shoulders, the unsteady sway when he tries to straighten up.

The bartender slides the glass toward Stan, but before he even picks it up, he’s already mumbling something under his breath, little grin pulling at his lips. “Don’t think I got the money for this, pal.”

He downs the drink in one go, barely wincing as the burn hits his throat and for a moment, you think he might get away with it. But the bartender’s patience is wearing thin. He scowls, leaning in with narrowed eyes, clearly not in the mood to deal with Stan’s shit tonight.

“I’m not running a charity here,” the bartender snaps. “you pay or you leave.”

Stan grins, and it’s the saddest, most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen. “What, no freebies? Guess I’ll have to put it on my tab.” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

The bartender looks about two seconds from throwing Stan out on his ass and for some reason, you find yourself moving before you even realise it. Sliding off your seat, you walk over. Stan doesn’t notice you until you’re standing right next to him, and even then, his gaze is unfocused, blurry as fuck.

Before things get ugly, you step in, sliding a couple bills across the counter, “I’ll cover it.”

The bartender takes the money without a word, though you can feel the tension of the situation, he’s definitely bothered and not in the mood. Stan looks at you, bleary-eyed, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real or just another hallucination. His mouth twists into that lopsided grin again, but there’s something softer about it this time, like he’s genuinely surprised someone bothered to step in.

He’s too drunk to notice the bartender’s scowl as you grab him by the arm, hauling him to his feet. He stumbles, almost dragging you down with him, but you manage to keep him upright, though just barely.

“Hey, thanks, sweetheart,” he slurs, blinking at you like he’s trying to clear the fog in his head. “didn’t know I’d be gettin’ free drinks tonight.”

He tries to stand up straighter, but the alcohol’s got a firm grip on him. His body sways dangerously so you reach out, grabbing his arm to keep him steady. He’s heavier than you expected, way too much, his body leaning against yours as you pull him away from the bar.

“Come on,” you mutter, dragging him toward the door. “let’s get you out of here before you piss off anyone else.”

Stan stumbles along beside you, his steps unsteady, barely able to keep himself upright. He’s mumbling something under his breath, words too slurred to make out, because he’s so fucking drunk, but you can tell it’s nothing good. Outside, the cold hits you both like a slap to the face. The winter air is brutal, biting through your clothes and cutting through the haze of alcohol that’s been clouding Stan’s head.

“Jesus, it’s freezing out here,” he mutters, blinking against the cold. His breath comes out in visible puffs, his flushed face suddenly looking even redder in the harsh chill. Then he looks at you. “So what, you my babysitter now?

This time you have to shove him back against the wall just to keep him upright. His back hits the cold brick with a dull thud, and he lets out a low, drunken laugh, his head tipping back to rest against the wall.

“Ohh, you gonna pin me here? gotta say, I’m not usually into this kinda thing, but for you, sweetheart, I might make an exception.” his body sags, leaning heavily into the wall as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “or are you just waiting for me to do something stupid?”

Your brows furrow at that, irritation flaring in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He’s a mess, a complete disaster, but there’s something about him that makes it hard to walk away. Maybe it’s the way he’s still trying to crack jokes, even when he’s clearly drowning in his own misery. Maybe it’s the way his hands tremble, even though he’s trying to play it off like he doesn’t care.

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes half-lidded as he stares up at the sky. Stan chuckles. “Well, I could just. . . y’know. Throw myself off a cliff. Put an end to all this crap. What’s one more dead Pines, huh?”

He’s not joking anymore. There’s something raw in his voice, he sounds way too hurt, too honest, too broken that makes your stomach twist. You don’t really know what to answer on that. You aren’t that good at supporting people, but supporting drunk guy? He’ll barely hear what you’ll tell him.

You pull a cigarette from your pocket, lighting it up with quick movements, because cold air stinging your fingers. Stan watches you through half-lidded eyes, his breath visible in the frigid air.

“Hey,” he mutters. “mind if I bum one off ya?”

You hand him a cigarette without a word, and he takes it, his fingers still shaking from cold or. . . as he lights it. He leans back against the wall, the smoke curling around his face as he exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Neither of you speak after that. There’s nothing to say. You don’t know how to start a talk either. Is it even needed?

Stan’s a complete mess, the kind you don't want to get too close to. But as you stand there, cigarette smoke curling between your fingers, you can’t tear your eyes off him. He’s slumped against the wall, looking like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders or maybe that’s just the whiskey. You wonder why the hell you bothered to drag him out here in the first place. He’s a disaster and his weird comments aren’t helping, they just disturb you.

You take another drag, feeling the bitter taste of nicotine hit your lungs, and for a moment, you think about just walking away. He’s not your problem. You’ve done your good deed for the night and the cold air is starting to bite at your skin. Just leave him here. He’ll figure it out, or. . . he won’t. Either way, it’s not your concern.

But just as you’re about to turn and go, Stan mumbles something under his nose. It’s faint, too quiet to catch.

“. . . should’ve never messed with the damn portal.”

You blink. Portal? The word echoes in your mind, that’s surprising, intriguing. What the hell is he talking about? You glance at him again, but his eyes are fluttering shut, his body slumping further against the wall.

“Hey,” you say, stepping closer. “what did you just say?”

Stan’s lips move, but no sound comes out, he’s completely out of it. Your eyes widen in shock as you say “hey, man” louder to get him back to his senses, but before you can react, his knees buckle and he collapses, dead weight against the cold ground.

“Holy shit!” you drop your cigarette, your hands immediately going to his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. His head lolls to the side, completely out cold

Of course. Of fucking course! He’s drunk off his ass, hasn’t slept, probably hasn’t eaten anything substantial in days. You run a hand through your hair, staring down at him, your mind racing.

You’re not sure what the hell to do with this guy. You don’t even know him. But something in your gut twists, something telling you to stay, to not leave him lying here like this.

***

He’s strange, sure. But why does that word “portal” keep sticking in your head?

Days pass, but your thoughts keep drifting back to him. That night, his ramblings, the look in his eyes before he passed out. You shouldn’t care. He’s just some guy, a random drunk you stumbled across. But you’ve always been a curious person. You keep thinking about how broken he looked, how utterly wrecked he seemed and you wonder what could’ve driven him to that point.

You’re out in town again, aimlessly wandering the streets of Gravity Falls, and without even realizing it, you find yourself back at the bar where you met him. It’s the same cold winter night, what makes your body shake from chill no matter how many layers you’ve got on.

You stand outside with a cigarette, your breath mixing with the smoke. Your mind’s still on him, on that weird stranger. You can’t help but wonder if he’s alright. Probably not? Guys like that don’t bounce back easy.

You take another drag, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling. You think about how he stumbled around, barely able to stay on his feet, and for some reason you smile. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s such a loser. But there was something strangely. . . cute about it all. God, why are you even thinking about him

Suddenly, the door to the bar swings open, and a familiar figure stumbles out into the cold. You blink, and sure enough, it’s him. That drunk weird guy. Same red jacket, same disheveled look, but this time he doesn’t seem quite as far gone. Still drunk, but not teetering on the edge like last time.

The bouncer gives him a shove, muttering something about not coming back without cash and Stan nearly trips over his own feet before catching himself. He stands there for a moment, muttering insults and then his eyes land on you. His gaze lingers, squinting through the haze of alcohol, and recognition slowly dawns on his face. He straightens up, well, as much as a guy like him can, and adjusts his jacket, trying to look somewhat presentable.

“Well, well, if it ain’t my guardian angel,” he says with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, flicking the ash from your cigarette. “didn’t know angels had to drag drunks out of bars.”

Stan laughs, but it’s more of a low chuckle. “do I know you? I feel—“ he hiccups. “fuck, feel like I should know your name. . .”

“I never told you, dummy.”

Stan stares at you for a moment, processing that, and then he smiles wider. “Ah, right. Guess I can’t forget what I never knew.” he winks, but it’s sloppy, and you can’t help but smile back.

He takes a step toward you, leaning against the wall beside you. “Y’know, I gotta thank ya for payin’ for me back there. ‘Specially since that whiskey was crap. Worst I’ve had in years.”

You snort, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, and that’s why you drank all of it, right? real convincing, man.”

He chuckles again, running a hand through his brown hair. “What can I say? Gotta give every drink a fair shot. Even the bad ones.”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. The guy’s a mess, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his complete lack of shame. He’s so human. Flawed and ridiculous, but human. And funny.

For a while, neither of you say much, just standing there under the night sky, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you walk slowly down the street. The cold bites at your skin, but it feels less harsh with him beside you, talking about nothing in particular. He rambles about the bar, about the bartender, about how he’s been kicked out of worse places, but there’s an ease to it, like he’s just talking to fill the silence.

And for some reason, you don’t mind it. His company is strangely nice. Despite everything.

As you walk, you glance over at him, still trying to figure out what it is about this guy that’s gotten under your skin. He’s weird, yeah. Definitely not what you’d call put-together.

He catches your gaze and smirks, a little lopsided but softer this time. “What, you like what you see?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not even close.”

***

Over time, you start to see Stanford Stan more regularly. It's never planned, never some formal arrangement. He’s just there, outside that same dive bar, smoking under the dim streetlight or wandering down the streets with his red jacket pulled tight against the cold. And every time, you find yourself walking beside him, talking about nothing and everything.

It’s not like you’re close, not really. He doesn’t open up, never gives you much more than surface-level comments or dumb jokes to deflect anything too personal. You only know what he lets slip, and even that feels like more than you should. He insists his name is Stanford, though something about it always sounds. . . off.

Stanley thinks he’s idiot. It’s a role he’s playing, a mask he’s not ready to take off, won’t take for for the next thirty years.

One night, after you’ve met up for what feels like the hundredth time, you finally ask him why he’s always drunk when you see him. It’s been bugging you for a while, how every time you meet, he reeks of whiskey and stale cigarettes, eyes glassy, speech slurred, sometimes flirting with you or winking dumbly at you. You’ve tried to ignore it, but tonight the question just slips out.

Stan pauses, cigarette halfway to his lips. You think he’s not going to answer, but then he takes a drag, exhaling slowly before speaking. “Helps me think,” he mutters. “keeps the noise out.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Noise?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the wall, his eyes scanning the street. “Yeah. The crap up here. Some people got quiet minds, y’know? Not me. Gotta slow it down.”

It’s vague, cryptic. You don’t push for more. You’ve learned by now that pressing Stan doesn’t get you anywhere. He only shares what he wants, and even then, it’s always layered in something else, sarcasm, a joke, some offhand comment that makes it hard to tell what’s real and what’s just him deflecting.

Nevertheless, there is something in the way he says it that does not leave you indifferent. The way he looks when he mentions his thoughts, as if there's something more hiding under the surface that booze and cigarettes can't hide. You wonder what’s rattling around in his brain, what kind of shit he’s trying so hard to drown out.

Time passes, and your strange friendship, or whatever it is, continues. Nothing changes. You meet up, you talk, you walk through the streets of Gravity Falls, smoking and trading stories. Stan makes jokes, you laugh, and somehow, despite everything, you find yourself growing more comfortable around him.

But he never lets you in, not really. You can only guess at what’s going on in his life, at what’s driving him to the bottom of a bottle every time you see him. It’s frustrating in a way, how closed off he is, how he seems determined to keep everything buried. There’s a part of him that’s afraid to let you see the real him, afraid to show just how broken he really is.

You start to ask him more personal questions, though he always dodges them with some half-assed joke. Like the time you asked him about his hair. His mullet, to be specific. It’s a mess, now unruly and overgrown, and you can’t help but wonder why the hell he refuses to cut it.

“Why don’t you change a haircut?” you ask teasingly. “you look like you haven’t touched it in years.”

Stan just grins, flicking his cigarette into the street. “Ah, what can I say? Chicks dig the mullet.”

What you don’t know is that Stan’s too scared to look at himself in the mirror.

The way he avoids mirrors, the way his eyes flicker away if he catches his own reflection for even a second. It’s not about the hair, it’s about something deeper. Every time he sees his reflection, it’s not his face he sees, it’s Ford’s. If he cuts his hair, changes anything, he’s worried he’ll lose himself completely, that he’ll become the brother he’s spent his whole life running from. It’s not something he’d ever tell you, though. That’s way too deep for the guy who lives behind a wall of bad jokes and alcohol.

Stan never talks about his past. You’ve asked, but he always deflects with a joke or changes the subject. The most you’ve gotten out of him is when something goes wrong, he drops something, or his stupid car won’t start, or even when he just stumbles over his own feet. He’ll shake his head, muttering to himself, “Screw-up. Always been a screw-up.” It’s weird, like it’s the only thing he knows how to be.

It bothers you. You don’t get it. Yeah, he’s a mess, but this weird obsession with calling himself a screw-up, like it’s some kind of mantra, doesn’t make sense to you. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but every time he says it, you see a flash of something bitter in his eyes, like he’s heard those words so many times they’ve become part of him.

What you don’t realize is that those words are burned into him. His father used to call him a screw-up, over and over until it became his identity. And then there was Ford, his golden child of a brother, the smart one, the successful one. Stan’s always felt like the lesser of the two, never quite measuring up, always stuck in his brother’s shadow. He’s spent his whole life trying to live down to that title, like it’s all he’s worth. Stan was a kid, who heard those words over and over until they stuck, until he couldn’t see himself as anything else.

You can’t fix what’s already broken. But that doesn’t stop you from trying. Something about Stan makes you want to help, even though you know you can’t. He’s too far gone, too buried in his own mess. Still, you keep coming back. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of some sense of hope.

***

Another night, another round of drinks. The two of you sit at the bar, glasses clinking against the wood, the air is filled with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. Stan’s already a few drinks in, and you’re not far behind. You laugh at something he says, probably another dumb joke, but you’re not really paying attention. Your mind is clouded, your body is hot from drinking, and before you know it, your gaze slides over his lips.

It’s stupid. You’re both drunk, and this is Stanford, the guy who can barely keep his life together, let alone maintain a relationship. But the way he looks right now, disheveled and messy, his lips curling into that cocky grin, makes your heart race.

His lips. Your lips. Apocalypse.

The kiss happens fast, messy, without warning. One minute you’re sitting there, and the next, his lips are on yours, rough and dry. It’s not graceful, not soft. It’s desperate, like he’s been holding something back for too long, and now it’s all spilling out at once.

The kiss deepens, but you don’t care. His mouth moves against yours, hungry, needy, like he’s searching for something, like that’s what he needed all those years. Human touch and someone else's warmth.

You’re both drunk, of course. Maybe that’s the only way it could’ve happened.

Stan tastes like smoke and cheap liquor, the bitterness lingering on your tongue as his hands slide up your back, pulling you in. You can feel the heat of his body, the way his chest presses against yours.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is a mistake, stupid drunk accident. But then he kisses you harder, his hand tangling in your hair and all thoughts of logic fly out the window. This isn’t about fixing him. You don’t care about anything except the fact that Stanford, the complete disaster of a man you’ve somehow gotten tangled up with, is kissing you like the world’s about to end.

His hands are rough, clumsy as they cup your face, and it’s all heat and desperation, like neither of you know what the hell you’re doing, but you don’t want to stop.

You’re not sure how it happened so quickly, one second, you were sitting at the bar, laughing, your lips crashing into his, and now you’re pressed against the cold wall of the bathroom. The neon lights of the bar barely make their way out from under the door, flooding the room with a dim glow as Stan presses you against the sink.

Stan kisses like an animal, like he’s trying to lose himself in the moment, drown out everything that’s weighing on him. Like he’s searching for some kind of escape. The alcohol has dulled his brain, but not enough to make him forget. He needs something more, something real to pull him out of the relentless spiral of thoughts, of portals, journals and the constant gnawing guilt.

Stan needs to lose himself in something, anything else. And tonight, that something is you.

His big hands are on you, one sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair, tugging you even closer as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth and you feel how his hard cock presses through his jeans as he pushes you against the sink in the bar's bathroom. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, every nerve igniting under his touch, his mouth trailing down your jaw, leaving a scorching path along your skin.

You barely notice when the door creaks open, someone stepping into the small, dimly lit room.

“Bathroom’s occupied, unless you wanna watch, but that’ll cost you.” Stan snaps, irritated as he glares at the stranger. The man stutters away quickly and the door slams shut with a loud bang.

Before you can say something, he’s kissing you again, hard, desperate, rough, demanding.

You moan into his mouth, tangling your finger in his brown hair, tugging him closer, and the word slips out between your breaths. “Stanford. . .”

Stan freezes and that name seems to knock all the alcohol out of his blood. It feels like something heavy and wrong between you, Stan's gaze is blank, like he's not here at all. It’s his brother’s name, the one he’s stolen, the one he’s buried himself under. You look at him and see something in his eyes. Regret. Guilt. That endless pain that’s been eating at him for as long as he can remember. You don't know what's going on, but you want to solve this damn mystery so badly. What's wrong with this man?

But then it’s all gone, replaced by that cocky grin.

“Stan’s fine, sweetheart. Trust me.”

His hands fumble with your pants, yanking them down roughly, desperately, his fingers massaging and rubbing you through your underwear. You’re already soaking, practically trembling from his touch, and he groans when he feels it, his fingers sliding through your wetness.

“Shit, you’re so wet for me,” he growls. “fuckin’ perfect, baby.”

You moan, head tilting back, the sensation overwhelming as he slides two fingers inside you, rough and fast. He’s not gentle, not tonight, there’s no time for that, no point for that too. He’s desperate and it shows in the way his thick fingers pump into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit in the most delicious way.

“St-Stan—“ you moan, looking down at his fingers thrusting into you.

“Please, don’t say it, don’t say that name,”meanwhile, Stan thinks, hoping your drunken mind has figured it out.

“—fuck me,” your last words make him breathe a sigh of relief. Good girl. And then he’s yanking your panties down as he have you bent over the sink, your palms pressing into the cold porcelain and you barely have time to register the sound of his belt hitting the floor before you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he lines himself up. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, right now. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You moan, nodding, pressing back against him, desperate for the stretch, to feel him inside you because your brain can't think of anything else but getting fucked hard in the bathroom of a bar. “Please, Stan— please, use me!”

And he obeys, slamming into you, burying himself deep in one rough, brutal thrust that actually hurts, but your drunk state doesn’t care much. You gasp, his cock fills you so completely you can barely breathe, you cry out, your body arching, but Stan's hand is holding you back, pressing on your back to keep you in place and he groans. It’s overwhelming you, a mix of pain and pleasure and you can’t stop moans that escapes your lips as he starts to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with rough thrusts.

“Huh, oh jesus fuck, baby, yer tight,” Stan grits out between ragged breaths, his voice hoarse. He pulls back only to slam into you again, harder this time, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal rhythm that has you gasping.

“Staaann—!” you whimper his real name again, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink for dear life, his cock so deep it’s like he’s claiming every part of you. “Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck!”

“my fucking god, baby,” he groans, his dick hitting that spot deep inside you that has your body trembling. His fingers find your clit, rubbing in quick circles as he fucks you harder. “you feel so fuckin’ good, doll, so tight around my cock.”

Of course, there's a mirror hanging over the sink, and Stan glances up, wanting to see your fucked-out expression, how gorgeous your face looks when he's pounding into you like this. But, almost spitefully, his eyes land on himself instead. He wants to look away, he should look away, but something makes him stop. For the first time in years, the reflection staring back at him is someone else. Not his twin. Not his nerdy brother. No, not Stanford. Ford would never end up like this. Never get so fucking dirty.

Stan sees himself for what he is. What he's become. Hair disheveled, drunk, filthy, fucking in a bar bathroom. Ford would never be like this. Stan, you piece of shit, you're a disgrace to your brother's name, Stanley thinks.

But then your moans reach his ears, pulling him back, reminding him where he is. Thank God the bar music is loud enough to cover you. He blinks, realizing he's let the pace slip, and his hands tighten on your hips, his grip hard enough to bruise, grounding himself.

You’re a mess of moans and gasps, your body shaking, your warm walls tightening around him as the pleasure builds. “Stan— fuck, I’m gonna—”

Stan leans into you as much as the position allows, one hand tangling in your hair, tugging hard enough to make the roots sting, though in your drunken haze, you barely even feel it.

“Do it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck. “Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

And you do, the orgasm rips through you, your body convulsing as you cry out, your walls squeezing around him what makes Stan groan, his fingers digging into your hips, thrusting harder, faster, chasing his own release. You can feel him throbbing inside you and then he’s pulling out, his hand wrapping around his cock as he strokes himself, his cum spilling hot and thick onto your skin.

***

The days began to stretch into weeks. Time wasn’t something you paid attention to anymore, not since that night. You could still feel him sometimes, his rough hands ghosting over your skin, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes lingering long after he’d left, his groans, the way he said your name. It hadn’t been anything gentle or romantic that night, just bodies lost in drunken hunger. And after that, you hadn’t seen much of him since, not like before.

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that night had ruined something between you. Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe he’d felt nothing, and you’d been stupid to think it could’ve been anything more. The way his lips had pressed against yours, hungry, desperate, hadn’t felt like love. He was drunk, did he even know who he was kissing? Your anxiety was growing, your thoughts were fighting one another. It wasn’t love. It had been something else entirely, it was raw and messy. You knew it wasn’t love, just a night. It wasn’t tender or slow; there were no whispered promises of endless love, marriage, kids, whatever “all happy” people have. Just a desperate fuck, not some grand confession of feelings. Whatever had been between you before — it felt like it was ruined, as if that thing in the bathroom had burned everything else to ash.

Stanford had disappeared, leaving you with silence and your own thoughts, and you believed that he regretted it. Maybe it was just too much for him.

However, Stanley, he couldn’t shake the feeling of your lips on his, the way they were so warm, because no one had ever kissed him with that kind of passion before. He wasn’t used to that, to being touched like that. His entire life, he believed nobody really liked him. Not like this. Hell, even his own family had given up on him at some point. Except for his mom, she’d always tried to love him, even when he couldn’t love himself.

He tried to ignore the way his chest ached when he thought about you, tried to drown it out with more cigarettes, more drinks, he tried, but failed because nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. Stan was getting attached to you, he knew it, even when he didn’t want to admit it. Even without alcohol, without the nicotine to calm his nerves, he knew he wanted you and your presence. It wasn’t just lust. It was something deeper, something that scared the fuck out of him because he wasn’t used to it. And maybe that’s why he’d been avoiding you. Because how the hell was he supposed to deal with feelings he didn’t even know how to name? Stan always felt that people didn’t love him, they tolerated him.

With you, for the first time in a long time, Stan had felt like he mattered. Like he was seen.

It scared him a lot.

***

Spring came early that year, and with it, the world outside the window seemed to come to life. Gravity Falls blossomed with colors you hadn't noticed before — the world is painted in bright greens and soft pastel tones, flowers made their way through the ground, as if the whole town was shaking off the cold and waking up. And that's when you saw him again.

You weren’t expecting to run into Stanford like this, not here, not in daylight, when spring is blooming around you. He was standing at the edge of the road, hands shoved into his pockets, a slight frown on his face like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be here. But then his eyes met yours and he didn’t look away this time.

There was no alcohol, no bar lights casting shadows on his face. Just sober Stan, the man who had kissed you with so much need that it had nearly broken you.

“Hey,” he called out and you immediately responded with excited “hi!” you smiled, he stood there, waiting for you to come closer. When you did, there was a long pause, neither of you quite sure what to say. His eyes flicked down nervously and you noticed it then, the subtle change, not too noticeable. Had he fixed his mullet a bit? It wasn’t much, but it was. . . cleaner. Neater, like he’d put in just a little more effort. Like maybe he had been planning on running into you.

“Uh, you wanna grab some coffee or somethin’?” Stan asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool, but the way he shifted on his feet betrayed him. He was nervous. Actually nervous. You hadn’t seen that in him before. “I figured we could, ya know, talk. Maybe. If that’s somethin’ you wanna do, of course.”

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That’s how two of you ended in a small café nearby, the conversation light at first, both of you avoiding that specific term about. . . Doesn’t matter.

It was much easier to talk about the weather, or the weirdness of Gravity Falls, or how spring had made the town feel alive again. But every now and then, your eyes would meet and you exchanged awkward laughs and smiles.

“So, uh. . . I gotta ask,” Stan started. “did ya notice somethin’ different?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think for a moment before grinning. “Your hair? you mean you actually put effort into it?”

He smiled back at you. “Yeah, well, figured I’d try to clean up a bit. Y’know, look a little less like a bum.”

You laughed, feeling warmth blooming in your chest. It was such a small thing, but it felt significant to you. Like he’d actually cared enough to try for you, impress you maybe. And that meant more than you could say.

***

Nights bled into days and days slipped back into nights. Time seemed to blur together, the moon swapped places with the sun over and over. And here you were, tangled in the sheets of Stan’s bed, staring at the ceiling, while the moonlight filtered through the triangle-shaped window, the soft glow of it lays over your face, feels like the world outside was holding its breath just for you.

Things between you and Stan had shifted in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t quick or loud. At end, Stan let you get closer, but piece by piece, he was afraid you might notice if he let you too far in all at once.

The first time Stanley let you hug him, really hug him, was late in night. You weren’t sure how it had happened, it wasn’t planned, you reached for him first. You didn’t even think about it, just pulled him close. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him carefully at first, waiting for him to tell you to stop. But he didn’t. Stan stiffened at first, because the idea of being held was foreign to him, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do. Then his face buried against your shoulder, and at first, you thought he was just tired, resting, taking what he needed and nothing more. But then you felt it. The dampness against your skin.

You realized with a sinking heart that Stan was crying.

It wasn’t loud. No sobs, no gasping breaths. Just silent bitter tears soaking through your shirt, his grip tightening on you like he was afraid you might disappear, just like his brother. His body trembled slightly, now he couldn’t hide anymore. It broke something in you, seeing him like this, this man felt so small in your arms.

He clung to you like a child, because no one had held him in years. No one, no one had hugged him like this since he left his family.

You sighed and held him tighter, feeling his tears soak into your skin. Stan wasn’t just crying about tonight, he was crying for all the years he’d spent running, for all the times he’d pushed people away because it was easier than getting hurt. He was crying because, for the first time in so long, someone was holding him, and it wasn’t just physical, it reminded him of what it felt like to be cared for. To not be alone.

Your hand gently stroking the back of his head, letting him melt into you like the child he probably hadn’t been allowed to be in years. Decades, maybe. For the first time, Stan didn’t feel like the tough man you knew him as. He felt small, fragile, like he was that little boy again, the one who had been left behind, pushed out of his family and told to figure it all out on his own.

Stanley pulled back, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand, embarrassed as he looked down. But you didn't give him time to think again and regret his actions, you didn’t let him feel that shame for long. You reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table, handing one to him without a word. Stan took it and you lit it for him, the soft click of the lighter the only sound in the room.

You sat together in that silence of the night, both of you smoking. You weren’t drunk this time and that made everything feel more real, clear. It wasn’t about the cigarettes, though. It was the quiet between you, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward. Stan wasn’t running anymore, he could finally relax, finally let himself breathe.

He looked up at the night sky, at the Milky Way stretching above you and smiled then, just a little, but it was there. A real, sincere smile. You hadn’t seen that on him before, not like this. It wasn’t the cocky grin he wore after dumb compliments or the smirk that followed some joke. This was softer. Stanley stared at the stars, his eyes reflecting the distant light and you wondered what he was thinking about. But while he was smiling, you were calm.

Stanford, real Stanford, he’s always been somewhere up there. In the stars, in the galaxies, in other world, always lost in science and mathematics, in things Stanley never really understood.

Nights passed like this more often, where it wasn’t about the rush of everything. He didn’t have to keep running anymore, didn’t have to keep pretending he didn’t care. He’d gotten soft around you in a way that surprised both of you, but it felt right. He could relax now. He could let himself be vulnerable.

One night, after the smoking had long stopped, after the silence had stretched between you in that comfortable way again, the two of you ended up in his bed. Not in the desperate lust way you had before, but in a way that felt natural. Like this was where you both belonged, in each other’s arms.

Stan was lying on your chest, his head resting against you as you calmingly ran your fingers through his hair, the brown strands slipping through your hands. He let out a long, contented sigh, relaxing into your touch.

You felt his breath against your skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest in sync with yours, and that made you understand just how fragile he really was. He never was the tough guy he always tried to be. Stanley Pines was was just a man trying to figure out how to feel again.

Stan’s arms wrapped loosely around you, holding on but not out of desperation this time. Just out of comfort. Out of need.

You smiled softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Stan.”

And for the first time, he believed it and smiled.

***

It wasn’t in Stan’s nature to lay everything out in some big, romantic gesture, not now. This will happen later when he gets older, much older. So there was no official conversation, no ‘what are we now?’ that hung awkwardly in the air.

It happened one evening, at dusk, because at this time of day people always become more sincere and honest, the two of you sitting on the back porch, sharing the silence in the way you’d grown to love. He had that usual cigarette between his lips, the glow of the ember flickering in the dark and you were watching the stars. That's when he said it, which in his language meant “I love you”:

“I think I like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.”

That was his way of telling you. You didn’t need him to say the word love. You understood him well enough by now to know that what he felt was real and that was all you needed.

You didn’t ask him to clarify, didn’t push for more. Stan was never someone you could push. Instead, you waited. You knew he would tell you everything in time. He just needed to get there on his own, at his own pace.

Sometimes he’d disappear into the lab, working on some thing he barely explained, shrugging it off with that typical grumble about science and mathematics. “It’s all bullshit anyway,” he’d say, tossing his hands in the air. “I ain’t ever understood that crap.”

“Not like my brother, he’s the smart one.” Stanley continued in his thoughts.

Then you started noticing the small changes. The way the bottles that once cluttered his desk and the corners of the shack were fewer now. He still drank, yeah, but not like before. He wasn’t drowning himself in it anymore. It was like he was learning, little by little, how to exist without that forever haze of alcohol clouding his thoughts, feelings and memories.

Stan was still scared though. He was scared of a lot of things, scared you’d leave, scared you’d find out something about him and realise you couldn’t stay. And then there were the nightmares. The ones he never talked about, but they were all the same, repeating every time. You’d wake in the middle of the night to find him tense beside you, his breathing uneven, his hands gripping the sheets as though he was trying to hold on to something slipping away.

That haunted him. The portal, always the portal. He’d never say it, at least not now. He’s not ready yet. He’s terrified that somehow, you’d be pulled into it too, just like Ford. That one day you’d be gone and he’d be alone again, abandoned forever.

But when your lips touches his in slow kiss, when you brush your fingers through his messy hair and kiss his forehead, all these fears are washed away. You’d hold him close, feel his body relax against yours and slowly, slowly, his breathing would steady as the nightmares faded. There he stops dreaming about portals and disappearances. Instead, he sleeps deeply, peacefully, like a normal human being.

In the mornings, he’d stay in bed longer than you, his eyes still closed when you slipped out from under the covers. He’d stretch, arms reaching out lazily, that rough voice of his so sleepy. “Sweetheart, come right back,” he’d mumble. “i’ve been waitin’ for you to slip back in bed.” he’d smile when he’d feel your warm body next to his.

That’s what made you fall in love with him harder.

The way he was always a bit softer in the mornings, not yet fully awake and not needing to be. He wasn’t running anymore. Not from you, not from himself. For the first time in what felt like forever, Stan was learning what it meant to just be. To exist in the quiet moments. He still smoked, but it wasn’t to escape anymore, it was just a part of him, something familiar, habit.

Stanley had spent so much of his life running, from his past, from laws, cops, states, from his brother, from his mistakes. But with you, for the first time, he wasn’t running anymore. He was staying.

#stanley pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls smut #x reader #gravity falls x you #stan pines x reader #stanford pines #gravity falls #stanley pines x you #stan pines smut #stan pines #stanley pines #grunkle stan #stan pines x you #stan pines x oc #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls fanfic #mullet stan #gravity falls fanfiction

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ifbrd · 6 months ago

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A little while ago I saw online someone had made a DND character sheet for Ford Pines. In the ability scores area, they had intelligence as the highest (makes sense), and strength as one of the lowest (fair enough)

But then they had wisdom as second highest and dexterity as second lowest, and I gotta say, I think those two need to be flipped

I mean let’s start with dexterity. Now I’m not an expert on DND by any means so apologies if I am misunderstanding dexterity here, but others have pointed out that Ford spent his entire adulthood chasing after and/or running from paranormal creatures. I guess I just feel like he has to have high dexterity for him to have even survived all those years.

Also this

But wisdom being low is where I feel most strongly.

I wouldn’t be the first to point out that Ford, while highly intelligent, completely lacks common sense.

People have noted that the safety measures for turning the portal on and off should have been reverse, that the portal shouldn’t have been that easy to turn on by accident and yet it required at least two people to turn it off.

He keeps an infinity die in a “cheap plastic case”

He gives a 12 year old a cross bow

He gives another 12 year old a mind control tie and tells him to “use it responsibly”

He takes Dipper out on several missions that were probably too dangerous for him, refer to the magnet gun above, where Dipper, if he didn’t do it right, could have fallen to his death, and Ford also took him on the mission to shoot Bill for …some reason???? Leave the 12 year old at home when you go kill god to save the world from the current apocalypse! Why do I even need to say that??? Also “don’t worry I’ve been down here countless times and all the aliens are dead…probably”

As I recall, “Bill proofing the shack” was his first line of defense and “Bill proof our minds” was “the next best thing” …shouldn’t those be reversed??? You gotta leave the shack at some point????

According to journal 3, Ford was the one who encouraged Stan to take the kids on a road trip RIGHT AFTER BILL PROOFING THE SHACK, which completely defeats the purpose of doing that in the first place.

I’ve pointed this out before, “Mabel will be fine! I watched her become pen pals with the pizza delivery man in the 15 seconds he was at the door!” … Ford…that’s creepy has hell, keep that pizza delivery man away from your niece!”

When weirdmageddon started he wrote in his journal????? And drew a lovely little detailed image?????

See that little greenish sticky note at the top? That’s my little note that says “when did you have time to write this?????” Seriously what. “It’s the end of the world…i gotta draw this and write a little entry on it before I save everyone!!!” It’s the drawing that really gets me. Okay write a note in case someone else has to take over but WHY THE DRAWING

And finally, everyone is holding hands at the Cipher Wheel. Stan is essential and is refusing to join unless Ford thanks him for saving him. Ford reluctantly does so. It’s now clear that Stan is willing to put everyone, Dipper and Mabel included, at risk just because he wants a thank you, so Ford decides this is a really good time to CORRECT STAN’S GRAMMAR

Look I say this with love but,

Ford may be the smartest people in the room but he’s also the biggest dumbass in the room. This man has no wisdom.

#gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #mabel pines #stan pines #dipper pines #stanley pines

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mimimarvelingmarvel · 3 months ago

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time bound part eleven

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Eleven - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2.7k

a/n: longest and saddest chapter x

After we unceremoniously crash-land on a guy named Pete’s KIA he was attempting to sell, the impact crumpling the hood like a tin can, the sound of screeching metal echoes through the air, drowning out the distant city noise. Pete looks delighted to see Wade, something I never thought I would see. Wade gives him a quick recap before we are on the run, following him as he takes us towards the TVA.

As we walk down the bustling street, the chaotic sounds of the city engulf us—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional siren blaring in the distance. The air is thick with the smell of street food, a mixture of hot dogs, pretzels, and something sweet like roasted nuts. The vibrant life around me feels surreal, almost too good to be true after months trapped in that nightmarish place, where the only sounds were the howling winds and the distant echoes of something monstrous.

I notice a man in a dishevelled suit barreling toward us, his tie askew, and his face a mask of desperation and fear. Sweat beads on his forehead and his wild eyes lock onto us with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. His nose is broken and I hear Wade giggle beside me, no doubt his doing.

His voice cracks as he shouts, "No, stop, piss off, you’re too late." His voice is tinged with both panic and resignation as if he knows he’s already lost but can’t help fighting against the inevitable.

Logan’s muscles tense, and his voice drops to a growl, deep and menacing like a wolf ready to pounce. His hands curl into fists, the veins in his forearms bulging. "You’re fucking done," he snarls, each word laced with venom.

I glance at the stranger, confusion and wariness gnawing at me. "Who the fuck is this?" I demand, my voice harsher than I intended. The man’s presence feels wrong, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.

His face pales further, his voice trembling with the weight of whatever horror he’s seen. “You brought another Veil to this world? She was supposed to stay in the Void.” His eyes dart around.

"Zip it. Why was Thor crying?" Wade cuts in, his tone is light, mocking, but there’s an edge to it.

Paradox’s fear transforms into righteous indignation, his voice rising in a feeble attempt to regain control. “How dare you? No one comes back from The Void.” His hands twitch at his sides, as if he’s debating whether to fight or flee.

Wolverine’s growl deepens, the sound rumbling in his chest like a storm about to break. His eyes narrow, the cold fury in them unmistakable. "Tell that to Cassandra Nolva."

A sudden whirl of light and energy erupts behind us, the air crackling with raw power. I whip around just in time to see Pyro step through a swirling portal, his expression grim, his eyes shadowed with the burden of bad news. “Paradox, we have a problem,” he says, his voice low and urgent, as if he’s trying to contain the disaster that’s about to unfold.

Before anyone can react, Paradox’s neck snaps violently to the side with a sickening crunch, the sound echoing in the still air like a death knell. His body drops like a marionette whose strings have been cut, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap, his eyes staring blankly at nothing as Cassandra steps out from the portal, a cold smirk on her lips. Her eyes gleam with a malevolent intelligence, as if she’s always two steps ahead of everyone else.

Cassandra’s voice drips with malice, each word carefully enunciated as if savoring the moment. "Paradox? You tried to kill me."

Paradox’s voice shakes, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips, his once confident demeanor shattered. “I literally have no idea…” His words trail off into a pitiful whisper, his fear tangible in the air. Her hand, pale and elegant, wraps around his brain beneath the skin. “You come for the king, you better kill the king,” she says, her voice a deadly whisper that sends chills down my spine.

Deadpool grins wickedly, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "Oh, welcome to the skull-fuck club, Paradox. You know she doesn’t wash that hand." His tone is mocking.

Cassandra tilts her head, examining the man with detached curiosity, as if he’s nothing more than a specimen under a microscope. "Oh, what’s this? A Time-Ripper, you naughty boy," she murmurs, her voice a mixture of amusement and disdain.

"Oh no, we’re on it. We’re gonna head down and dismantle that thing now. We got you, boo; you just keep playing those keys." Wade flashes a playful wink.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, a dangerous gleam in them as she steps closer, her presence suffocating. "I don’t want to destroy it. I want to use it." Her voice is laced with greed, a hunger for power that sends a jolt of fear through me.

My heart clenches in my chest as Cassandra’s gaze locks onto me, her power reaching out, invisible but suffocating. I gasp as I’m yanked off my feet, the force of her magic slamming me back into Logan’s chest. The impact is brutal, knocking the air from my lungs and sending us both crashing through a bakery window. The glass shatters around us, sharp shards slicing through the air like deadly confetti. The scent of fresh bread and sugar mingles with the coppery tang of blood, creating a nauseating cocktail that makes my head spin.

The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I struggle to breathe, my lungs burning as I gasp for air. Dust and debris swirl around us, and I manage to whisper, "Fuck," as I roll off Logan, wincing at the pain radiating through my body. My skin stings where the glass has cut me, and I can feel warm blood trickling down my arms and face.

Wade shakes off the dust, standing up with a grimace, his usual cocky swagger subdued. "You okay, Pumpkin?" he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle, concern flickering in his eyes.

I grunt, forcing myself to stand on shaky legs, every muscle screaming in protest. "Never better." My voice is hoarse, and I can feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me, but I push it aside. My eyes scan the chaotic scene outside, where people are running in every direction, their screams of terror echoing off the buildings. "I’m going to go stop her."

Logan tries to grab me, his fingers grazing my arm, but Wade holds him back, a rare seriousness in his eyes. "We’ve got other problems to deal with, buddy. Pumpkin’s got this, our little time ripper." He glances at me, a knowing look crossing his face, his expression almost… proud? "Oops—spoilers." He says to some unknown thing in the distance.

I shrug him off, giving Logan one last look, a silent plea in my eyes, before jogging toward the subway entrance. The stairs are steep and narrow, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow hue. The tunnel is dark, the air heavy with the scent of metal and something more sinister, something that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. As I descend deeper, the sounds of the city fade away, replaced by the ominous hum of the machines below.

Paradox sits in a chair in the control room, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles are white. His face is a mask of terror, his eyes wide and unblinking as he watches the screens in front of him.

"You dumb shit," I seethe, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him to face me. His eyes are wide, filled with the kind of fear that only comes when you realize you’ve truly fucked up. "What have you done?" My voice

I look up at the machines, their screens flashing erratically as Cassandra wreaks havoc on the timelines. Each beep and whirr of the machinery seems to punctuate the gravity of the situation, the digital displays a chaotic dance of numbers and warnings. “She’s going to destroy the whole existence of timelines until just the Void remains,” He says, his face pale and trembling.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my voice barely above a breath.

“You can stop her.” I look to him, hopeful. “That’s what’s so dangerous about you, but if you do that, you’ll die.” The weight of his words hits me like a physical blow. My heart pounds in my chest, and I stare into his eyes, searching for some hint of hope or another solution.

“You idiots didn’t make a failsafe?” My voice is sharp with frustration and fear.

Paradox nods, his eyes wide with terror. “But she’s the closest one to it. This is the only way.”

I shiver as the realization sinks in. The thought of my own death is a cold, hard reality that shakes me to my core. If I do this, I’m gone. But if I don’t, everyone else dies. My mind races with the enormity of the choice before me.

“Tell me what I have to do.”

Paradox, trembling, presses a small button on a console. A video screen flickers to life, displaying a grainy, distorted image of the control systems. “You have to bridge the gap between the two feeds of matter and anti-matter. It will implode the time ripper, killing Cassandra… and you.”

My breath catches in my throat, a shaky exhale escaping my lips. “If you see Logan, tell him I’m sorry.” I step away, my legs feeling heavy and leaden. “Where is it?”

He points shakily toward the lower levels. I nod, turning toward the stairs, each step feeling like a mile as I make my way to the feeder room. The weight of the impending sacrifice presses down on me, and I try to steady my shaking hands. My heart races as I think of the life I’m leaving behind, the people I’m leaving behind.

As I descend, the cool, musty air of the stairwell wraps around me, each step echoing in the silence. I can feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, memories flashing before me. The joyous moments, the regrets, and the lingering fear of leaving Logan behind. The thought of not having a legacy, of leaving without making a mark, terrifies me.

At the bottom of the stairs, a long hallway stretches out before me, lit by flickering lights that cast eerie shadows on the walls. I pause at the end, my gaze fixed on the door ahead. The lights behind the glass window flicker and pulse, mirroring the turmoil within me. I take a step forward, but my knee buckles, and I hit the ground, a vision of blinding white light assaulting my eyes. The intensity of it nearly overwhelms me, but it fades as quickly as it came.

I try to sit up, my body trembling with fear. I need to do this. I force myself to stand, my hand reaching for the door. Just as I’m about to push it open, a voice echoes down the hallway, stopping me in my tracks.

I hear my name cut through the tension like a blade. “Y/N!”

My heart leaps into my throat, a jolt of adrenaline making me spin around. Logan is rushing toward me, his face a storm of fear and determination. His eyes, usually so controlled, are wide with panic and desperation. Behind him, Wade follows, his usual irreverent demeanor replaced by a rare, somber resolve.

“What are you doing?” Logan's voice is a mix of terror and disbelief, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my resolve waver.

“It has to be me.” I tell him, standing my ground.

Logan’s expression morphs into one of resolute defiance. “No, I won’t let you die. I’ll do it.”

Deadpool’s voice slices through the tension, his usual levity gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. “No can do, Peanut. It’s gotta be me.”

Logan’s confusion is immediate, his brow furrowing deeply. “What?”

Deadpool’s gaze drops, his face revealing a rare moment of vulnerability. “You didn’t ask for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to your face. Just to get you to help me. You did.”

Logan’s eyes dart between Deadpool and me, filled with frantic desperation. “You didn’t lie. You made an educated wish. You got a whole world to go back to.”

His gaze settles back on me, filled with a raw, unspoken plea. “I would never let you leave me in a world without you again. I got nothing without you, so give me this.”

I shake my head slowly, tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. Logan’s movement toward the door is resolute, but the sight of his anguished expression tears at my heart. I cry harder, my sobs echoing down the narrow hallway.

Deadpool steps closer, his face lined with a rare gravity. “I waited a long time for this team-up. And you know something? You’re the best Wolverine.”

The sincerity in his voice is a stark contrast to his usual banter, and it shatters my resolve. I look at Wade, my vision blurring with tears.

Logan freezes, his body paralyzed by my powers, a look of helpless frustration etched deeply into his features. Wade stands still beside me, his eyes filled with unspoken sorrow, a silent acknowledgment of the inevitability of my choice.

“Y/N? What are you doing?”

I force myself to push down my tears, my voice trembling as I answer. “I’m doing the right thing.”

I walk past them, the effort to stop me almost tangible, their emotions reaching out like a desperate plea. I reach the door, the cold metal handle biting into my hand as I pull it open, stepping inside. The door slams shut behind me with a finality that reverberates through the hallway, their desperate shouts muffled by the thick, reinforced walls.

Logan’s roar of frustration is visceral, the impact of his body slamming into the door sending a shudder through the corridor.

“Open the door!” He screams.

“I can’t, Logan. You know it has to be me. I couldn’t save them, but I can save you.” I hold a hand up to the glass.

Logan’s voice cracks, the raw emotion evident. “Why are you fucking doing this?”

“Because I love you.” I finally admit, my heart cracking at the weight of my confession.

Logan’s response is a choked, pained cry, tears streaking down his cheeks as he pounds on the door again. His anguish is palpable, each strike against the door a testament to his heartbreak.

“You fucking idiot.”

Deadpool’s voice is strained, filled with uncharacteristic desperation. “Pumpkin? Don’t do this.”

“I love you.” I tell him again.

Logan’s voice softens, a heartbreaking admission. “I love you too.”

A sad smile tugs at my lips as I hear his final words, knowing they’re the last I’ll hear from him. “That’s all I needed to hear to know I’m doing the right thing.”

I turn away from the door, my resolve solidifying as I move toward the center of the bridge. The matter and anti-matter streams twist and writhe with chaotic energy, their raw power casting erratic shadows across the room. Cassandra stands above, the time ripper in her control, her silhouette a dark, menacing figure against the flickering lights.

I reach out, gripping the matter stream first. The metal is cold and unyielding, but as my hands close around it, blue lightning crackles up my arms. The strain is immense, and I grit my teeth as I pull the stream toward the anti-matter, the effort causing my body to shake violently. The raw power surges through me like a tempest, each pulse of energy a painful reminder of the cost of my choice.

I barely graze the anti-matter before finally getting a firm grip on it. The contact sends a jolt of searing agony through my body, and I cry out, the pain almost unbearable. The lights above flicker wildly, their erratic dance mirroring the tumultuous energy converging within me. The pounding on the door fades into a distant echo, Logan and Wade’s voices reduced to frantic, muffled pleas.

As the matter and anti-matter streams converge within me, a blinding white light envelops me, consuming everything in its intensity. My vision fades to a blur of white, the world dissolving around me, until finally—black.

Next Part

A/N: angst.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

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petew21-blog · 3 months ago

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Poolverine

Spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine

Deadpool and Wolverine aproached Cassandra while the others were battling her soldiers. Wolverine was suppressing his rage, Deadpool, on the other hand, was suppressing his words. He was still talking, just not as much as he would normally.

Cassandra Nova was ready for everything. After all, she was here for her whole life. She has seen everything. Even Loki escaping from the void. But now, these two basically immortal beings stood in front of her. One was a bigger paij in the ass than the other.

Deadpool:"Ok, Baldilocks slash wannabe Walter White in your kingdom. We know we had our ups and downs from the moment you killed Johnny, may he rest in peace. We loved him and will never forget him. But I gotta rain on your parade here, and I hope your bald head is not too sensitive for some cold rain drops, because now is the time to let us all go and end this drama show."

Wolverine:"You said you'll be holding back."

Deadpool:"Ohhh, this is holding back. I haven't even started."

Wolverine:"She has the power to kill you with a snap of her fingers, and you still think the best way to stop her is to insult her?"

Cassandra just stood in front of them, speechless.

Deadpool:"I think your X-men spoiled you with all the WE'RE-ALL-IN-THIS-TOGETHER attitude. Well, pal! This is my show, and here, we roast our enemies before we stab them after many unsuccessful attempts, moment of desperation and a collab with Madonna."

Cassandra:"I have no idea what he is on about, but the two of you look like a married couple after twenty years of hating each other's guts. And you know what couple therapists always say to the unfunctional couple?"

Deadpool:"Yep! They say, ‘You either learn to compromise… or one of you learns to hide the body really well.’ So, which one of us is digging tonight, Logan?!"

Cassandra:"I just... How do you put up with him?"

Logan:"I have known him for like 5 hours and killed him several times."

Deadpool:"And so did I! Cute, aren't we?"

Cassandra:"I can't... See each other's perspective and get out of my sight."

The two were now transported via portal back to one of the worlds to empty Xavier mansion.

Deadpool, now in Wolverine's body, stood up and looked down. "Ohhhhh, baby, yesss. Look at these!!!" Wade now popping his new claws. "Snikt! Yeaaaah. Oh, I could get used to this."

Deadpool turned his head to the audience and said:"Hey folks. Not to alarm you. Deadpool is still here, just a slightly broody and hairier version. Only now I got! Claaaaaws!!!" Wade sliced through a nearby painting that immediatelyfell down, destroying a statue on the table. "Whoopsie. Just normal Wolverine collateral damage, am I right?"

Logan:"What the hell is this? Why am I suddenly feeling... chatty? I need to get of this tight red spandex and this horrible mask."

Deadpool is now doing ridiculous poses in the reflection of a mirror. Screaming and scratching the air. "Look at me, I'm like a Canadian action figure." Wink at the audience.

Logan:"Stop this Wilson. We need to get Charles."

Deadpool:"Oh I don't know, I got this sudden urge to sing and get a circus. We shouldn't waste time."

They both search the house, but all the X-men are gone.

Now in the privacy of a small bathroom. Deadpool, stands in front o the mirror, shirtless, flexing. "Ohhhh look at that". He pops out his claws again. "If only I had these babies during my last taco truck robbery .- I mena, purchase."

Deadpool grabs a comb on the sink. "The hair! What an untamed mane. I look like a mix between a badger and a bad scripted shampoo comercial." Then he leans closer to the mirror. "And check out this jawline. Ladies and gents, feast your eyes."

"One, two, three, four, five...six! Finally jackpot. It's really like a washboard for all my dirty clothes. I could do laundry on these bad boys, If I ever did laundry."

"And what do we have here." Deadpool raises his furry eyebrows, following the hairy trail under, leading to the massive buldge. "Oh Logan, I knew you've been hiding some serious adamantium down here, but damn. No wonder all the X-men want to sleep with you. Pun intended. I mean... If I knew that you had this much heat packed in here, I would have switched with you sooner."

Wade strikes a final pose and blows a kiss to his reflection:"Wolvie, you beautiful, hairy beast, I may never give this body back to you."

Logan enters the bathroom with a scowl, freezing in horror at the sight before him.

Deadpool in Logan's body, completely naked and a little too pleased with his new situation.

"What the hell are you doing, Wade!!!"

"Hey, Wolvie. Just getting acquainted with the goods. Man, you've been holding out for me. Honestly, If there was a claw shooting out of this thing, I wouldn't even be surprised anymore." Wade said with a smile, gripping his hard dick in Logan's face

"Get your filthy hands off my...!" Logan fighting the urge to kill his own body

"Logan, it's your hands, don't forget that. So that means I did nothing wrong. Your body that touched yourself. I haven't touched anything, if you think about it." Towards the audience:"It's like flashbacks from puberty."

"Besides, I only wanted to take your body for a test drive, Logan. You know, making sure that all the gears work before returning the keys. Quality control!"

"If you don't stop now, I'll claw off that smug off your... your real face when we get back" Logan gets closer to his old body, now feeling a strange urge to want him to get closer. Both of the bodies pulling towards each other

Deadpool:"Logan? Did you pay Magneto to get us closer? Cause I feel a strange force pulling me to you and I have to say i don't mind it"

Logan:"I'm not doing anything. I... No way. I'm trying to go away from you"

Deadpool:"Oh yeah, it's happening, baby. My body can't resist this beautiful, hairy pile of muscles, and your body is controlled by one of the most perverted minds alive."

"YOU SICK BASTARD. This is all your twisted head. If you'll be enjoying even a second of this." Logan shouted

Deadpool:"Oh, come on. It's just chemistry. You can't fight it"

Logan:"Gotta get control of this."

Deadpool:"No need for that. Your body's got the hots for me. I'm a walking talking thirst trap now. Give in, big guy. Let's make it weird."

Logan now with his new hands still in spandex, touching his old body. "Wade... When this is over... I'm going to make you regret all of this."

Deadpool:"I'm counting on it. But until then, you're mine"

Wade pulls of his old mask down from Logan's head:"Ohhh there is that crispy chipsy face I haven't seen for a while". Logan:"Please just shut up"

Their hands our now all over each other. Logan's burly figure standing above Deadpool's figure. Logan's body under Wade's control now pushes his old body towards the wall. Breaking it. They get to Cyclops and Jean's bedroom, now vacant, ready for their action. Dadpool starts making out with his body still on the ground from the collision. Logan wants to fight back, but gives up and makes out with his bearded face. It feels kind of nice, but he can't ever admit that to Wade.

Wade picks up Logan from the ground using his claws, and with their help, he rips of the spandex off of Logan. Scratching him in the process. Logan now moaning in pain, looking deeply into his old eyes. He now understands why many people called him a "beast." He did look like one. But sexy one at that.

Wade threw Logan on the bed. Turning him around. Logan was ready for immediate penetration, but suddenly he felt a moist thing pushing its way between Deadpool's hairy ass. Was he now experiencing rimming? "Wade, no...!"

Deadpool:"Don't worry, sweetpie. I know what my body likes. Just relax, enjoy and don't fart in my face"

Logan has never felt this feeling in such an intimate place. And it wasn't even his body.

Wade now turned Logan to his back. He positioned himself. "Ready? I know you're used to pain, but this might be a bit... unsettling."

Logan:"I can take a bit of pain... AHHHHHHH"

Deadpool."Sorry, boo. Haven't stretched out that thing for quite a while."

He started pushing more and more. At that moment, Logan tried to get up and leave. But something in Logan's body overtook Wade. He took both of his claws and pushed them through Deadpool's body's forearms, securing him in place. Logan screamed in pain. "Why???"

Deadpool:"Don't want you to give up during the best part when it stops hurting"

Sweat was dripping from Logan's body all over Deadpool's. All of Logan's hair were now glistening in sweat.

"Ohhhh moth.... This is so amazing. I feel like a Republican during the Fourth of July" Deadpool screamed out while his claws were still in place.

He picked up the pace, and when he saw that Logan was now moaning in pleasure and not in pain, he took out his claws and just enjoyed the ride.

"Oh Wolvie. I think I'm gonna get you pregnant now."

"Just fuck me!!!"

Now very close to the finish, Deadpool took out his dick and pointed it at his old face, cumming all over his old chest and hitting his body's eye. Logan came too, but on his stomach. He was still mesnerized. How come, through all these years, he never even thought about stimulating his prostate?

Both now watching each other, sweaty, out of breath.

Logan:"You won't tell a soul."

Deadpool looking at the audience, smirking:"Promise"

And at the corner of the room a quiet girly voice spoke out:"Promise". Kitty sunk into the wall leaving embarassed to the next room

Message from Inbox :)

Yo, i love your writing. And with your last story with Hugh and Ryan....What about their characters?, Wolverine and Deadpool swapping bodies thanks to Cassandra Nova powers that also made them aroused for each other in order to distract them from stopping her. Wade can't help but to give into Logan's body urges to dominate, and Logan just want the voices gone.

#deadpool 3 #deadpool x wolverine #wolverine #logan x wade #wade x logan #m2m body swap #body swap #male body swap #mental change #personality change #marvel body swap

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callahanisms · 1 year ago

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an experiment

the title is not related to this in any form. i just wanted to write something quickly for miguel. let’s just say i’m experimenting with some things. if anyone’s interested in like a fic, i’d be happy to write one.

anyways back on my spider-man stuff.

for the last seven years on your earth, you’ve been the one and only spider-man. well not exactly spider-man or spider-woman. you were known by the moniker of spiderling. you didn’t really have a name when you started so the press gave one for you.

was it sort of juvenile? yes. but in all fairness, you were still a kid when you first became spiderling. late teens sure, but you were still a kid. and still hurting.

you were a master of the mystic arts first. something happened though. magic became almost inaccessible after a fight with a multiversal entity. the universe was at stake and you performed some risky magic to save it. at a cost.

you still had a little magic left, enough to perform a binding spell or leave magic circle traps. and it helps that slowly but surely, you’re regaining the magic you lost. especially since many of the villains you face, even as spiderling, have a penchant for magic and magical artifacts.

what you were not expecting was for your day to be interrupted with the sudden news that someone had broken into an office building. without being seen.

upon arriving to the scene, you were very surprised to find a villain that was...not yours.

they were confused, but wreaking havoc with civilians in the crossfire was not the way to go.

in the midst of your battle, your body literally slammed into someone that came out of nowhere. and he was most certainly not from your universe.

“watch it pal!”

“you watch it!”

“you literally came from nowhere!”

before he can argue back, you gave chase to the new villain. you had more pressing matters compared to that of a man that came from nowhere.

and it seemed that he was following after you.

neither of you could catch the villain, who was constantly glitching out. clearly something was going on, something greater and beyond your own universe.

the mysterious spider-man was keen on catching them, so you studied their pathways and predicted where they would go. you laid a simple magic circle trap and waited for the villain to step through.

everything was easy after that. a magical barrier, the sprinkle of magic that disappeared into the air, and a villain knocked out. safe from harming others. and even themself.

“that was...a lot easier than i thought.”

“it’s better to think about tactics.”

when you finally laid eyes upon the mysterious spider-man, you jaw almost dropped. almost. you had appearances to keep up.

he was pretty tall. and muscular. the suit certainly didn’t leave much room for the imagination.

you couldn’t be thinking those things! who even gawks at a random spider-man that literally appeared out of thin air.

you don’t say anything to him and simply leave, letting him deal with whatever the villain was. it was clear that must’ve been why he appeared out of nowhere. something in your gut told you.

two weeks later, you got a visit from the mysterious spider-man.

he was just in your apartment! how did he get in? better not to ask questions.

you had just come back from your local bakery, goods in hand, and with plenty of freebies being the neighborhood spider person.

“(y/n), right?”

it was too late. you had already taken your mask off. and you simply blinked at him. “get out-”

he tosses you something and you catch it. a bracelet? “put it on. you’ve been recruited.”

“recruited? recruited for what? and why should i put this on?”

“come see for yourself first.”

if you were going to step through a portal, you might as well bring your baked snacks along for the ride.

where you arrived was...well, to say you were in awe with the place would be the understatement of the century.

spider people upon spider people. you had theorized ideas of meeting other people from different multiverses. but you didn’t think it could actually be achievable until now.

a lot of people stopped your guide to ask who the newbie was. from the conversations you picked out his name. miguel.

eventually his mask faded(?) away to reveal a...very stunning man. perhaps one of the most stunning men you’ve ever seen? even if he did look tired. but hey, who didn’t have a thing for men that looked like they worked overtime constantly?

“wait so...why do you want me to join this...spider society?” you ask before taking a bite into your baked good. you didn’t have lunch today.

“essentially? to keep the multiverse from collapsing. we have...run into a few of your own villains. the ones that use magic.” he says. “there are more like them. and for the most part, we have a lack of...magic expertise.”

“oh. so you want me to join to be that expertise?”

“precisely. besides, you already have experience with the multiverse.”

“and how do you even know that?”

his stoicism breaks with the slight curve of his lip, almost like a smirk. you could feel your heart begin to beat a little faster. “lyla.”

“on it.” the hologram pulled up...everything on you.

in fact, you wanted to faint seeing everything. even some embarrassing moments. “that umm...that wasn’t actually me.” you respond to his raised eyebrows at the scene.

“that’s not it. this one is.” lyla pulls up a video. “you defeated a multiversal creature. in fact, we presume there are more of them. they may be some kind of organization.”

“our job is to preserve the multiverse. and considering you have the most experience with this unknown entity, we need you.”

“perhaps need is a stretch. i thought you’d want me, y’know.” you joked. “because no one really wants me.”

“that’s not funny.”

“it’s funny to me.” you finish your food. “is the multiverse really at stake?”

“possibly. the point is that we keep it at a place where it isn’t.” he crosses his arms across his chest. “so, will you join us?”

you ponder for a bit before answering. “i have nothing better to do. sure.”

“good, good.” he almost smiles. he feels the muscles twitch but maintains his composure. “you have crumbs on your face.” he points to the correlating spot on his face to yours.

“oh.” you feel your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment as you brush them off.

“you still have some.”

you kept missing the spot, frustrating miguel just a little bit.

“here let me.”

his hand brushes against your skin and is gentle as he brushes the remaining crumbs off. normally you weren’t such a messy eater but you also usually didn’t eat in a universe you didn’t belong in.

his touch is gentle in comparison to his appearance. everything about him screams danger and pain. but it was, in fact, the opposite of that.

“next time eat in the cafeteria.” he says.

#ngl this is kind of bad?#i promise to deliver on something better #across the spiderverse #spider-man: across the spider-verse #spider-man 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader

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turtleblogatlast · 11 months ago

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[ cw: scars / permanent injuries / chronic pain / ]

Leo’s shell gets some permanent cracks in it due to the Krang, and as a result his shell’s pattern is all messed up.

He makes a fuss about it in a lightheartedly vain way, but it’s clear that it bothers him, more than just the chronic pain that comes with it.

The one who breaks about the cracks isn’t Leo in the end, it’s Mikey.

It’s a night where Leo can’t sleep, insomnia and the remnants of a fit pulsing through his shell keeping him awake. When making the rounds to check up on everything, he sees Mikey, crouched over some old crayon drawings, drawings that were only salvaged by some miracle.

Mikey always loved matching with his “cool blue bro” growing up. Their shell designs were something they had in common, different from the spines/spikes that their other brothers had. It felt good to share that with Leo.

To Mikey, seeing that pattern tarnished felt a little too much like their home getting destroyed. Worse, even. The two of them are complementary colors, it hits harder when things disrupt that.

And Mikey admits this to Leo, on this day where emotion kept mounting up in him until he couldn’t help but break a little. It feels selfish to say, but it’s the truth. It’s a visual that’ll constantly haunt Mikey, knowing what the cracks represent, knowing how they lost something that was just theirs to share.

Drawing Mikey to him, a hand on Mikey’s intact shell pattern, Leo admits that that’s what kills him the most too. He can deal with the pain, he can deal with the appearance, but he can’t deal with no longer seeing himself in the crayon drawings they managed to salvage from their past. Drawings that highlight their shell patterns, because Mikey always had a lot of fun drawing those.

He always loved what they decided they represented.

———

“Like links of a chain!” Little Mikey had called them as he scribbled them down in oranges and blues.

“Of course it’s like chains!” Little Leo nodded, having never noticed that before, “It, like, shows how we’re- how we’re always connected!”

Little Mikey had gasped at that, stars in his eyes as he babbled endlessly about how that meant they’re the chains holding the family together, right?

“Raphie and Donnie don’t have chains on their shells, so we gotta step up to keep everyone together!” Little Mikey said as he drew big circles around his drawings of their family, overlapping circles of orange and blue around everyone.

“Yeah! And if anyone gets lost, we’ll bring them back!” Little Leo boasted with a laugh, “No one has to be alone, we’ll make sure of it!”

“We’ll make sure of it!” Little Mikey echoed with a happy giggle.

———

‘You sure made sure of it, Mikey.’ Leo thinks, continuing to run his hand comfortingly down Mikey’s shell.

Then a thought hits him.

“Well, we got something better than just shell patterns in common now!” Leo starts, waiting until Mikey looks up to continue, “We got portals, little brother!” He grins, “And y’know, I think you’ve done a great job keeping us all together, Miguel. Sorry you had to pick up my slack.”

Mikey looks two steps away from sobbing at that, but his smile is wide, “You just got lost, of course I had to bring you back.” He leans back, out of Leo’s hold, and looks his big brother in the eyes, “That’s what we said- Raphie and Donnie don’t have portals…”

“-So we gotta step up-“ Leo continues.

“-To keep everyone together!” The finish simultaneously, laughing a little at the juvenile words.

A wry smile crosses Leo’s face, “Again, sorry I’ve been dropping the ball there. Feels like I did a lot of the opposite instead.”

He yelps as Mikey swiftly smacks him on the head.

“Nuh uh uh, none of that!” Mikey puffs out his chest, “I’ll have no slander toward my fellow portal pal!”

“Alright, alright…”

It’s not a fix to anything, more of a new way of looking at a change. Bringing that change into their lives as something familiar.

The cracks in Leo’s shell remain, and the cracks in Mikey’s hands scar over, but their family stays together all the same.

They gotta make sure of it, after all!

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rise leo #rise mikey #rottmnt headcanons #portal pals #I’m so weak for portal pals #but yeah I always thought Leo and Mikey had cool shell patterns #looking very much like the links of a chain #so this happened bc of that thought haha #Leo: but just because we’re portal pals that does NOT mean you get to use those portals any time soon #Mikey: Aw

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leiflitter · 1 year ago

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So, Mystra-

The more I think about her, the more I want to egg all of her statues, because I am honestly convinced that she's likely way more embroiled in Gale's fall from favour than she seems- and that she likely never cared for him in any meaningful sense.

This is gonna be long, gang.

Also I am 1000% up for screaming about Gale/forming an anti-Mystra union so y'know let's be pals

My thoughts are thus:

She has likely always known about his potential and capability of power. He was a child prodigy, after all- and she's a GODDESS. From the first time he truly used the weave, he was on her radar.

This also makes Gale's relationship with Elminster seem too convenient. As much potential as Gale demonstrates, it's also important to remember that Elminster is Mystra's chosen- and Mystra's chosen are often tasked with upholding and protecting balance in the weave. There are countless wizards that Elminster could mentor- so why Gale specifically?

The same is true of Gale's magical education. I've seen plenty of speculation about his possible potential as a sorcerer, and there's a lot of questions around the circumstances of him entering the Blackstaff Academy- as well as a confirmation of his power when he, a little baby trainee wizard, uses The Actual Blackstaff to cast a spell.

As an aside, Gale's little story about his misadventure with The Blackstaff is especially scary when taking into account that the staff is very devious, and it's primary purpose is to protect Waterdeep- although this is again speculation, I don't think the portal to limbo was just the spell going very, very wonky. I think the Staff, sensing Gale's ability and (through the very clear context clues of him using the fucking staff that you normally would need to attune to and that belongs to the top fancy wizard in waterdeep) his ambition, decided that he was clearly a potential threat that might be better off being quietly removed via Death Slaad.

We also know of at least one story of a young, powerful wizard who, y'know, led to the death of Mystryl and the loss of all magic- in part because he lacked the discipline that he should have learned at Wizard School.

So Gale comes along. Karsus 2.0- he's back, he's human and- most importantly- he's lonely.

How better to neutralise him as a threat than to make him loyal to her? Why would she cast aside a possible asset when she could use him?

The main problem with her plan is Gale himself. She can get him into wizard school. She can get Elminster to mentor him. She can make sure that Gale gets the best magical education, so hopefully he will be content and settle for being an archmage.

She can't, however, account for Gale's brain. Let's be honest, Gale is neurodivergent as fuck, and magic is his number one special interest. He was never going to be content to enjoy magic a "normal" amount, so no matter how many hours he may spend being taught about how great Mystra is and how the limits she sets are to be respected... he won't stop learning, growing more powerful, becoming more and more of a threat to her.

So how does she cement his loyalty? By getting personal. This is why him being isolated is important- it gives her an advantage. She can be number one without any effort. If he has an actual bond to her, not just the concept of her, then he won't be dangerous. Except, again, she's assuming that he'll be like so many other mortals and be so awed by her presence that he'll finally be satisfied. But he isn't.

Why the fuck would a goddess take someone so clearly, deeply intense about magic into her personal realm? Why would she show him all the power he would never be able to access?

Because, to her, he's just a mortal. There has to be a point in which he'll either be sated or he'll realise his limits and give up, because he's just an extremely powerful ant in comparison to her. Mystra has never considered getting to know Gale. If she had, she'd have realised that doing the grand tour of All The Magic You Can't Ever Do was a huge mistake. That making herself the focal point of his entire existence was an absolutely dogshit move.

Gale throws himself so hard into Being Mystra's Best Boy because he has nothing outside of magic other than his mother. He summoned his best friend, and he admits that he has colleagues and acquaintances, but nothing much else. He and Elminster clearly care for each other, but it's clear that Mystra's placed barriers between them- and even if they were able to be best buds and make friendship bracelets, together, they're at vastly different stages of life.

It's also likely that Mystra's interest in him led to his isolation. He has been marked as Special- the old gifted child problem where him being So Smart So Magic meant he bypassed the social side of things.

So of course he wants to prove himself, to impress her- his entire metric for his self-worth is Being A Wizard. He says he's bumped uglies with mortals before- but he doesn't mention anyone specifically. And, let's be frank, the man has a case of foot-in-mouth syndrome- if he had any meaningful romantic experience before Mystra, you know he'd have brought it up at least once. "Ah, autumncrocus- back in my apprentice days I picked a bunch for the object of my youthful affections. Unfortunately I hadn't realised they were allergic- but they certainly appreciated the gesture, if you catch my implication... Once they stopped sneezing, of course."

She becomes his whole world. He wants so desperately to be on her level, to be what he thinks she deserves- and yes, it was incredibly stupid of him. However, what the fuck was Mystra doing?

Throughout BG3, high approval Gale is actually incredibly receptive if you tell him not to persue power. Yes, his earlier mistakes may play into this, but I find it hard to believe that he'd be any less receptive to Mystra.

To quote- "I pouted. I pleaded. I swore my ambition was only to serve her better. But she only smiled and told me to be contented."

So, then, why did Mystra not actually engage with Gale on this?

Because she never cared about him.

She tried all the options she thought would work on a mortal, and when they were done she didn't consider trying anything else. She never knew him well enough to understand his motivations- he should have been satisfied with Magic Sex because surely any mortal would be. She couldn't even consider that his love wasn't just him liking the company and getting laid, that he'd still want to prove himself to her. To be worthy of the Mystra she'd let him believe in.

And when he fucked up- if she had helped him, even in a tiny way, then she'd have achieved her goal. Imagine if he'd come to her, agonised by the dark magic within him, and she'd been merciful. The way you would be, if you loved someone. If she had actually known Gale? She'd have done it.

But Mystra doesn't see it as an act of love gone wrong. To Mystra, it's proof that she can't control him, that his potential isn't worth whatever effort she'd need to put in.

She abandons him to die- expects him to go on a pilgramage into the wilderness and just go boom.

When he doesn't? She decides that, fine, she'll deal with it- by sending Elminster to tell Gale the good news! She'll "forgive" him if he detonates himself, honest! He trusts Elminster, Elminster's a father figure to him, he'll do what Elminster tells him. Except that's another example of her not understanding Gale in the slightest. Instead of hope, she's rubbing salt in his wounds- she's flexing her power and showing Gale that his bond with Elminster was always conditional on Mystra's approval, and that Elminster's loyalty lies with her.

No wonder Elminster sent a construct- it's the closest thing he can do that isn't abject refusal.

I am gonna stop rambling now but in conclusion:

Mystra, you absolutely suck. Get wrecked. I hope Bhaal shits in your pocket dimension.

#leiflitter rambles #mystra #gale of waterdeep #am i dwelling on this? absolutely #she's lucky gale goes there alone or els would absolutely bite her #baldurs gate gale #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate theories #mystra bg3

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godsfavoritescientist · 9 months ago

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An as-of-yet unnamed AU where instead of being Ford's muse, Bill appears to Fiddleford and convinces him to build the portal.

The conversation in the last 2 images continues under the cut:

Fiddleford relaxed all at once, giving Ford a too-wide smile. Then, he opened his eyes one eyelid at a time. “You’ve been a real good friend! And I have a lot of friends, so that’s saying something!” He let out a short laugh. “You wanna know what I’m working on? It’s something that’s gonna usher in an era of world peace! You might not believe it, but no one else would believe you if you told them you’ve just uncovered an ancient alien crash site, would they now? So be a pal and suspend your disbelief!”

Ford felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There was something… something he couldn’t put his finger on… something that flashed in the corner of his eye…

Ford swallowed. “Okay. It’s religious project. But what is it?”

Fiddleford threw a casual arm around Ford. “I think it’ll be easier if I show you!”

They walked down a corridor lined wall to wall, floor to ceiling with computers running endless calculations. They bathed the whole room in flickering green light, as words scrolled rapidly across screen after screen after screen, their glowing surfaces reflecting in Fiddleford’s glasses as he walked ahead of Ford, with a confidently uncoordinated stride that made Ford wonder if he was drunk. Ford glanced at the screens, catching bits and pieces of words as Fiddleford rushed by in the black-and-green light. “Probability of Event 4.23A, Probability of Event 23.652C, Probability of Event 1.9C…” dozens of numbers that looked like coordinates… thousands of statistical probability equations being run over and over again…

Fiddleford punched in a seven-digit code on the front of a huge metal door at the end of the corridor. When he swung it open, it revealed a room that looked like something out of a movie, or a nightmare. He stood before a sea of gigantic red raising platforms that Fiddleford effortlessly jumped around on, inputting some kind of code based on the symbols on the squares, until the moving platforms went still.

They moved on into a simple, warmly-lit room with coat racks full of red robes lining the walls, and foam mats stacked in the corner with eyes embroidered on them.

And then, at last, they entered what appeared to be their destination. This room was gigantic, and frigidly cold. The walls and floors were all made of metal. And at the center of the room, a machine towered over them. It was part metal and part unfinished scaffolding. A huge upside-down triangle with a hole in the middle of it, like a great big maw.

Fiddleford gestured at it with a grin. “My magnum opus! A portal directly to god.”

#fiddleford #gravity falls #i have a document somewhere that explains how bill slowly leads fidds up to this point #i have no explanation for why bill appears to Fidds. maybe he saw how things went with an alternate Ford and this idea was born from that #gods art #if I had it in me to write a full fic i'd do that #but seeing as im not gonna do all that. might as well draw bits and pieces of it #biddlebord au #<-unofficial name for now #my art highlights

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flamingpudding · 1 year ago

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Fictober23 Prompt: 5 - "You're the smartest person I know."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Mensions of Blood, Injury and Violence

A/N: This is kind of a bad timeline kind of situation that plays into the Gamer Pal Prompt I wrote before but can still be read independently.

Danny gasped as he staggered along the alley wall, with no idea where he was. He leaned with his shoulder against the wall as his left hand pressed against the wound on his stomach that refused to stop bleeding. He was confused, dizzy and pretty sure his father had given him a concussion, so closing his eyes and just sleeping on the side of the street was out of the question.

Tucker had thrown him through a portal Wulf had opened and that portal had spit him out here in… he doesn't recognise anything. But he was pretty sure he wasn't in Amity anymore. His vision was blurry but he was pretty sure that there were skyscrapers or at least buildings way taller than he was used to.

"Fuck." Danny cursed as another wave of pain made his body shudder. If he could just transform than maybe these injuries wouldn't be as bad but next to the pain Danny could also feel electricity surging through his body thanks to whatever Vlad zapped him with that stopped his transformation.

He coughed, squinting his eyes at the red spots that splattered to the ground. Things had gone to shit and real quickly and for a moment Danny thought that maybe they should have listened to their Gaming friend. Listened to his words of caution and advice to find a way to leave or to have at least a couple more of back up plans if things go horribly wrong.

Well it all came back to bite Danny like usually, as he spat out another glob of blood. Maybe Tim hadn't been as paranoid as they had assumed.

"You okay there kid?"

Danny needed to blink a couple of times until the red and brown blob before him finally took the shape of a person. He blinked several times more until his brain also finally caught up with who he was seeing before him.

"You're Red Hood?" Danny somehow managed to say in between coughing again. Tim had told them about Gothams vigilantes and how he could contact them to get them to help with Amity. To get them into contact with the Justice League. They had thanked him but refused the help, citing the fact that even one overshadowed hero could spell even worse trouble than they already had.

Now he felt stupid having refused that kind of help.

"Hey there kid." Don't black out now. Your bleeding pretty heavily we should get you to a doctors and-"

"No hospitals." Danny cut the vigilante off, coughing once more. Even though Tim somehow had managed to get the Justice League started on the removal of the Anti-Ecto Acts they were not yet gone. He couldn't risk that yet.

But meeting Red Hood meant that Danny was in Gotham, which meant he could probably go directly to Tim for help. His Gaming Pal did say that he knew his cities vigilantes personally.

"Okay no hospitals then." Hood confirmed for him as the man reached out to Danny just as he lost his balance falling forward. The last thing Danny remembers was muttering something along the lines of "Tim… I need to find him."

The next thing Danny then became aware of was the soft beeping of a heart monitor and loud arguing not too far from him. He groaned audible and the arguing stopped instantly. A wight rested on his shoulder and Danny blinked through the brightness and blurreyness once more until he vaguely recognised the shape of a person he so far had only seen through video chats.

"Tim?"

"You absolute idiot." Was the response he got and yea that definitely was the voice he had heard so often during all the late night Doomed gaming sessions.

"That checks out. You are the smartest person I know." Danny chuckled lightly until a sharp pain made him gasp. "Shit, I will feel that for weeks."

"The smartest person you know is Sam. Between the four of us she has the best grades, remember? Besides that, do you have any idea what kind of panic you and Tuck send us through?"

Danny peaked at Tim and grimaced at the frustrated glare the other teen was sending him. "Tucker was the one throwing me through a portal."

"You're lucky you landed in Gotham." The other then muttered, shaking his head.

"Again. You are the smartest person I know. You would have figured out some way to track me? Like the time you hacked our phones and tuned in onto Desiree's ectosignature to find her. Works better than the Booomerang that keeps hitting my head."

"That's because that thing is only tuned on you."

"And you somehow got rid of the GIW and I still haven't figured out how you did that."

Danny watched how the other teen shrugged. There was a silence between them. Tim was texting on his phone, probably informing Sam and Tucker. Danny, meanwhile, for the first time took notice that he was in some sort of medical bay, also noting that whoever Tim had argued with had already left. If he could believe Red Hood's words, then even if this looked like a hospital room it was not one.

"Hey Tim?" Danny finally broke the silence and the other teen only hummed. "Is your offer to stay with you in Gotham and to go to school and college here still open? I think I am ready to leave Amity behind now."

Tim looked up from his phone at Danny and gave him a feral grin. "About damn time. I had all the papers ready for you for ages now. It's about time we finally make use of them."

Danny chuckled. "And you still don't believe me when I say, that you are the smartest person I know?"

"Anyone in my family can do at least that, you know? These papers are nothing special."

Danny only raised an eyebrow at the other before both teens started to laugh, with one laugh getting cut short by a groan of pain and the other by fussing over the other right after it.

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afreakingdork · 6 days ago

Note

Hi-a Miss Dork! I just wanna say I absolutely adore your writing (and you’re one of my biggest inspirations on this site)! Anywizzle! I noticed your little requests thing, and figured I’d conquer my social anxiety to send this.

In light of my recent adventures last weekend where I tried to fist fight one of my friends twice my size, would you be interested in a little drabble with our beloved purple boy and a s/o who’s had a little too much to drink, like world is spinning and all types of filters are gone as they speak the first thoughts on their mind kind of drunk. And he’s kind of amused, kind of worried as they stumble around talking nonsense and try to make themselves another drink they clearly shouldn’t have.

Hope you have a great day/night!

*In batman voice* “Justice.”

Writing Request: Drunk Reader x Donnie 🍺

Thank you so much! It sounds like you had a great weekend and I ope you enjoy this as well!

From now until the poll closes, if you can prove to me that you voted Hassan/Mikey in this poll then I will write any short 100-400 word request like below or draw you a doodle of your choosing!

ᴰᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ: ᴵ ᵃᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵃⁿʸʷᵃʸ ᵃˢˢᵒᶜᶦᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᵉⁿᵈᵒʳˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵉᵗᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒʳ ᶦᵗˢ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉˢᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ.

Teen rated drunken mischief below!

You were gone.

Donnie had just located you and you were gone.

You had to be somewhere.

You couldn't just vanish.

Unless you had one of Leo's emergency portals which, without question, Donnie needed to get away from you in these circumstances.

The fact that he even considered removing your emergency exit talked to what a blight this night was.

You had gone out with friends. It was not an uncommon occurrence. You had been dating far long enough for him to become more than secure. He enjoyed that you were happy and liked to go out with your buddies. You always came home a tipsy snuggle bug which made it more than worth his while; these were all average events.

What wasn't was your drunk texts.

They came in delirious spurts that were basically unreadable.

He thought of them as hieroglyphics written by your gorgeous ass.

He dismissed them as a silly mistake and then received a call.

"DOOONNIIIEEEEE!!!!" You screeched through the receiver at a volume that made him pull the phone away.

"Yes, my sweet inebriated beloved...?" He was wary in bringing the phone back.

"I like you." You giggled like a school kid telling their crush and he almost bed you were about to run away in the form of hanging up.

"Is that so?" He leaned back from the blueprints he was drawing.

"Yeah..." You seemed to ponder.

The bar rumbled static behind your pause. "Having fun?"

"Yeah, totally! They have this deal! Oh, you wouldn't believe! You get this tower. It's like a storm or something and then they serve it and you go like-!" You whooped into a gesture and someone else clearly yelled.

A deep voice responded telling you to watch yourself.

"Listen here, pal!" You shouted.

Donnie was growing pale as he didn't hear the heated response past 'pipsqueak.'

"Oh, it's on!" There was a harsh clatter before the line cut off.

The terminated call screen blinked with a choice to redial.

Donnie hit the button with a quaking thumb.

An automated voice told him the number he reached-

He was at the bar before his blood pressure lowered enough that he could see where he was going. He stormed straight through the packed club and dropped his goggles with a flick of his head. It drowned out the unnecessary noise and kicked up mapping.

There'd be a trail.

There'd be every indication where you had gone.

He had your metrics down to a science.

Heat signatures.

Scent markers.

He could track you no matter where you-

You were dancing on a bar.

He stared on, unblinking, as he brought his goggles up.

You swiveled and dropped your hips to the cheering of your friends and you looked completely uninjured.

He almost didn't even care what happened.

You were safe.

You looked to be having fun.

He sighed at the anxiety he suffered, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He bet you wouldn't mind his company and headed toward you.

Where you promptly fell from your spot because you backstepped in beat.

You disappeared behind the counter and Donnie ran.

In two leaps he was there and the moment he looked behind the bar, you weren't.

How was that possible?

He hadn't blinked.

You'd gotten into something mystic that had to be it.

His goggles were malfunctioning for not picking it up.

He heard your sweet laughter.

He rose up to see a bartender glowering down at him where he was invading the space.

Donnie shoved right by the man because a sliver of you was sitting on the counter. "Hey!!"

You looked and lit up. "Donnie!!"

You fell straight at him and he had to catch you.

"Again? That's it. Off! Off!" The bartender shooed you.

Donnie carried you as a giggling package away.

"Boop." You tried to poke the tip of his snout and pissed.

You reeked.

Even with all the assaulting scents of the bar, you in particular were exuding a dangerous amount of alcohol. He got you off to a wall before he set you down. Taking a moment to make a mental map with you safely caged by his body, he formed a breathalyzer with his ninpo and offered it to you. "Blow."

"Oh! Demanding tonight." You tittered. "Not even your birthday..."

He waited.

"Unless..." You swayed as you looked over his person. "Did you split the days again?"

"Darling, I implore you, for a moment, could you simply blow into the device."

"What device?"

He held up the glowing object more obviously.

"Why didn't you say so!?" You giggled and grabbed it.

You tongue it more than putting your mouth around it which made him shudder despite having no senses connected to the construction and he reminded you two more times to blow before you finally did with a hefty huff.

The screen ticked and Donnie thought you might have to try again before it decided 0.23% was a good score.

He blinked at it.

He looked at you where you were sliding down out of his hold.

He watched almost mesmerized as you slunk straight to your butt and very ungracefully tried and failed to get on your feet.

"What did you have?!" He squawked.

"Storm!! Whoosh!" You swung your arms.

"That doesn't mean anything! Where are your friends?"

"Where...?" You tried to move again and almost toppled over.

He hoisted you up like a toddler.

This was his night now.

Babysitting.

You were supposed to come back so cute.

Snuggle into his bed.

Instead you were fighting him like a cat that didn't want to be held. "I'll look!"

"No. I will!" Donnie glanced out for an abysmal moment.

He switched to his goggles a second later and saw scans of their paltry analytics going out and getting a cab."

"They ditched you!?"

"No! Who!?" You held his same tone.

"What happened to your phone!?" He turned on you.

You clucked. "Your forehead gets all wrinkly when you yell."

"Phone!"

"Washboard." You sang off-key notes of a bluegrass tune as you tried to play his forehead.

"No!"

He caught your hand.

"No!"

He reinforced his point by sticking his finger in your face.

Your gaze swam and you tried to bit him.

He yanked his hand away.

"Nope! No more! I'm done! I'm calling it! Bar's closed! You're going home! Those friends of yours better not have left the tab!"

"Nooo!!" You drew out your whine. "I want another drink!"

"Absolutely not! Do you want to chance alcohol poisoning?!"

You almost answered, but he hefted you up under his arm.

"Don't answer that as you aren't in the right mind to respond adequately."

You giggled and swung your dangling arms as he brought you to the bar.

it was a struggle as you kept moving, but he eventually got you there after only knocking over a total of two people.

The moment he set you on the counter to keep you out of trouble, the bartender turned on him.

"Not you again! I said no! Get that one off!"

"Fine! After I pay! Give me the stupid tab!" Donnie snapped right back.

The man rolled his eyes and moved to pull the receipt.

Donnie sighed to one side before he rolled his head back to you. "Let's get you some water-WHERE'D YOU GET THAT!!??"

You had a shot glass to your lips

He smacked it clean out of your hand on reflex.

You stared with wide eyes and hands held up to your lips where you were holding the itty bitty cup that had now shattered on the floor.

"You're paying for that!!" The bartender seethed.

"Yeah! Well!" Donnie hated his foolish response, but he couldn't take his attention away from you again.

In this form, you were far more dangerous than any foe he had ever faced.

"You are shaving years off my lifespan." He told you.

The bartender shoved him a receipt and waited with folded arms.

You were kicking your feet to a song that clearly wasn't play.

Donnie looked at the damaged and his nostrils flared at the price.

"What is this!? How much was that tiny glass!? I can gaffer you another!"

"Three spinning hurricanes, two rounds of shots, two beers, a margarita, and that tiny glass along with pain and suffering and my tip." The bartender leaned forward to illustrate he wouldn't be moved.

Donnie wrapped an arm around you to keep you in place as he got out the bills and not so silently muttered the injustice as he paid.

"Thank you, now get the fuck out." The bartender flicked his head toward the door.

"Check your reviews tomorrow and we'll see who's laughing!" Donnie sneered and hefted you like a bag over his shoulder and on the way out.

You kicked two people in the head and he had no idea how to get you home. You were far too wily to fly with in this condition. He needed to sober you up at least a little so you'd be still. That meant locating the closest food truck, which wasn't far off for the district. He paid another exuberant price for a bottle of water and a set of tacos. He chased you down twice as you tried to escape both times and eventually ninpo'd up a leash to keep you tethered to him.

You sulked straight into the offered platter of food where you immediately abandoned all sorrow for elation.

You ate while spilling filling all over your self and the ground, but Donnie couldn't help but love you.

You were the dork to match his.

You had probably dealt with far stranger after the potion fiasco that had split up his personality.

You drank heartily from your bottle and came away with a satisfied puff.

"Good?" Donnie from where you'd eventually sat own on the dirty sidewalk to eat.

"Good..." You nodded and the motion seemed to come at least a little easier to you. "Where... What happened to my friends?"

"I have no idea." He responded.

You looked up and seemed to sort of register your location. "Ugh. Did... Did i fight a guy?"

He shook his head with the same unknown.

"Must have won." You told yourself with confidence.

"Clearly." He chuffed.

"Buzzing..." Your head tipped.

You weren't moving all that much and seemed to be in a bit of a stupor. "Let's go."

"Kay." You set your trash down to leave, but he scooped it up to toss.

You didn't run away while he did so. You actually slung your arms around his neck when he went to pick you up. He held you close and flew evenly back to the closest entrance to the lair. He counted that as a win as he descended to land.

Dreams of showers and extra steamed cuddling were close at hand.

"Gonna be sick..." You burped over his shoulder.

In an instant shattering, Donnie turned his night over to patting your back while you vomited in an alley and tending to you until you recovered enough in the morning to kiss him gratitude for his care.

He supposed that was just as good.

#me #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing request #requests open #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt Donnie #rally until the tally #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise donnie x reader #tw alcohol

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nunca205s-art-gallery · 2 months ago

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THE THREE TIMELINES

3. SECRET THIRD OPTION // RIGHT ON TIME TIMELINE (Mystery trio AU)

Stan gets a vision about Ford getting sucked into the portal (at the time when Fiddleford is like "Ford, this may be a bad idea") and rushes to save him.

Mystery trio yippieee!!

This could go two different ways depending on the path Stan takes when he reunites with his brother to help him.

On the first path, The Truth Route, where he tells the truth behind his arrival at Gravity Falls from the start:

At first, Ford thinks this is sketchy (mostly because of Bill) and doesn't think that "he saw him fall into his doom" is the real reason of why Stanley is here.

Fiddleford thinks this is an obvious omen and is like "See?! I told you we needed to take more security measures!". And also like "Pal, your brother came all the way here from Oklahoma just to help you from something he shouldn't know it exists in the first place. You believe in magic but him having future visions is suddenly too much?"

He's like the voice of reason, basically.

Stan is like a wet cat trying to convince Ford that he's telling the truth and there to help him. (And maybe repair their relationship, but that's a plus.)

• On the second path, The Lie Route, Stan lies to them thinking that they wouldn't understand (and wanting to keep his secret hidden):

Idk how this one would go yet though. Only that things will be very awkward for everyone, Stan will have it rough trying to fix everything on his own and Ford isn't making it easier (neither is Bill), Fiddleford is still the voice of reason (or at least in this situation, the guy still runs a cult), and that Stan won't be able to keep his secret for long.

(Fiddlestan is canon here in both routes.)

–-–-–-–-–-–

I'll have to develop this one more too, at least how would the overall plot would go.

#gravity falls #gravity falls text post #gravity falls au #the magic of sight au #stanley pines #stan pines #grunkle stan #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddlestan #mystery trio #mystery trio au #stangst

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lucisfavoritedemon · 2 months ago

Text

Through The Portal: Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Ford must talk Y/n down from making a rash decision. Both must face their tormentor head on.

Pairing(s): Stan x reader (platonic present, romantic past), Ford x reader, Dipper x best friend!reader, Mabel x best friend!reader Bill x reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of hopelessness, torture, mental manipulation, PTSD, unrequited love, flashbacks.

A/N: The events and ideas are based on a theory I have about the Nightmare Realm. This is in no way canonically true, just my theories based on what we canonically know about the Nightmare Realm.

“What!? Are you crazy? I would never even think about doing that to you!” Ford was frantic, he really couldn’t believe I just blurted that out so casually.

“Using the memory gun and erasing the thoughts of Bill, and what I saw and went through in the Night Realm, it might just work. I’m willing to make that sacrifice if it means keeping the rift safe.”

“No! That’s not even an option on my radar.”

“I’m aware, that’s why I’m making it an option.”

“No. I’m not doing that. I care about you too much to erase your memories all willy-nilly like that.”

“It’s not willy-nilly, Ford. I know what I’m asking of you and I know it’s a hard decision but…”

“A hard decision!? It’s an impossible decision that I am refusing to make. I’m not gonna do it, and neither are you. End of discussion.”

I sigh, “may I ask why?”

“Because, if I erased your memory of your time in there and your memories of Bill…you’d forget who I am.”

His words struck me. Was this Ford’s weird way of hinting at something? I shook the thoughts away. Ford and I had been through a lot when it came to Bill, and maybe he finally felt like someone truly understood him fully. He wouldn’t come out and say it, but he was scared of being the outcast he felt he always was.

“Okay, I’m sorry I asked.”

“It’s okay. As long as you promise never ask me to do that again.”

I nod, “is there anything else you need from me?”

Ford shook his head, “you can head back upstairs. I just felt like you should know what I found. You and I are of like minds and we both know how evil Bill truly is.”

I nod, “okay, if you need anything from me, you know where to find me.”

We shared an understanding look for each other before I walked back upstairs where the twins started to bombard me with questions and stories again. It felt nice that they were accepting of me into their life.

The next couple of weeks were interesting. Dipper and Ford told me about their adventure playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons that was then brought to life because Stan had thrown their dice, making the infinity sided die to roll out of its case. I enjoyed them sharing their adventure with me as I tried to make sense of my night terrors as Mabel called them.

The following week I helped the twins help Stan run for Mayor of Gravity Falls. I supported him 100% as the Stan I knew back in 1973 would have made a great mayor. I didn’t realise how much he had changed, or what little knowledge he had on politics. Still, I was happy to support him no matter what. After saving the kids, he was elected mayor by getting the birdly kiss from the mayor picking eagle. Little did I know Stan had a very extensive criminal record. I guess people do really change more than you realize.

I knew the adventure this week, though, was going to be interesting. I was fast asleep when all of a sudden I was in the middle of the nightmare realm. I feared it was another nightmare, then suddenly it morphed to where I was standing in the middle of a field.

“Y/n?” I heard Ford’s voice call out.

I turned around and saw him standing there, “Ford?”

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

That’s when we heard the malicious laugh of Bill Cipher. It was no coincidence Ford and I were here. Bill had a plan for us. Big plans.

“Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well, aren’t you two a sight for sore eye. Stanford Filbrick Pines, my ol’ pal. And, could this be, my sweetheart? Y/n? I think it is.”

“Bill Cipher. What do you want from us?” Ford asked, pulling me behind him.

“Oh quit playing dumb, IQ. You two knew I’d be back. You think shutting down that portal can stop what I have planned. I’ve been making deals, chatting with old friends, preparing for the big day. You can’t keep that rift safe forever. You’ll slip up and when you do…” Bill then shows us a tear leading from our world to the nightmare realm, and I feel like I’m gonna puke.

“Get out of here! You have no dominion in our world!” Ford yelled at Bill, keeping a protective hand on me.”

“Maybe not right now, but things change, Stanford Pines,” Bill’s voice morphs into a creepy deep one, “things change.” He then rises into the tears laughing maniacally.

I shoot up screaming. Scared out of my mind. Bill was coming, and I was utterly terrified. The thought of actually facing Bill scared the shit out of me. Bill was someone I never wanted to actually face ever again. The fact that he appeared to Ford and I meant he was growing stronger and stronger with each passing day. That was the thing that scared me the most.

The next morning I could barely get out of bed. I sat there lost in thought, I was unable to fall back asleep after our meeting with Bill. I heard Ford call for a family meeting and I gathered all the courage I could muster and walked downstairs.

“Y-Y/n? Are you alright?” Ford asked, looking at me concerned.

“I’m scared, worried, I didn’t go back to sleep last night if that’s what you mean.” I stated.

Ford felt terrible I had gotten dragged into this, but little does he know I did it to myself. Bill’s infatuation with us was no coincidence.

“Ooh, mysterious scrolls and potions. Are you going to tell us we’re finally of age to go to wizard school? Is there an owl in this bag?” Mabel asked hopping in a chair and started to go through the bag Ford had on the table.

“No, I assure you if there is an owl in this bag, he’s long dead.” Ford took the bag from her.

Dipper and her sat down as I stood behind Ford. He pulled out a scroll paper and showed it to the kids, “Now, tell me children, do any of you recognize this symbol?” He holds up a scroll with Bill on it.

They both gasp before Dipper speaks, “Bill.”

“Y-You know him?” Ford was shocked, and so was I.

“Know him!? He’s been terrorizing us all summer. I have so many questions and theories.” Dipper spoke frantically.

“Dipper’s been pretty paranoid since Bill turned him into a living sock puppet.” Mabel added.

“The important thing is, we defeated him twice.” Dipper interjected.

“Once with kittens, and once with tickles.”

“It was a lot more heroic than it sounds.”

I looked at Ford concerned about the kids. This was serious, the fact they have faced Bill. It means he now has access to their minds, especially Dipper. Ford looked back at me with the same concerned look.

“The fact you have dealt with Bill is gravely serious.” Ford spoke up.

“So, how do you know Bill?” Dipper questioned. I knew I wasn’t ready to talk about that yet, and I knew Ford wasn’t ready either.

“Y/n and I have encountered many dark beings in our time, Dipper. What matters now is, his powers are growing stronger, and if he pulls off his plans, no one in this family will be safe.”

I wanted to punch Ford for confirming my suspicions. He was never good at comforting, so I don’t blame him entirely, but I didn’t want those to be confirmed. Neither did the kids as they gasped at what Ford just stated.

“Fortunately there should be a way to shield us from his mental tricks.” He unrolls a map onto the table, and grabs a marker, “a way to Bill-proof the shack. All I have to do is place moonstones here, here, here, and here, “he draws circles on the map, “sprinkle some mercury, and let’s see. I always forget the last ingredient.” He flips through Journal 1, “ugh. unicorn hair.”

“That’s not, like, rare, is it?” Dipper asks.

“It’s hopeless. Unicorns reside deep within an enchanted glade, and their hairs can only be obtained by a pure, good-hearted person who goes on a magical quest to find them.”

Mabel began screaming at the top of her lungs. She begged Ford to let her go on this quest to get the hair. Naming everything she has done that proves that she is obsessed with unicorns. Then she mentions that she is probably the most good-hearted person in the room. No one argues with her about that. Ford agrees to let her go, giving her the journal and a crossbow.

“Y/n, you wanna come with me and the girls on this quest?”

“I actually need Y/n here with Dipper and I.” Ford answers before I can say anything.

Mabel shrugs and calls her friends and sets off on the quest for unicorn hair. Ford leads Dipper and I down to the second floor of the basement. A place neither of us have seen yet.

“If we can’t Bill-proof the shack, we’re going to have to do the next best thing. We’re gonna have to Bill-proof our minds.” Ford pulls out a device that strangely looks like a torture device.

Ford begins to turn the machine on and places the metal helmet on Dipper’s head. This must have been the device Ford wanted to use on me a couple weeks ago, but worried my mind would still be vulnerable to his torment because of my dreams.

“So, what is Bill exactly?” Dipper questions.

“No one knows for sure. Accounts differ of his true motivations and origins. I know he is older than our galaxy, and far more twisted.”

“No kidding…” I mumble, still traumatized from my extra time with him in the nightmare realm.

Ford gives a sympathetic look before he continues, “not a physical form, he can only project himself through our thoughts through the mindscape. That’s why he wants this.” Ford holds up the rift, “I dismantled the portal, but with this tear, Bill still has a way into our reality. To get his hands on this rift, he would trick or possess anyone.”

“So how do we keep Bill out of our minds?” Dipper inquired.

“There are a number of ways I personally had a metal plate installed in my head.” Dipper doesn’t believe him, so Ford taps his head proving he does, “but this machine is safer. It will scan your mind, biologically encrypting your thoughts so Bill can’t read them.” Ford switches the screen on, “now, say hello to your thoughts.”

Dipper thoughts play across the screen. Some are interesting, others are utterly embarrassing. I felt bad that his poor thoughts were on display for us.

“By the way, you two never told me what your history with Bill was.”

“Dipper, do you trust us?” Ford asks, and he nods, “then you’ll trust that’s not important. Now, focus. It's time to strengthen your mind.”

The three of us sit there for hours as the machine slowly encrypts Dipper’s thoughts. I look over at Ford who has fallen asleep at his desk. “Must be nice to be able to sleep anywhere…or at all…”

“What’s been going on with you lately by the way? You’re more distant and paranoid, especially today.”

“It’s Bill. He scares the heck out of me. The thought of coming face to face with him in a physical form terrifies me.”

“S-so you had a bad experience with Bill too, huh?”

“I-it wasn’t always like that, Dipper…Bill and I were actually very close…then I got a true peak at what he really wanted…on the other side of my portal…he tortured me…Ford and Stan won’t be happy I am telling you this, but you and Mabel were going to find out eventually…”

“W-Wait, your portal? Y-you didn’t go through with Great Uncle Ford?”

I shake my head, “no…I had made my own. I found an old book in my parents' attic. They used to be Anti-Cipherites, or descendants of some. A group looking to take down Bill. It had an encryption on how to summon him. I did, and that night he appeared to me. He showed me his equation, he tricked me with his flattery, saying I didn’t need school or friends. Helping him would give me everything I ever wanted. Including helping my friend so he could finally go home before his brother left for college….that friend was your Uncle Stan…”

Dipper's eyes widened, “h-how old are you then?”

“Technically 61, but the place I was stuck in has no concept of time, so I never really aged…”

Dipper’s jaw dropped, “s-so you knew Grunkle Stan before he was banned from New Jersey?”

I nodded, “Stan lived with me.”

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